[NSW-Fic] Redemption

[machievelli]

A brief bit of history...

 

About 12 years ago, I read a book entitled Insurrection, based on the Starfire game. About the same time, I watched a movie named Ironclads, based on the battle of Hampton Roads.

 

In one scene, a Union petty officer stops the destruction of the Newport news drydock because he didn't want to injure the civilians around it. In Insurrection a Battlecruiser commander puts her ship and crew between the guns of a force trying to put down what they are calling an insurrection.

 

In both cases, as you can see, someone was trying to stop the war from occuring, or at least trying not to kill someone. A scene that I know has occured more often than people would like to admit.

 

The Starfire series seemed to be fallow, and I was struck by this thought; what about those brave individuals? People who look at their government's actions, and while still loyal say; we can't let this happen!

 

However after finally contacting one of the authors (David Weber) I was left with a 300 page book that had to be drastically changed to avoid plagerism.

 

This book you are about to read is the result. Note that this is one where i want you to comment. If I screw up, tell me.

[machievelli]

Redemption

"A navy is essentially and necessarily aristocratic. True as may be the political principals for whom we are now contending they can never be practically applied or even admitted on board ship, out of port, or off soundings. This may seem a hardship, but is nevertheless the simplest of truths. Whilst the ships sent forth by the Congress may and must fight for the principles of human life and Union and freedom, the ships themselves must be ruled and commanded at sea under a system of absolute despotism."

(John Paul Jones in a letter dated 14 September 1775, directed to the Naval Committee of the First Continental Congress.)

 

Confrontation

'Energy bends the bow, timing releases the Arrow’

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

From the Dreadnought Pinotubo, he could see the other 29 ships. Like leashed hounds, the ships of Battlegroup 7 waited beyond the Armorplast of the ports for Runningfox's orders. Dreadnoughts, battlecruisers, cruisers and destroyers. As large as any fleet sent to smash the Calimari during IW4.

 

Gathered together here, to smash humans.

 

Rear Admiral Martin Runningfox read the orders from Fleet Central again, then leaned back in his chair. While almost 100 years old, the anti-aging treatments available to the fleet caused him to look like a man in his late thirties. His high cheekbones, slightly slanted eyes, and long raven black hair shouted his Native American genes. The tooled leather band around his head holding his shoulder length hair, and shoulder flash told of the planet of his birth, Dineh.

 

And where, he mused, would Dineh stand in this? He read again the blunt précis sent by ONI, the Office of Naval Intelligence, along with the orders he now agonized over. Impeaching the Prime Minister David Porter to push through their ‘Reapportionment’ had been bad enough. But the diatribe the Corporate Citizen representatives had added to it had been nothing less than explosive. It was almost; he froze at the thought, almost as if they wanted the Outworlds to rebel.

 

The First Worlds were settled before the Alliance was formed. Hell, before the Planet Earth had finished hammering out their own unity. The First Worlds had been microcosms of the nations that had paid to be part of that first exploration. Their names reflected that. Novaya Rodina, Nova Terra, New Amsterdam. Fifty planets that were merely mirrors of the societies that had made them.

 

Then had come the war, The Rex hitting the colony on Columbia. That war, fought with only lasers and hyper velocity cannon at the start had ended with both sides using nuclear missiles and the first Particle beam weapons.

 

Six years later, when the war was over, the overstretched Alliance government had asked the Private sector to take over the high risk, and of course, high return venture of exploration. They had punched out, adding seventy planets to the Alliance.

 

At a price.

 

Again their names reflected their origins. Not New anything, But Daimler, and Mitsubishi, even humble Kodak had been able to settle a planet.

 

Then had come the second Human-Rex war. The invention of the Krupa beam, then the Skewer, finally antimatter warheads and the Antimatter emitters.

 

The Corporations had stopped exploring, saying that the government should again shoulder the burden, now only ‘assisting’ the remainder of Humanity, which had wanted to go beyond the Frontier. But controlling the chokepoints that led from the frontier meant the Corporate states also controlled their trade, regardless of any claims otherwise. Now they wanted to control it all, and this was the result.

 

When that message arrived, the people of Dineh would be again reminded of almost 400 years of promises made then broken by the old United States of North America. Of treaties that gave the enemy everything, and gave them nothing. Rammed down their throats not by superior ethics, but by superior military force, or manipulated laws.

 

Of even more centuries of having been scattered among the stars. Of trying to fit in on the First Worlds where old national and racial ties were until recently considered 'quaint' and old fashioned. On Planetary Corporate planets where God is the time clock.

 

But the planets settled in the Second Diaspora were like that. People who wanted open space, who felt they were stultified, who followed beliefs others thought odd. People who looked at society and wanted to change it to something older, or better, or hell, even fantastic. Places like the Spenser Cluster, with every planet named after a character in the Faerie Queen. Or NieuReich, with their Nazi regalia, or Voortrekker, who refused to allow anyone with even the hint of dark complexion even landing, let alone immigrating.

 

It was the same for Dineh. It had been only 100 years ago, right before the Calimari that they had finally been able to settle on Dineh. Fifty tribes from all of the Americas, From Inuit to Yaqui. Now tribes in more than name once again. Free to run the deserts, mountains, forests and jungles. Free to live in the old ways, to hunt without permits. Free to dance the old dances, sing the old songs, and speak the old speech without ridicule or censure. To throw away the trappings of a society that had tried to stifle and absorb them.

 

Or as he had, to accept those strictures only because doing so allowed him to protect the lands he loved. When a Dineh survey ship had discovered massive amounts of almost every strategic ore in their three asteroid belts, they had dealt again with the Planetary Corporations. No threats, no blandishment had swayed the tribal council. Dineh was probably the only planet with Skywatch set in the asteroid belts themselves to stop 'entrepreneurs' from doing a little freelance mining without permission. It was probably the only Skywatch manned entirely by their own people too.

 

Then the Creeper war two centuries ago. Then had come the Calimari almost exactly one hundred twenty years later. The brunt of both of those two wars had been waged among the Outworlds, and the fleet reflected that even now. Of the men and women under his command, 60 to 80 percent were Outworlders, being told to ‘subdue’ their homes.

 

And with orders such as this, what did the Planetary Corporations intend to do to Dineh? Force them to allow the mining after 'pacifying' them?

 

Dineh would rebel if it came to that. They would rebel if they knew these orders had been given! As surely as their ancestors had fought on. As those ancestors did, they would lose, but they would not surrender. And if he were there, there would be no questions. He would ride his lights into the battle, and die in it.

 

But the thought was acid.

 

If he was willing to do so for his own home, how was Britomart, five transits distant, a primary choke point that lead eventually to Dineh itself, any different?

 

He pressed the call button.

 

"Sir?" Commander Voorhees, his Chief of Staff, entered.

 

"All captains meeting in one hour. See to it."

 

* * * * *

 

The captains of his Battlegroup were seated when he entered. When most Admirals enter a room, there is a great deal of snapping to. But not here. No one shouted, no one snapped to attention when he came in, and regardless of what Fleet protocol said that was as he wished. He'd talked with each Captain when they had joined his Battlegroup. His comments had been that if they paid more attention to details that assured their ship's efficiency, and less to his presence, he'd be satisfied.

 

He sat, keying in the data pad in front of him. "Gentlemen and ladies, we have received orders. Captain Raspegie brought a sealed binder from Tucson." The Captain of the battlecruiser Rapier nodded. "I assume you have all read them?" They looked back at him, grim.

 

'TO; OFFICER COMMANDING BG7, GLASGOW SYSTEM

FROM; CINC TANF WILDERBECK

YOU ARE TO PROCEED AT BEST SPEED TO THE BRITOMART SYSTEM. THERE YOU WILL ACT TO SUPPRESS POSSIBLE REBELLION AMONG THE OUTWORLD SYSTEMS. ONCE YOU HAVE ASSURED THE LOYALTY OF BRITOMART SKYWATCH/ FRONTIER BASE BRITOMART, YOU WILL PROCEED ALONG WARPLINE LANCELOT, BEDEVERE, BLOOMFONTEIN, CONRAD, BLOOMFONTEIN, ALFRED, JUNCTION 12, GRIFFIN, MANTICORE, NEY, BONAPARTE.

 

ANY REBEL FACTIONS ENCOUNTERED ARE TO BE PUT DOWN WITH ALL DISPATCH.

 

SINCE THIS MAY MEAN COMBAT, ALL WEAPONS ARE FREE. ROE ARE RED 1, I REPEAT RED 1.

 

WHILE A PEACEFUL SOLUTION IS ACCEPTABLE AND DESIRED, ALL REBEL FORCES MUST BE DISARMED OR DESTROYED. ANY FORCE DEEMED NECESSARY BY YOU TO CARRY OUT THIS DIRECTIVE IS ACCEPTABLE TO THIS COMMAND.

 

MARINE LANDING FORCE 8, ABOARD COMBAT TRANSPORTS YPRES

AND GUADALCANAL WITH ESCORTS ARE TO RENDEZVOUS WITH YOU ON 18 MARCH IN BRITOMART, ENTRY THROUGH WARPLINE FROM TUCSON. THE MARINES ABOARD ARE KNOWN TO BE LOYAL, AND WILL SUPPLY MARTIAL LAW GARRISONS.

SIGNED WILDERBECK, CINCTAF

BY DIRECTION JOACHIM BELARIUS, MINISTER OF DEFENSE

 

Runningfox set the pad down, looking at them. Good men and women. He would have to thrust them into this fire. It is an ill known dichotomy to the people of any society that maintains a military that the officers, men and women in direct physical control of the actual implements of governmental violence, are almost always the last to suggest a military solution. They know all too well the cost of even a successful ‘surgical strike’ far better than their political masters. Unlike those masters, who saw only what they wanted, and unlike the public, with their ritualized and glorified versions of what happened, they would have to get down in the blood. "I made available to all of you copies of the ONI estimates. Has anyone not read them?"

 

There was silence. The estimate had been marked 'Flag Eyes Only. Not to be disseminated to other ranks'. He'd broken a dozen regulations by handing them that.

 

"Now, in light of the estimate, and our orders, are there any comments?"

 

"Orders are orders, sir." Captain Kalenski, of the Dreadnought Eiger replied. A citizen of New Detroit.

 

"Christ on a crutch, Ski, that's just like a good Nazi." Snapped Captain Shanna Bar Joni of Zion, Captain of the Dreadnought Minya Konku. "What kind of insane orders send us into one of our own systems with wartime ROEs? "

 

"She's right, Serge." Captain O’Meara of the planet Donegal, Commander of the Destroyer Jaguar cut off the senior Captain's retort. "These orders are a disaster waiting to happen. Tell me true, Sergei, have ye thought about what they say? Are ye going to butcher a bunch of civilians because of those orders? Are ye going to put your boot on their necks and make them bow to the Sassenachs because of orders?" His fingers brushed his sleeve. His voice dropped, making everyone strain to hear. "Are ye gonna kill a ship manned with people in the same uniform because their captain refuses to submit to these same orders?"

 

Kalenski bit his lip, silent.

 

The argument was inescapable. ROEs, Rules of Engagement, were broken into three colors. Green, amber, and red, and broken into four divisions. Four, the lowest in any series, with least allowance for firing, with one the highest. Green was standard peacetime, with little or no threat, or when the Fleet wished to appear as unthreatening as possible. Amber was more serious, where the chances of combat were greater, but the fleet still held the leash.

 

Red, was war or just short of it. Red one, usually used only during war, or when war was imminent put every weapon on alert, and had fingers on the trigger, with the slack taken out of it. All you would need is a single targeting system going up on an enemy vessel, hell, just the suspicion that they might, and missiles would fly. The peace, always fragile in the best of times, had just been put in the hands of the least stable captain out there with these orders.

 

"Our resident leprechaun has hit the nail firmly on the head, people." Runningfox looked them over. First Worlder, Corporate Citizen, Outworlder. There was supposed to be no politics in the fleet, 'the fleet is our home' was a catch phrase bandied about by the upper echelons, and perhaps that is what had caused this madness. The fleet was an instrument of policy, and titles meant nothing.

 

Unfortunately, titles mattered a great deal, since Outworlder and Corporate Cits were enemies on the economic and political front as surely as the Calimari had been. Maybe soon to be enemies in war as well. "These orders are an open invitation to the worst any of us can imagine doing. David said it well. Ever since word of the 'reapportionment', the Outworlds has been out for what they deserve. A reapportionment of voting rights now will be as bad as the Corporate revolt of P.Y. 125, and this,” He waved the report “means it's going to happen again people. Who here is willing to force humans to obey a government that won't even guarantee their rights?"

 

"The Assembly-" Kalenski began.

 

"Is dead man!" O’Meara snapped. "It was madness when they tried to ram the Reapportionment down the Outworld's throat before Soongchow could send a representative! As if the Outworlds couldn't see it coming again! It took us almost one hundred and fifty years to break the stranglehold of the seventy Planetary Corporations.” Everyone flinched at the term ‘us’.

 

“But they wouldn't back down, not if it meant giving up their death grip. Well that grip was what did the Assembly in. It died when those Corporate Cit bastards and their synchophants killed Porter’s career to gut the opposition. It was murdered as sure as hell."

 

"But David, we have our orders." Commodore Eric Von Wirth said softly. A New Zuricher, commanding BG 7s' Dreadnoughts. "We cannot in good conscience disobey them."

 

"Is that so?" O’Meara stood. Short, barely 1.4 meters tall, he towered over them. "I hate to use the word, but I must. How many of you others might consider mutiny if these orders are followed to the letter?" He raised his own hand defiantly. The officers looked around, then slowly Shanna Bar Joni’s hand joined his. Only five other hands joined his. Surprisingly, one of them was Commodore Blandsley, Commander of the Battlecruiser screen. He was from New Texas. A First Worlder.

 

O’Meara glared at the ones that had not raised their hands. "Now, you all know the compositions of your own bloody crews. How many of you think that just possibly there are junior officers aboard your own ships that just might mutiny if we try to force the issue?" More hands, more than half of the Battlegroup this time. Ominously, five of the Battlecruisers, and three of the Dreadnoughts were represented. Enough to assure a choice slice of hell for everyone in the room.

 

O’Meara sighed. "And," he said softly, "How many of you think it would be easier to kill your own crewmen, friends and associates on your own or the other ships? Are ye willing to kill me if it comes to that Eric? Sergei? Or Shanna, or the Commodore? Every squadron in the fleet is just like this one, most over half Outworlder. A lot of them are completely Outworlder. Worse yet, how many of you think the Corporate Citizens on your own ships will stand by and let you refuse orders if you decide not to obey them? How many of us will die in either case? This Battlegroup and the fleet itself will be gutted by a mutiny, and if there is a rebellion, what makes you think the rebels won't fight? Because these orders don't leave them much of a choice. The only choice this leaves them is to bend over the table, and hope the Planetary Corporations use lubricant!

 

“All they're missing is Judge Lynch and the drumhead court martial. If there isn't a real rebellion out there when we get there, there will be one as sure as Ireland is green if we do.

 

“Because the only option they will see that they have left with this situation is rebellion, and that, sure as hell is going to be called treason."

 

Runningfox sighed, tapping the table as he spoke. "Do any of you think for a moment that the rebels this report anticipates haven't figured this out?" He held up the orders. "Or that other fleet warships out there haven't already made their choice? With a lag time of five months, only a fool would have ignored the possibility.” He snorted. “Or a politician. How many of those ships will be prepared to fire simply because they think we will?"

 

He stood, a bear in human clothing. "Whatever else the Assembly might accuse them of, these are humans we're facing. Not Rex, not Creepers, not Calimari. Humans."

 

He looked from face to face. His voice was placid. "How far are you willing to go to maintain the peace? Are you willing to dust them out?" The faces around the table blanched. Almost 200 years before, the entire Creeper race had been destroyed because of their inability to even consider surrender. Seven of their claimed star systems had settlements, planets capable of supporting life, bases, etc. 14 life centers expunged with nuclear fire from orbit, rather than fight through them house to house, street to street.

 

Estimates had placed casualties in such a ground assault at eight or nine million. After 750 million civilian casualties among the Rex, Lanti, and Dru, the additional military losses were too many to accept. So the fleet, Rex and Human together, had dropped enough ordinance on each to slaughter a dozen planets. Overkill with a vengeance. The Lanti and Dru had refused to assist (Not surprising for the pacifistic Dru); something Humans had first considered moral cowardice. But they had finally understood only after Corrigan IV itself was glowing with nuclear fires. An estimated 19 billion Creepers. All dead now. Their planets would be safe to settle on sometime in the next century for humanity. Recently, mankind had gotten a reprieve from their purported damnation. Two pre-industrial colony worlds of the Creepers still lived.

 

Unfortunately, their racial madness was still unabated.

 

Less than 80 years ago, the Calimari had proven just as dangerous and recalcitrant. Worse yet, communications had proven impossible, more from unwillingness than lack of trying. Another half dozen systems, an estimated 30 or 40 billion beings this time. These planets, all upper life forms dead on land honeycombed extensively beneath the oceans by the Calimari would have laughed at something so mild as gigatons of anti-matter warheads. So in addition, they were hit with recombinant DNA Bio weapons and long-term lethal chemical weapons and antimatter fire. Microvirii that would change and kill almost forever, and could hide in wait for a millennium or more. Chemicals with such lethality that one milligram, a fiftieth of an average drop could kill millions. Chemicals that like nuclear waste had half-lives instead of levels of persistence. None of those worlds would be safe for a millennium, if then.

 

And humanity had yet another race on its conscience.

 

"Tell me," Runningfox asked conversationally. "If I have to blast a dozen ships out of orbit at Britomart, is that covered by these orders?

 

"If I order the destruction of Britomart Skywatch, is that covered?" The men and women were silent, but he wasn't through yet.

 

"If I have to drop a demonstration nuke in the desert north of Roncesvalles, is that valid? If I have to then drop one on the city itself to 'subdue' them, is that acceptable?"

 

Suddenly his voice went from calm to fury. "And if I have to do the same in each of the nine systems listed, kill seven or eight million humans, is that covered?" He snatched up the pad, slamming it against bulkhead with enough force to shatter the casing.

 

"And when I die, and stand before the Great Spirit with those millions of dead on my conscience, who among you thinks he will say, 'You followed your orders, you did what was right'!"

 

Runningfox turned toward the bulkhead, the muscles in his back clenched in fury. Finally he turned back, calm once more. "We have our orders from Command. All well and good.

 

“First, call together all of your officers, and tell them what these orders say. If they don't already know, I don't want rumors to blow them out of proportions. I want any chance of mutiny nipped in the bud. Have them pass on what I'm telling you now to their subordinates.

 

"When you do, tell them that my orders are as follows. We are going to proceed into Britomart as ordered. Once there, we will try to convince any rebellious units to surrender without violence.

 

"My ROEs are Green 4. We will not fire unless actively threatened, and that will be my decision, not yours. I don't care who fires first, us, them, whoever. If a ship fires, that ship dies, those are my orders. If it comes down to more than a show of force, if it is a choice between firing on other humans, or retreat, we will retreat.

 

"In the event that we retreat, we will proceed immediately to Tucson, where I will take complete responsibility for these actions.

 

"Dismissed."

 

The way it all began…

 

“There is advantage and danger in maneuver”

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

Science fiction writers sometimes dwelled on the problems of overpopulation. By 2025 when David Yoshimitsu was born the Sol system had a population already over 12 billion, and all of them still on planet Earth, it had become a real danger.

 

Of course they had tried to correct the problem. Starting settlements in space, euthanasia, even birth control. But between fools who couldn’t see that an extra mouth would deprive someone else of food, ones that considered technology as some devil inspired plot, and those that wanted to spend lavishly in regions where nature still took a decent toll of humanity, the Human race had begun a spiral downward into catastrophic overcrowding by 2030.

 

Earth had almost resorted to the Killkenny Solution.

 

They were saved by three things, or rather, two things, and David Yoshimitsu. In 2010, the US Government had secretly developed what they called the impulse drive. A drive field that it was believed, would take a ship from a dead stop to the 11KPS necessary to loft a satellite or ship into orbit in seconds. However the drive had some, drawbacks. It allowed inertia to have full play on the crew and ship.

 

During the first test, the recording instruments lasted 4 tenths of a second before they succumbed, the test ship, however survived to coast to a stop when the drive field went down.

 

The crew however, did not. In the time between activation, and the destruction of the gravimetric recorders, the ship was submitted to 400 gravities, 395.2KPS. Under that pressure, the crew had become something reminiscent of strawberry jam.

 

They tried moderating the system, but to no avail. Putting it in a manned spacecraft would have been like putting a Saturn 5 rocket engine in a kayak. The plans were shelved. The entire project was labeled so secret, that an Act of God would have been necessary to read the files.

 

In 2029, NASA was shocked when the deep space probe Pegasus suddenly vanished in the middle of a transmission. The unmanned craft had been approximately 10 billion kilometers from Earth, in the region where it was still believed that another more massive planet was located. The probe had recorded one brief surge of gravimetric forces, and then disappeared.

 

They were still working on the telemetry, trying to come up with an answer when an intern on loan from MIT suggested what could have happened.

 

David Yoshimitsu had been a childhood prodigy in mathematics and music. At seventeen, he had entered MIT; primarily because it was located close enough that he could also play piano at the Boston Philharmonic. He suggested that the destruction was not by an alien force, or as the more religious might have thought, by God’s will, but by a natural force as yet not understood. Something that created gravity like a planet but wasn’t one.

 

At 20, Yoshimitsu was put in charge of the organization of a probe to discover what had happened. In doing so, the secret of the Impulse drive was revealed to him.

 

A week later, he revealed the answer.

 

An inertial dampener.

 

Everyone thought he was insane. Inertia was a force, like light pressure from the sun, or gravity. It couldn’t be thrown like a criminal into a locked cell. But a year later when the first American aircraft took off with the prototype, and proceeded to do turns that only UFOS had been able to do before, they became believers.

 

Less than two years after the destruction of Pegasus, the ship Daedelus left Earth orbit, with a ten man crew, powered by the Impulse drive, and using the first inertial compensator. The trip beyond the heliopause took days instead of the five years it had taken Pegasus to reach the same distance.

 

Since his insight was needed to help, Yoshimitsu went as well, despite his agoraphobia. When they arrived, he collated the information, and suggested something no one would have.

 

They modulated the drive field as if it were a piano, running up the scale from the lowest key, to the highest.

 

At the A above High C, Daedelus was suddenly in another star system.

 

The road to space had been opened.

 

The largest problem with astrogation thanks to the Termini was that while they ran in lines, the positioning of a terminus in relation to it’s star had nothing to do with the direction it traveled from there. As an example, leaving Earth and traveling seven jumps totaling 370 light years linear distance debouched in the Alpha Centauri system 4.3 light years from Earth.

 

Ranges were easier. By 30 BY, they had proven that a usable terminal pair, or tramline, was always a minimum of 74.85 light years apart, and no farther away than 149.99. The distance between was easy enough to determine because like Yoshimitsu’s beloved music, the longer the string, the deeper the tone, and, oddly enough, the capacity. The deeper the tone, the smaller the ship that could traverse it safely.

 

One tramline from New Albion had the record for size, being large enough for a probe, and nothing else.

 

Yoshimitsu wasn’t allowed to rest on his laurels. Other problems occurred. In 2048, five ships of the newly designed Mayflower class corvette were running at .1002C together before leaving for the first System discovered when USS Pinta suddenly disappeared. The other four ships immediately halted, and began SAR, but no trace of the ship was found. After a month of frantic testing, modeling, and theories, someone finally asked Yoshimitsu.

 

His theory about wormhole mechanics was patterned after the one’s of Stephen Hawking half a century earlier. When a mass reached a speed above a certain point, it literally tunneled out of normal space, into something else, sub-space, hyperspace, whatever you wished to call it. He likened it to setting a needle on your arm, point first, and pushing it along your arm with your finger. At a certain speed, the skin doesn’t move out of the way fast enough, and the point digs in, driving the needle into flesh. Below that speed, the flesh (Or in this case, the universe) bulged around the ship, and the bulge moved with it.

 

He worked out the mathematics of his theory, and also discovered that the greater a ship’s mass, the more likely it would tunnel or hit the wall. For the ships of the Mayflower class, that limit was .1002C.

 

But why only one ship? This time wet navy designers had the answer. No two ships of exactly the same class had the same top speed. Something as much as a weld turned just the wrong (or right) way could knock off as much as a tenth of a knot. Pinta in other words, had been built with that single fatal flaw the other ships did not have.

 

So when larger ships were built, tests were run using his formulas, and even 300 years after his death, they still determined the top speed of ships.

 

Finally in 2069, Yoshimitsu went home, gave up mathematics, and vowed to never go into space again, a vow he kept until his dying day. Instead, he wrote music.

 

Lots of music. By 2095 when he died, he had created several thousand musical pieces. But even a planet that looked on him as a savior couldn’t stand to listen to it.

 

It wasn’t until the first Rex war that some of the atonal melodies of Yoshimitsu were run through a computer, and it was discovered that Yoshimitsu had been so terrified of the implications of his work, that he could think of nothing else. His music had been his notes, like Leonardo Da Vinci’s backward writing, or Nostradamus’ riddles, to conceal what he foresaw from the rest of humanity. He foresaw every weapon that was used in modern combat, most of them almost 300 years before they went into battle.

 

But the Human race got even with him. In 2099, they declared that a new dating system would be used beyond Earth, one meant for the people now living on 35 planets.

 

So in the record books, 2099 became 0 A.Y., or After Yoshimitsu, with 2100 now being 1 A.Y.

 

Just to show that the human race as a whole, can’t take a joke.

[machievelli]

Retreat

 

 

"There are three ways is which a ruler can bring

misfortune upon his army;

 

When ignorant that an army should not advance,

to order an advance, or ignorant that it should not

retire; to order retirement, this is described as

'hobbling the army'."

 

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

In stately array, the Battlecruisers of Battlegroup 7 entered Britomart. As the huge ships moved into formation, the Dreadnoughts followed by the cruisers and destroyers came through unopposed.

 

Long-range sensors had detected drives all over the system, especially around the planet itself. A few, corvettes from the look, were running for the Terminus for Lancelot. Whether Britomart submitted or not, things had just gotten that much more difficult.

 

As the Battlegroup closed, the ships that remained were all running back toward the planet. Runningfox, on the Flag bridge of Pinotubo, recorded the opposing forces automatically.

 

Half a dozen Corvettes, mainly locally made copies of the ancient Athabaskan class.

 

Four frigates, again locally made, antique Pathfinder class.

 

The Frontier Fleet light Cruiser Rhiannon, an old Atropos class.

 

The three old OBS2s of Britomart Skywatch, headquarters as well of Frontier Fleet / Britomart. Fifty older Harrier class fighters with a smattering of weapons. They must have stripped every museum on the planet for those.

 

Two dozen merchantmen, armed with whatever could be installed before the Battlegroup had arrived. Not much, but probably all they could scrape together. Enough to get a few hundred brave fools killed along with the professionals.

 

The cruiser had been waiting near the Terminus, retreating as the first ships arrived. Now, as the Battlegroup approached the planet, Runningfox was wondering. Was the planet itself in open rebellion? Or had these ships just decided that this choke point was more important? He couldn't tell from the formation, since if the system was loyal, they'd have to cover it as well. On the other hand, considering the ships they had to defend the system, a mobile defense would just make it a slower form of suicide.

 

"Sir, signal from Rhiannon."

 

"Delay?"

 

"About 40 seconds right now."

 

Runningfox motioned, and a man appeared on his screen. The officer, in what appeared to be an exactly tailored TAN uniform with a brilliant blue cape glared out at him. "I am Claude Duval, Baron De Lancy, Admiral of the fleet of the Free system of Britomart. Your presence in our system is unwelcome, and I am asking just once for you to leave. If you do not, my forces will be thrown at your throat."

 

"Brave or stupid." Voorhees commented.

 

"Let's hope he's not stupid, Rutger. If he won't listen to reason, this situation will get out of hand very quickly.

 

 

"Comm, send. This is Rear Admiral Runningfox, TAN, commanding Battlegroup 7. I do not know who you are, Baron De Lancy, or whether you speak for just yourself, or Britomart. In either case, neither you nor your planet has the right to forswear your allegiance to the Alliance. Nor does your planet have the right to appoint fleet officers.

 

"You are in open rebellion against the Alliance, in possession of vessels that belong to the TAN, which can be defined as piracy, and are therefore also in violation of the law. If you persist in this, I will be forced to treat you as criminals, and use the force at my command to subdue you.

 

"Look at the force you stand against. Think before events move beyond our control, and men die. Runningfox out."

 

When communications is limited to light speed, any dialogue can be frustrating. Even with the Battlegroup closing at 7 hundredths of light speed, the delay doesn't shrink that fast. At least the time needed gave everyone a chance to think before they spoke.

 

As they approached, the spread fabric of the Britomart squadron coalesced backwards, becoming more solid as the ships moved toward the planet. More ominously, there was nothing from the planet. Not even a civilian station.

 

77 seconds later, De Lancy replied. "Admiral, my orders are clear. If you approach within seven light minutes of the planet, I will be forced to attack." He closed his eyes, and suddenly Runningfox knew that he was visualizing the result. The force under Runningfox's command could smash the Britomart squadron without even slowing down. Hell, maybe without even being touched. De Lancy knew it as well as he did.

 

But when his eyes opened, they were bright with patriotic fervor. "We may not win, mon brave, but we will not die badly if we die facing the enemy of our people!"

 

Runningfox sighed. Range to the planet?"

 

"Eighteen light minutes, sir."

 

"Any communication directly from the planet?"

 

"No, sir. But the Local secure channels sent alerts to ground forces. They appear to be in rebellion as well."

 

"Send. Sir, I will not begin this fight. But be assured that I shall finish it if you do attack. The first ship that fires on mine will die, that I promise you.

 

"However I understand your grievances, and the need you feel for resistance. I am from Dineh myself, and I wish to the Great Spirit I was there, without this choice. Please understand I do not wish to attack either you or the planet. If you surrender now, I can promise leniency in your treatment by me. I will not arrest your government and peers. I will not disarm your militia; I will allow all captains of vessels in your system to retain their commands until otherwise ordered by Fleet Central or the Assembly.

 

"Movement will not be restricted, nor will the rights of your people to peaceful assembly be restricted. Runningfox out."

 

Seventy seconds passed. De Lancy looked composed, but determined.

 

"Admiral, you are an honorable man. I wish we could have met in time of peace, for I feel you and I would have been grand friends. However, I will meet you in battle on this field, for we can see no other way. The Assembly, the lickspittles of the Batards of the Planetary Corporations will no longer dictate to us! If you are to command here, you must destroy me, and these brave few in space. You must land your murdering marines and take us in our homes on the ground! Even then, we will fight on until we all lie dead, for death is better than slavery! The Assembly will get back either a dead planet, or nothing!" His face grew sad.

 

"One of my men has found your file, Admiral. In the words of your own people, it is a good day to die."

 

"Sir, transits from the Tucson Terminus."

 

"Identify."

 

"TANS Guadalcanal and Ypres, destroyers Burke, Alexander, Knox, Moseby, and Petain. Cruisers Charles, Yangtzee, and Tenryu."

 

"Sir, message to Flag from Officer Commanding MLF 8."

 

"On my screen." The face that appeared was cold and thin as a razor. The accent was pure New Athens.

 

"This is Commodore Papadakis, commanding Marine Landing Force 8. Additional orders forthcoming."

 

"Sir, encoded signal being sent, Fleet code 7."

 

Runningfox felt cold. "Captain Robiton, do we have a listing of codes in use by Frontier fleet?"

 

Robiton knew what he was being asked. "Yes, sir. Fleet 7 is among them."

 

Did whoever sent these orders think of that? He thought. Without an additional permutation, something added to the code that Frontier Fleet didn’t have, but he had to have, the people he was facing would read it just as surely as he did. Only 11 seconds later, on this parallax.

 

Or maybe, he felt a chill; Papadakis was acting under orders to force an engagement. There could be no other reason for such blatant stupidity. Whatever that message was, it was meant to so enflame the people of Britomart that no calming voice would put the genie of war back in the bottle.

 

"Signal all ships to stop in place. Prepare to be attacked. My ROEs remain in effect"

 

"Sir." The communications officer was ashen. He walked over, and placed the pad directly in Runningfox's hand.

 

TO; ALL TAN COMMANDS

 

FROM; CINCTANF WILDERBECK

PURSUANT TO, ASSEMBLY BILL 1184, THE ASSEMBLY TREASON ACT, ALL PERSONS AND PLANETS IN OPEN REBELLION HAVE BEEN DECLARED TRAITORS. UNLESS THEY SUBMIT IMMEDIATELY TO ASSEMBLY AUTHORITY, YOU ARE TO SUPPRESS ANY REBELLIOUS FORCES WITH ALL WEAPONS AT YOUR COMMAND.

 

ONCE IN CONTROL OF THE SYSTEMS, YOU WILL DECLARE MARTIAL LAW, ARREST ALL KNOWN AND SUSPECTED REBEL LEADERS, USE WHATEVER MEANS NECESSARY TO PROVE THEIR GUILT, THEN TRY THEM BEFORE COURTS MARTIAL.

 

ALL ARRESTS, INTERROGATIONS, TRIALS AND VERDICTS ARE APPROVED WITHOUT NEED FOR RECOURSE TO ALLIANCE CIVIL OR CRIMINAL COURTS FOR APPEAL. ALL SENTENCES TO BE CARRIED OUT SUMMARILY.

 

CINCTANF WILDERBECK

BY DIRECTION; ALLIANCE ATTORNEY GENERAL SIMON BRUNNER.

 

Runningfox closed his eyes. What was it David had said, Judge Lynch and the drumhead? They had arrived right on time. If these had been delivered before they had entered Britomart, nothing he had said would have kept his people together. He could see just where this was heading.

 

With these orders, the Assembly, and the Planetary Corporations hoped to not only gut the rebellion, but to crush even the thought of rebellion for god alone knew how long. If he followed them, the nuclear fires he had envisioned were not only possible but a reality merely awaiting his orders.

 

And thanks to either bungling or criminal intent, the people he faced knew that.

 

Less than 12 seconds later, it happened. "Sir, targeting systems coming up from Rhiannon. The frigates and Corvettes are moving into attack formations."

 

So it begins. He could feel the eyes of his staff, of the ratings awaiting his orders. With one word, he could slaughter them all.

 

He decided. "Communications, to all vessels in system, message in clear. This is Admiral Runningfox. All ships of Battlegroup 7 are to form on flagship, set course for Tucson Terminus.

 

"All previous order issued by me stand. Under no circumstances are you to initiate hostilities. However, you may fire if fired upon.

 

"To, Commodore Papadakis, Commanding Marine Landing Force 8. Send in clear. You will immediately reverse course, and transit away from Britomart.

 

"Any attempt to bypass my Battlegroup, to approach Britomart, to open fire on any vessel at present in Britomart system, or to carry out this insanity ordered by the Assembly will be met by lethal force. Message ends."

 

The fleet turned, moving away.

 

"Sir, communication from Commodore Papadakis."

 

"On screen."

 

The razor faced man was furious." "Admiral-"

 

"Commodore, you have a choice." Runningfox ruthlessly cut him off. "You will turn away now, or you die. Make your choice."

 

The approaching formation changed. "To all ships of BG7, in clear. If any ship of MLF 8 attempts to attacks this task force, bypass this task Force, or attempts to engage any force in this system, you will respond with all force necessary to contain it. Targeting systems are free when MLF 8 is forty light seconds from our ships."

 

Marine landing force 8 paused as they met the advancing BG 7, the cruisers in the lead. But those ships turned with alacrity as weapons systems locked on to them from the Dreadnoughts.

 

Ten hour later, the Battlegroup and their captive charges made transit, with Nike five transits away via Tucson.

 

* * * * *

 

Tucson glowed ahead as Battlegroup 7 approached. Runningfox sent the report of his actions, then turned to Captain Robiton. "Danny, you know what they'll say as well as I do. I place myself under arrest. Please call the Marines."

 

Robiton stiffened, then looked to the Marine stationed on the Bridge, like the side arms worn by every senior rating and officer, another holdover from the first Rex war. "Sergeant, disarm, and place the Admiral under arrest in his quarters."

 

He turned back to the viewscreen as Tucson loomed closer. "You have your pound of flesh, you bastards. I hope you choke on it."

 

 

 

Court Martial

 

"Don't worry about your beard if your head is

about to be taken."

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War.'

 

The officers stood at attention as the Court Martial panel entered. There were nine Admirals, Rear Admirals Stanton, Noguchi, Blankenship, and Walderberg, Vice Admirals Hogan, Rupert, Redmond, and Phelps, and Admiral Prinsloo, Commander Tucson Sector. A normal board would have been only three admirals. But these were not normal times. With the passage of the treason act, every admiral in Tombstone was scrambling to prove their political reliability. Also, such a court martial had never been convened in living memory.

 

Prinsloo tapped the ship's bell twice sharply, then again twice sharply, in the manner of centuries of timekeepers aboard naval vessel, and said, "This court martial is now in session. Are the accused officers represented by legal counsel?"

 

The Judge Advocate General's office Counselor, Lieutenant Commander Grant stood. "Your Honor, the accused command officers of BG 7 are so represented."

 

"So noted." He lifted the data pad. "This tribunal has been assembled pursuant to the procedures and regulations laid down in the Articles of War and the Manual for Courts Martial at the order of Admiral Mikal Prinsloo, acting with the special powers given by the Assembly treason act to consider certain charges and specifications laid against the Captains of Battlegroup 7, list herein appended, the Staff officers of the Commodores and Admiral present, list herein appended, and against Commodore Meryl Blandsley, Commodore Eric Von Wirth, and Rear Admiral Martin Runningfox. The accused officers will stand."

 

There was a rumble as over fifty men and women stood.

 

"Gentleman and ladies, you all stand accused before this court upon the following specifications;

 

"Specification the first, that on or about Thursday, the 18th day of the third month, in the year 349 A.Y., while acting as Staff, Captains, Commodores, and Admiral Commanding Battle group 7, you did violate the Twenty-sixth Article of War in that jointly and separately, you all refused lawful orders of the Supreme Force Commander to subdue rebellion in the Britomart system. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency.

 

"Specification the second, that you did violate the Twenty-third Article of War in that jointly and separately, you quit the Britomart System against specific orders to the contrary. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency.

 

"Specification the third that you did jointly and separately threaten loyal ships of the Alliance with destruction if they attempted to carry out these same orders. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency.

 

"Specification the Fourth, that you did violate the eleventh Article of War in that jointly and separately, your actions did constitute giving Aid and Comfort to the enemies of the Alliance. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency.

 

"Specification the fifth, that the actions alleged in the third specification constitutes Conduct Unbecoming of an Officer of the Alliance Navy under the Fourth, Fifteenth, and Nineteenth Articles of War.

 

"Specification the sixth, that the actions alleged in the first, second, and fourth specifications constitute desertion in the face of the enemy as defined under the Fourteenth, Fifteenth, and Nineteenth Articles of War, and as such, an act of High Treason under the Articles of War, and the Constitution of the Terran Alliance.

 

"Officers of Battlegroup 7, you have heard the charges. How do you plead?"

 

Commander Grant swallowed. "Sir, the officers of BG 7 plead no contest."

 

The courtroom buzzed with this shocking news. A rear admiral, 2 commodores, their staff officers, and 30 Captains accused of treason refused to contest it?

 

"Silence!" For a man almost 120 years old, Prinsloo hadn't lost his quarter-deck voice. He glared at the fifty-one men and women sitting there silently. Then he turned the glare on the JAG officer. "None of these people want to contest treason?"

 

The young officer looked helplessly at the rows of silent men. One man stood, going to his side, and gently nudged the young man aside.

 

"If it please the court, I would like to make a statement."

 

"Sit down, traitor!" Admiral Noguchi roared.

 

"No, Admiral." Prinsloo waved his fellow court member back down. "Admiral Runningfox, make your statement."

 

Runningfox looked at the nine officers impaneled. With the exception of Prinsloo, a Terran, and Walderberg, from New Uganda, all were Corporate Citizens. He didn't expect justice, not from this court, or under these circumstances. All he could hope for was vindication when the records became history.

 

"Gentlemen, I gave the orders that these men followed. I did what I felt was right not only as a member of the fleet, but also as a Human being. I did disobey these orders. As for the other defendants, their crime in this court is obeying the orders of their lawful superior.

 

"In my opinion, the orders I received from the Supreme Force Commander were unconscionable.

 

"When I received the orders concerning the Assembly's view of treason, I felt them worse than that, I considered them patently illegal. Therefore, in keeping with my oath and conscience, I refused to obey them.

 

"At no time did my men or myself commit an act of treason-"

 

"What!" Noguchi leaped to his feet. His homeworld of Mitsubishi was as rabidly Corporate as Lloyd, Grumman, or Fiat. "Are you saying that disobedience isn't a crime?"

 

"Sir, there is no legal reason to obey an illegal order."

 

Noguchi glared at him. "Were you in command of Battlegroup 7?"

 

"I was."

 

"And were you ordered into the Britomart system, with instructions to suppress the Rebellion by any means necessary?"

 

"I was."

 

"And, on or about 18 March, 349 A.Y., did you turn and cowardly refuse to do battle with a vastly inferior force?"

 

"No, sir."

 

"Then explain!"

 

"The force you mention was made up of merchantmen, antique fighters, Corvettes of TAN Customs command, Frigates of TAN Peace Force Command, Commanded by a TAN Frontier Fleet Cruiser, supported by both Britomart Frontier Fleet Base, and Britomart Skywatch."

 

"Are you saying that you couldn't have beaten this obviously scratch force with- " he looked at the pad before him, "Eight Dreadnoughts, 8 battlecruisers, 4 heavy cruisers, three light cruisers, and ten destroyers?"

 

Runningfox visualized crushed ships, dying men. "We could have slaughtered them easily, sir." "Then why didn't you follow your orders?"

 

"They were our own people, sir."

 

"They were the enemy!"

 

"They were human-"

 

"They were rebel scum!"

 

"I felt the orders to be illegal, and refused them."

 

"You did more than that! You threatened Commodore Papadakis and his entire command with destruction when they tried to carry out those orders!"

 

"Sir, without the support of my units, which I had no intention of giving, Commodore Papadakis would have been seriously hampered in the performance of those orders, assuming his own men didn't mutiny. Also, since I felt the orders to be illegal, I could not in good conscience allow a junior officer to carry them out."

 

"So you threatened those loyal men with death?"

 

"Sir, as the court will note, none of the officers of MLF 8 at present stand accused before this court."

 

"They obeyed under your guns, traitor."

 

"Once we were out of Britomart, I proceeded back to Tucson, where I placed myself under arrest-"

 

"Lies! You were ordered to surrender yourself, and this time you were under our guns!"

 

"Sir, with all due respect, except for the twelve OBS4s of the Manfield Line, all of which would have been hard pressed to support the planet after we had transited beyond their missile range, the entire force in Tucson when we arrived was a squadron of heavy cruisers, a squadron of light cruisers, supported by two flotillas of destroyers. I respectfully submit, sir, that if I had been the traitor you think me, I could have dealt with the entire force just as handily as the one you think I should have killed."

 

"Don't bandy technicalities! I submit, Runningfox that this war started for you when you disobeyed the orders of you're lawful superiors! We're fighting a war against men that decided where they're loyalties lay, instead of doing what they were told! You lost the war the instant you did that!"

 

Runningfox looked at the pudgy Mitsubishiian calmly. "Then I have achieved no greater victory."

 

Prinsloo rang the court to silence. "Admiral, do you understand that the fleet is under the Assemble Treason act of December 20th, 348 A.Y. as well?"

 

"I do, sir."

 

"Do you also understand that your action of 18 March are considered, treasonous under that act, and this court has no choice but to order summary execution for these charges?"

 

Runningfox looked into those eyes. He'd served with Prinsloo under Admiral Li during the Calimari war. He would hate it. But he would obey those orders to the letter. "Yes, sir. I do."

 

"And do the rest of you understand that?" Prinsloo asked softly. The men seated behind Runningfox were silent.

 

"Then you leave us no alternative. It is the duty of this court to pass sentence. Some of you, the commanding officers of Destroyers and cruisers, can at this time plead duress. Do any of you so plead?"

 

Runningfox turned to his men and women. All but 9 were Outworlders that was a fact. But even the Corporate Citizens and First Worlders had obeyed his orders.

 

None moved.

 

Prinsloo looked at the solemn faces. "Then this court is in recess." He tapped the bell, and the court stood, moving in single file through the door behind their table.

 

"Bloody Nerks." Runningfox looked down the row at David O’Meara. The junior captain looked disgusted.

 

"David, shut up."

 

"What can they do, sir? Execute me?" The others laughed at the bland comment. Runningfox had never been much of a disciplinarian, but his ship, and his Battlegroup had been tight. O’Meara had been a prophet. When officers in other fleet ships and Battlegroups tried to obey the orders, carnage had ensued. Other Battlegroups had been gutted by mutiny. Some had joined the rebellion; others were destroyed because they were trapped, loyal among rebels, rebels among the loyal. Too many ships were destroyed; too many Fleet officers were dead, killing each other like rabid Creepers. According to one report, a rebel Cruiser Squadron had nuked the yards at Grumman, but that was as yet unconfirmed.

 

But not among Battlegroup 7. His men had followed him back. Probably to their deaths. Fully 8000 officers and crew from his ships and others had been 'sequestered' because of this damn war. Outworlders all. The ships he had brought back were in orbit literally depopulated; over half of each ship's crew had been Outworlders. New 'loyal' crews had taken over, working them up to defend Tucson. Thanks to the fleet's structure, barely a third were even close to operational.

 

Admiral Steinbrenner had grabbed one of the battlecruisers, two of the light cruisers, and all of the destroyers regardless for the Battlegroup that was bound for Gospodin. At last report, they were overdue, believed destroyed.

 

The door behind the table opened, and the Admirals of the court reentered. Runningfox noticed glares from the officers, with the exception of Prinsloo and Walderberg.

 

Once the court was in session, Prinsloo held up a pad. "It is entered into the court record at this time that the Treason Act has been repealed as of February 9, 349 A.Y. The message drone with this information arrived one hour ago before we began deliberations while this would, under normal circumstances be a boon for the accused, they should remember that four of the six specifications issued are still capital crimes. This means that all so convicted must wait until the CNO, Supreme Force Commander, Defense Minister, and Prime Minister rules before the sentence is executed.

 

"All defendants will stand and face the court at this time." The 51 men and women charged stood.

 

Prinsloo took a deep breath. "All Staff officers. On the First Specification, that you did violate the Twenty-sixth Article of War in that jointly and separately, you all refused lawful orders of the Supreme Force Commander to subdue rebellion in the Britomart system. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you not guilty.

 

"Of the Second Specification, that you did violate the Twenty-third Article of War in that jointly and separately, you quit the Britomart System against specific orders to the contrary. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the Third Specification, that you did jointly and separately threaten loyal ships of the Alliance with destruction if they attempted to carry out these same orders. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you not guilty.

 

"Of the Fourth Specification, that you did violate the eleventh Article of War in that jointly and separately, your actions did constitute giving Aid and Comfort to the enemies of the Alliance. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

Of the Fifth Specification, that the actions alleged in the third specification constitutes Conduct Unbecoming of an Officer of the Alliance Navy under the Fourth, Fifteenth, and Nineteenth Article of War, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the sixth Specification, that the actions alleged in the first, second, and fourth specifications constitute desertion in the face of the enemy as defined under the Fourteenth, Fifteenth, and Nineteenth Articles of War, and as such, an act of High Treason under the Articles of War, and the Constitution of the Terran Alliance, by majority vote, the court has found you not guilty.

 

"Your sentence is that you be dishonorably discharged from Fleet service, and that you be remanded to custody in the Internment camp on Nike, there to await the justice that will be meted out when the rebellion is quelled.

 

"All officers commanding cruisers and destroyers, in this action concerning the first specification, you did violate the Twenty-sixth Article of War in that jointly and separately, you all refused lawful orders of the Supreme Force Commander to subdue rebellion in the Britomart system. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the Second Specification, that you did violate the Twenty-third Article of War in that jointly and separately, you quit the Britomart System against specific orders to the contrary. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you not guilty.

 

"Of the third specification, that you did jointly and separately threaten loyal ships of the Alliance with destruction if they attempted to carry out these same orders. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the fourth Specification, that you did violate the eleventh Article of War in that jointly and separately, your actions did constitute giving Aid and Comfort to the enemies of the Alliance. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the fifth Specification, that the actions alleged in the third specification constitutes Conduct Unbecoming of an Officer of the Alliance Navy under the Fourth, Fifteenth, and Nineteenth Article of War. by majority vote, the court has found you guilty in that your actions are considered Conduct Unbecoming of an Officer of the Terran Alliance.

 

"Of the sixth Specification, that the actions alleged in the first, second, and fourth specifications constitute desertion in the face of the enemy as defined under the Fourteenth, Fifteenth, and Nineteenth Articles of War, and as such, an act of High Treason under the Articles of War, and the Constitution of the Terran Alliance, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Your sentences are that you will be placed in the custody of the internment camp on Nike, there to await review of your sentence of death."

 

"When the sentence has been approved, you will be taken to a lawful place of execution, where sentence will be carried out."

 

"All officers commanding Battlecruisers and Dreadnoughts, in this action concerning the first specification, that you did violate the Twenty-sixth Article of War in that jointly and separately, you all refused lawful orders of the Supreme Force Commander to subdue rebellion in the Britomart system. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you not guilty.

 

"Of the Second Specification , that you did violate the Twenty-third Article of War in that jointly and separately, you quit the Britomart System against specific orders to the contrary, the Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the third specification, that you did jointly and separately threaten loyal ships of the Alliance with destruction if they attempted to carry out these same orders. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the fourth Specification, that you did violate the eleventh Article of War in that jointly and separately, your actions did constitute giving Aid and Comfort to the enemies of the Alliance. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the fifth Specification, that the actions alleged in the third specification constitutes Conduct Unbecoming of an Officer of the Alliance Navy under the Fourth, Fifteenth, and Nineteenth Article of War, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the sixth Specification, that the actions alleged in the first, second, and fourth specifications constitute desertion in the face of the enemy as defined under the Fourteenth, Fifteenth, and Nineteenth Articles of War, and as such, an act of High Treason under the Articles of War, and the Constitution of the Terran Alliance, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Your sentences are that you will be placed in the custody of the internment camp on Nike, there to await review of your sentence of death."

 

"When the sentence has been approved, you will be taken to a lawful place of execution, where that sentence will be carried out.

 

"Rear Admiral Runningfox, Commodores Von Wirth and Blandsley, in this action concerning the first specification, that you did violate the Twenty-sixth Article of War in that jointly and separately, you all refused lawful orders of the Supreme Force Commander to subdue rebellion in the Britomart system. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the Second Specification , that you did violate the Twenty-third Article of War in that jointly and separately, you quit the Britomart System against specific orders to the contrary. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the third specification, that you did jointly and separately threaten loyal ships of the Alliance with destruction if they attempted to carry out these same orders. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

Of the fourth Specification, that you did violate the eleventh Article of War in that jointly and separately, your actions did constitute giving Aid and Comfort to the enemies of the Alliance. The Alliance at that time under a state of emergency, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the fifth Specification, that the actions alleged in the third specification constitutes Conduct Unbecoming of an Officer of the Alliance Navy under the Fourth, Fifteenth, and Nineteenth Article of War, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Of the sixth Specification, that the actions alleged in the first, second, and fourth specifications constitute desertion in the face of the enemy as defined under the Fourteenth, Fifteenth, and Nineteenth Articles of War, and as such, an act of High Treason under the Articles of War, and the Constitution of the Terran Alliance, by majority vote, the court has found you guilty.

 

"Your sentences are that you will be placed in the custody of the internment camp on Nike, there to await review of your sentence of death."

 

"When the sentence is approved, you will be taken to a lawful place of execution, where that sentence will be carried out.

 

"This court stands adjourned."

[machievelli]

Intercession

 

"Therefore, a skilled commander seeks victory

from the situation, and does not demand it from

his subordinates"

 

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War.'

 

Michael De La Hoya was tired. Less than five months as Prime Minister, and already he felt as if beaten with a club. He had gotten the hot seat for only one reason. When the Reapportionment had been brought forward, he had fought it, through the impeachment proceeding, through the passage of the bill, and through the chaos that followed. His cabinet, a Rube Goldberg contraption of factions was finally moving, if not smoothly, at least in approximately the right direction, even if he had been blindsided by the Maxwell-Hayes expropriation act last month. He felt like he'd been through that test it was rumored was given to aspiring command officers at the Fleet Academy.

 

You take some gung-ho young officer new to command school, a lieutenant say.

Fill his head with how important teamwork is.

 

Then you put him in a simulator, where he's in 'command’ of a dozen of the worst bloody-minded individuals you can find. People who will do everything exactly as told. Who will not show a lick of initiative.

 

People who when so ordered, would then turn around, and find their own way to do anything and everything, and argue about the placement of commas and periods, for god sakes!

 

Record the destruction of the poor innocent, which usually wouldn't take more than a few days.

 

For a moment, De La Hoya wondered if somewhere a group of scientists were avidly recording his demise. The file on his desk was just one more, what was that old quote from a comedy from the 1970s, what was the name? Oh, yes, The Black Adder. 'The road of my life is strewn with the cowpats of the devil's own satanic herd'.

 

He read it again then touched his intercom.

 

"Heinz, please call Supreme Force Commander Wilderbeck, and ask him to come by."

 

"He's already on the way over, sir. He's bringing over the mothball fleet projections."

 

"Oh, joy." De La Hoya set aside the file, and went to the next. He'd finished three more when the Supreme Force Commander was ushered in.

 

"Sir, I've-"

 

"I know, the Mothball fleet projections. Let's table that for a moment. I want to know about this." He pushed the Runningfox file across. Wilderbeck noted the name, and shrugged.

 

"Standard court martial brief, sir."

 

"Since when is 30 Captains, two Commodores, and a Rear Admiral being ordered executed from one fleet action standard?" De La Hoya sighed. Nothing right now could be standard. "Why is it on my desk?"

 

"Because according to Fleet Regulations, and the Alliance Supreme Court, the Fleet is not allowed to execute a sentence of death unless the findings of the court are first reviewed by the Admiral commanding the sector, the Chief of Naval Operations, the Supreme Force Commander, the Defense Minister, and the Prime Minister.

 

"It is an appeal process similar to what is used in the Alliance Criminal courts."

 

"So this is going to be on my desk twice?" De La Hoya had combined the offices of Secretary of War and President when he took office.

 

"Technically, yes, sir."

 

"And I can assume that since it is on my desk now, that you, Chief of Naval Operations Danials, and what is his name? Prinsloo? All agree that they should be executed?"

 

Wilderbeck sighed. De La Hoya might be that rarest of oxymorons, a good politician, or at least one trying to do what was right. But he didn't know anything about how a military chain of command. About how the politicians gave you impossible orders (The damn treason act being a good example) or flooded bases trying to gear up for a war with 'fact finding' missions that were thinly disguised witch hunts. How officers were being forced to react sharply and ruthlessly just to save their own lives and careers. Or, how important it was to back your subordinates.

 

"Sir, it was pure chance that the Assembly Treason Act was repealed in time for this. If the sentence had been passed three hours earlier, you wouldn't have even heard about them. They would have been dead. As it is, the fact that they are still alive has caused problems."

 

"Not surprising." De La Hoya commented dryly. "You take more than two score men and women, and destroy their careers, primarily in most of their cases, because they obeyed the orders of those we placed over them, then use it as a meter stick to confirm loyalty." Wilderbeck flushed at the rebuke.

 

"Sir, even the most rabid Fleet officer isn't as bad as Maxwell's goons."

 

De La Hoya sighed. Conner Maxwell had been Chief of the Justice department until a month before. On his own authority, under pressure from the Planetary Corporations he had sent out ‘monitors’ to judge when commanding officers were not showing the ‘proper alacrity’ when orders were received. Fifty officers of Commodore rank or higher had been cashiered on their orders

 

The fact that it had also crippled the chances of a quick offensive at the same time had been reason enough for Maxell to face a firing squad for malfeasance in time of war. "I know about the witch hunts. I've passed orders that the 'loyalty teams' sent out by the Assembly are to return home, all of them. ONI will investigate any officers under suspicion from this point on without the Gestapo tactics. I've instructed them that you have final say in all dispositions, with the information going through you, not Maxwell's inquisitors. All information to be sealed at your discretion. That will ease some of your burden, Supreme Force Commander." He toyed with the file pad. "Tell me, this Runningfox, is he a good officer?"

 

"A maverick. Doesn't lean on discipline, but other than that, I would have judged him to be an excellent officer."

 

De La Hoya leaned across, taking the file. "Then this will be easy." He snagged the file, and touched the Dictaphone. "Concerning the sentences of death leveled against the officers," he gave the file number, "As of 17 December, 349 A.Y., the execution of these men is hereby rescinded. All officers to draw official reprimands, and to be dropped to the bottom of their respective promotion lists. The three senior officers, Rear Admiral Runningfox, Commodores Blandsley and Von Wirth, are to be reduced in rank one step, and all others charges, sentences, etc, are rescinded. Fill in the usual claptrap after that, Heinz." He flicked the file across the table into Wilderbeck’s lap.

 

"Find a post for these men, Supreme Force Commander. They refused to kill other humans, which make them better men than half of the fleet we have left. Runningfox brought back the only intact Battle Group from the 'suppression missions', or was I the only one that noticed that? That means he's an officer that considered every option, no matter how distasteful Maxwell's Goons might consider them.

 

"According to that file, twenty of those ships were almost completely officered and crewed by Outworlders, yet he brought them all back. That means his men respected his orders and followed them without question, even," he pointed at the pad, "to the death.

 

"I will not order a man executed because he voted his conscience in a crisis. Nor will I allow the execution of men who had a choice between obedience of their direct superior or the Assembly, and chose that man."

 

He sat. "Now, about the mothball fleets..."

 

Exile

 

"Be ready to adapt to changing situations."

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War.'

 

The Guard entered the Solitary confinement building, paced down to a cell, and opened the door. Martin Runningfox looked up from the pad where he was trying to plot what they had been told about the war. The Outworlds (Or the Union as they called themselves now) was marked in amber. The Rex (Still neutral in this family war) in red. The Alliance in green. To the experienced eye, it looked like hell out there. To the inexperienced, looking for the first time at what an astronavigator would call a 'straight' line, it looked like an opium den nightmare.

 

The human race was tearing itself to pieces, as a list of systems taken or lost, and ships known to be destroyed showed. Friends, compatriots, classmates stared angrily at each other as if it were Calimari or Creepers they were facing

 

And on the sidelines, the Lanti and Rex watched, probably amused at the sight. The Dru would, of course, be horrified.

 

"Sir, CINC Nike has sent for you."

 

"Thank you." Runningfox set the pad down and stood. The last year had not been good to him. He'd felt pain, not his own at first, but at the way his men had been treated. His loss of his command, then the conditions of the camp. Finally he had felt physical pain as well.

 

The men under his command, approximately 8,000 had been joined by 3,000 more ‘unreliables’, and shoehorned into two transports. With no room to even move, let alone lie down, the entrances to the holds sealed and guarded, they had made the two day transit to Nike. Because of over crowding, no food, no sanitation, and little water, only 10,000 had arrived alive. Before long, even more people were jammed into the interment camp along with them.

 

In space warfare, there are usually few survivors. A battlecruiser as an example has an average crew of 950, and a Dreadnought almost three times that. Every effort is made to assure their survival, but battle doesn't allow for much.

 

When you take into account explosive decompression, Skewers and Pinholers that don't care a whit if it's flesh or steel, Krupas smashing armor plate like glass, Antimatter packets causing sympathetic explosions in usually stable matter, lasers and particle beams burning and ripping through anything, nuclear and antimatter fireballs melting everything with equal facility, it is actually rare that anyone survives.

 

Then consider that since about 2090, all of mankind's enemies have been other races. The Rex (Pseudo Velociraptors, hence their nickname 'Rex'.), the Lanti (Man sized bear like creatures), Dru, (Looking like fiddler crabs six feet across) the Creepers, (Slug-like in look with a homicidal attitude), even the Calimari (That look like a 1950s B movie squid, right down to a beak like that fictional monster).

 

To these, a human is still as much an oddity, as they were when first seen by us. This meant that there was a way to deal with this 'creature'.

 

The Rex used human as lab specimens and for a while, as hunting prey. The Lanti used them as lab specimens only. The Creepers killed everything they faced with equal vigor, usually not even bothering to attempt study. The Calimari considered every race they met as intelligent if they were aquatic, and expendable is they were not, and the Dru consider the Rex and humans as someone that needs conversion to the 'true' Faith. Those Dru that did travel tended also to preach a lot.

 

With a four hundred year lapse in internecine wars, it isn't surprising that the idea of POW camps had gone into abeyance.

 

The problem was that these weren't Rex whatever Extra Terrestrial you happen not to like. These were humans!

 

That made them worse than those alien monsters somehow.

 

The men that had been assigned to guard the camp had taken this attitude to heart, and their Commandant, Commander Tamara Steinbrenner didn't help. By all reports, she was an excellent administrator. But knowing that her father Jason had died in Gospodin, and until recently that her Uncle Cyrus was missing in Weyland’s Star, hadn't made her very cognizant or devoted to the rights of 32,000 people whose only crime was their planet of birth.

 

She had let her anger be absorbed by the men under her command.

 

The Original camp had been a 1-kilometer square, surrounded by three fences of molecular wire, a row of guard towers with hyper velocity machine guns and sensors, with only tents for the inmates. Cleaning facilities had been a shipment of tanked water with no soap, no shampoo, no privacy for the two sexes, and no containers for storage. Food had started as emergency rations, then whatever struck the Guards as the most fun to watch. Internees had been forced to kill their own food at times, without benefit of knives or cleavers, and been forced to eat it raw since cook-stoves had been classed jokingly as weapons. Conditions would have been more appealing if they had been called Spartan.

 

In fact it had taken public outrage from the civilians of Nike that witnessed it before anything was done about this treatment, before the 'rebels' had been adequately fed, clothed and housed. That same public outcry had ended the policy of 'stand-tos' at any hour of the day or night, withholding food when judged necessary by the 'appropriate' authorities, (Sometimes by seamen seconds, and Marine privates.) the machine-guns that fired into the compound with no apparent reason (probably boredom), and the random beatings given out by guards when they were in the mood. In the two months after the fall of Tombstone to the Rebels, with a possible invasion fleet only a transit away, these beatings and random fire had increased to the extent that an average of 75 prisoners were dying a day.

 

Runningfox had received his share of this abuse. The Guard's nickname for him was 'Running-scared' due to their belief in his cowardice. His silence and calm had infuriated more than one guard, and his present cell had been because of it. When a guard had begun beating ex-Commander Voorhees for failing to snap to attention at his approach, Runningfox had disarmed the guard, then laid the man out with a single blow of his own truncheon. The only blow he struck. Half a dozen guards had beaten him. Before he could be killed, a group of his officers and men had gone to his rescue. The riot that followed had cost almost a thousand lives, not all of them prisoners. As the 'instigator' of that riot, Runningfox had barely awakened in the camp hospital before he had been given permanent solitary confinement.

 

Once public opinion had gotten into it, Runningfox had turned his efforts to his fellow prisoners. Those of his men still alive had begun talking to groups of sullen prisoners, pointing out that regardless of what else had happened, they were fleet men and women first, Outworlders second. While the Outworlders were originally leery of these men, neither fish nor fowl in this civil war, they had slowly begun to listen.

 

The first prisoner formation not called by their captors, twenty of his captains, (Thirteen had died during the riots) at parade, had been considered funny. Blandsley inspected them, requiring proper decorum from officers and men, and dismissed the formation.

 

The next day there was 200, officers and enlisted me who had served under Runningfox, that wouldn’t let themselves become animals.

 

Then the remaining enlisted men of Battlegroup 7 joined in that paltry evolution. 7500 men in perfect formation, dressed down by the same petty officers and officers that had been commanding them scant months before. It was a glimpse, no matter how wretched, of what they all remembered.

 

A little at a time, other officers and men had joined as well, shamed, or perhaps, yearning for that return to normality.

 

Now, while their official commanding officer was the only one still in solitary, the Outworlders were organized men and women again.

 

The guard led Runningfox out into the light, waiting for the few moments the prisoner's eyes needed to accustom themselves to sunlight before leading him across the compound to the Kommandantur.

 

Inside the wire, men watched. The prisoners knew that Runningfox and his officers were under sentence of death. Knowing the precedent, that refusal to obey an order no matter how heinous, was your right as a member of the armed forces, didn't help when it is also considered deserving of any punishment up to death if the powers that be so decided, not a few prayed that this was not the day.

 

Runningfox boarded the cutter as if it were his personal barge. Once they had lifted, it was a short run at Mach 3 to Sector Command Headquarters, 40 kilometers away.

 

The four guards that had accompanied him stayed in their seats as the ramp came down, revealing the two Fleet Marines awaiting his arrival.

 

"Hey, Running Scared!"

 

Runningfox turned his head slowly, looking at the Cutter pilot, an older enlisted pilot that hadn't been in Nike long. "I've requested firing squad duty when they shoot you!"

 

Runningfox looked him up and down, every inch the flag officer checking out the side boys despite his unmarked gray prison uniform. "Then I hope they send someone who can shoot better than they dress." He dismissed the man from his mind as he stepped down.

 

The Marines lead him to the elevator, and surprisingly, didn't enter with him as it went down. He was still bemused by this when the door opened on the tenth floor, at Sector HQ Admiral's level. A staff lieutenant awaited him there.

 

"Follow me, please?" He turned threading his way through the flurry of silent staff officers toward an office marked CINC NIKE.

 

Behind the desk, instead of Prinsloo, who had been captured at Tombstone, was Noguchi. He glared at Runningfox. "Stand at attention you traitorous scum!"

 

Runningfox had become an expert on the fleet regulations concerning condemned prisoner, among others, primarily in self-defense, stood at ease. "According to the Alliance Handbook of Court Martial proceedings, chapter 15, paragraph 18, subsection 11, 'Prisoners condemned to death by courts martial may not be forced to stand at attention, be required to drill, stand watches, participate in organized physical training or undergo inspections'."

 

Noguchi's glare grew hotter, then he snatched up a pad from his desk, and read it aloud.

 

TO; CINC NIKE SECTOR

FROM; CINC TF WILDERBECK

RE; COURT MARTIAL VERDICT OF ADMIRAL RUNNINGFOX, AND ALL SUBORDINATE OFFICERS FOUND GUILTY AT THAT TIME. CASE NUMBER 1129554.

ALL DEATH SENTENCES HEARBY RESCINDED

ALL SUBJECTS ABOVE THE RANK OF CAPTAIN ARE HEARBY REDUCED IN RANK ONE PAY GRADE. ALL OTHERS DROPPED TO THE BOTTOM OF THE PROMOTION LISTS.

 

COMMODORE RUNNINGFOX TO BE RETURNED TO ACTIVE DUTY, AS ARE ALL CAPTAINS INCLUDING CAPTAINS BLANDSLEY AND VON WIRTH.

 

PASS ALL ORDERS CONTAINED AFTER THIS HEADING TO ABOVE NAMED OFFICERS."

 

He threw the pad onto his desk. "You are no longer condemned, so snap to!"

Runningfox's heels clicked.

 

The admiral walked around his desk, his stare piercing Runningfox.

 

"Regardless of whatever else Supreme Force Commander Wilderbeck said, you can remember this, 'Commodore'. I will be watching you from this point on. If you blow your nose, I'm going to be there to hand you a tissue. If there are any irregularities in your new command, I am going to be there with a meter-stick.

 

"I'll see you busted out of the service, or shot if it's the last thing I do in this life!" He slapped the pad into Runningfox's hand. "Dismissed!"

 

Runningfox marched out, and joined the Staff lieutenant, now officially his escort. That man lead him to a room in visiting officer's quarters, fully equipped with everything Runningfox might need.

 

Once alone, Runningfox first showered and changed. Then he keyed the pad.

 

TO; COMMODORE RUNNINGFOX

FROM; CINC TAN FORCES WILDERBECK

RE; ORDERS

AS OF APRIL 14, 340 AY, YOU ARE HEARBY REQUESTED AND REQUIRED TO TAKE COMMAND OF MOTHBALL FLEET 7 / PEACEFORCE COMMAND, GOBI SYSTEM. FAIL THIS CHARGE NOT AT YOUR PERIL.

CRUISER SHANNON WILL AWAIT YOUR STAFF IN ORBIT.

1. YOU ARE TO EXPEDITE THE REFIT AND WORKING UP OF THE SHIPS OF MOTHBALL FLEET 7, AND THE DISPATCH OF ALL FORMED BATTLEGROUPS, AND SHIPS BACK INTO ALLIANCE SPACE FOR ASSIGNMENT TO COMBAT OPERATIONS.

2. YOU WILL ALSO BE IN COMMAND OF PEACEFORCE SQUADRON GOBI TO CONSIST OF NOT LESS THAN TWO (2) YORKTOWN CLASS CARRIERS, AND SCREENING VESSELS. AS PEACEFORCE COMMAND OFFICER IN CHARGE, YOU ARE TO PROTECT AND DEFEND GOBI SYSTEM TO THE BEST OF YOUR ABILITY.

3. YOU WILL ALSO BE IN COMMAND OF MOUNTING A LONG RANGE COMBAT SURVEY OF UNEXPLORED WARPLINE (4) TO DISCOVER OTHER SYSTEMS OF VALUE TO THE ALLIANCE. THIS SURVEY IS ALSO TASKED WITH SEEKING SALLY PORTS INTO THE ANNEX OR OUTWORLD IF AT ALL POSSIBLE.

4. YOU ARE ALLOWED TO TAKE THE FIFTEEN SURVIVING SENIOR OFFICERS OF YOUR COMMAND AND SUCH LOCAL OFFICERS / MEN AS REQUIRED AS STAFF AND COMMAND CADRE.

SIGNED, WILDERBECK.

 

* * * * *

 

Six hours later, a Ship's pinnace dropped into position on the tarmac. The prisoners watched through the wire as the ramp came down, and Runningfox, in uniform, with a Commodore's stars stepped down.

 

For long seconds, nothing happened, then suddenly there were cheers as his men acknowledged him.

 

Runningfox ignored the guards and men between him until he reached the cutter landing pad. There were a pair of legs sticking out from beneath the cutter's nose, and he kicked one of them.

 

The pilot that had insulted him slid out, glaring at him.

 

"What's your name, Petty officer?"

 

"Bosun Second MacNamara."

 

Runningfox glared at him. "Sir." he said coolly.

 

The petty officer bit back a curse, standing and snapping to attention. "Sir."

 

"Are you a qualified cutter pilot?"

 

"If it flies, I can fly it, sir."

 

"Good. Get in that pinnace and preflight it." He motioned toward the one he had just left, then turned, headed into the Kommandantur. He brushed past officers that tried to stop him, stopping at the Commandant's door. He rapped sharply.

 

"Come."

 

He entered, facing Commander Steinbrenner's glare. "I have come for these men." He set a pad on her desk.

 

She picked it up, checking the names, and snorted in amusement. "Request denied."

 

"It wasn't a request, Commander." He retorted levelly.

 

"They may have exonerated you, sir, but I refuse to allow a nest of traitors to simply leave without direct-"

 

Runningfox slammed his fist on the desk, then ran the pad back to Wilderbeck's signal. His voice was still calm. "Read that, commander. Fifteen officers of my choice, whether my old command or local, and such officers needed for staff and cadre. Now if you won't obey orders from me," his fist hit the desk again. "Then obey the Supreme Force Commander!

 

"Either those men are on the pad in fifteen minutes, or you are on my staff as the Flag Lieutenant in fifteen minutes, eight seconds. Do I make myself clear?" She mumbled. “I can’t hear you, Commander.”

 

"Yes sir." Steinbrenner growled.

 

Runningfox left, marching back to the pinnace. He stopped at the ramp, where MacNamara stood. "Are you deaf, mister?"

 

"No, sir."

 

"Then get up there and preflight this pinnace. While you're at it, contact Shannon, and notify them that we lift in twenty minutes." He turned, facing the camp that had been his prison for the last year.

 

Almost exactly fifteen minutes later, seventeen men and women were escorted toward him. Meryl Blandsley, Eric Von Wirth. Daniel Robiton, Sergei Kalenski, Shanna Bar Joni, Jason Everhart, Conner McDonald, who had commanded Dreadnoughts, Jean Raspegie, Morgan Bretson, Damian Hanson and Cynthia Griffon, who had commanded battlecruisers. Misha Mikelovich, who had commanded a cruiser, and David O’Meara, the sole destroyer Captain. Commander Phillip Winston, exec of Minya Konku. Lieutenant Mark Sewell, He had been assistant communications officer of Jaguar.

 

Last was the elfin Elaine Brice, who had been Blandlsey's Chief of staff.

 

He looked at them, seeing hope in their eyes. He lifted the pad, and read them the relevant parts. Once they stopped cheering, he motioned. "Captain Brice, you were a good chief of Staff for Meryl. Could you do as well for me?

 

She looked him in the eye. "I'd run the Devil's staff to get out of this hell hole."

 

"You might get that chance. Commander Winston, you're my Operations officer."

 

"I've never done it, sir, but I'll try."

 

"That's all I will ever ask. Lieutenant Sewell, you are my Communications officer."

 

"Oh, that I can do, sir."

 

Runningfox looked them over. "The rest of you will be captains of my ships in Gobi. What are you waiting for, men and women, engraved invitations? Get aboard."

 

Runningfox followed them in, motioning to the men and women sitting there. "My other staff members. Lieutenant commander Lanzecki, Intelligence officer."

 

A local man, ex-ONI, he nodded coldly.

 

"Commander Ross, logistics."

 

Another local, the sharp-faced woman nodded absently.

 

"Lieutenant Matthew Yanakov, flag lieutenant."

 

The young officer flinched at the looks. He was fresh from the Academy, and a Outworlder whose world had seceded without him.

 

"We don't know each other." Runningfox said to the local staff members. "While these people know me all too well. Don't be judgmental of them or me, give them a chance, and we'll do fine. The same goes for us, people." He looked to his officers.

 

"Give them a chance, just like someone up there gave us a second one. Stations for lift off."

 

He turned, going forward to the control deck. MacNamara sat uncomfortably in the pilot's seat, the pilot from Shannon smiling at his discomfort.

 

"Take us out of here, Boats."

 

"Wait a damn minute, uh, sir. Where the hell do you get off ordering me aboard?"

Runningfox leaned over. "You're an ass MacNamara. Like most of the guards in this hellhole, you think a man can't wear the uniform and have a conscience too.

 

"I just wanted to make sure that if I get into combat again, you'll get a chance to see first hand exactly how far I run.

 

"I'm allowed a Coxswain, and as of now, that's your job. Do your job, and I won't complain." Cursing in a manner that would have gotten him three months in the stockade, MacNamara lifted off.

[machievelli]

Gobi

"To become invincible is up to you, the

enemy's fate is his own"

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War.'

 

The Planet named Gobi orbited a G2 star similar to Terra's sun, with a K0 binary partner. There are four known Termini, one leading back into the Alliance at Codalus, A second to the as yet unexploited Mauritania system, the third into the Packhome of the Rex, at Khanisis, and the fourth, 135 light minutes from the primary, which was as yet unexplored.

 

When first seen from orbit, the Captain of the ship TAN Discovery had named it because the gray color looked like a massive desert.

 

Boy was she wrong. It was a swamp from pole to pole.

 

The planet was a little slow and retarded compared to Terra. Birds evolved there, but for some reason, all of their relatives, the reptiles, had died out several millennia before. Only in insects and fish has the planet's life surpassed Terra. The insects there had evolved until there were more things that bit and stung than any three planets had a right to.

 

Number three of seven; it was the only one that supports life. The main continent is one huge marsh from end to end, except for small islands of bare rock.

 

It had three moons, but they were all so small and distant, that they had little or no tidal affect, so the oceans were sullen.

 

Runningfox looking on from Shannon sighed. Gobi was technically a Outworld world, having only been settled in the last decade. The 30,000 citizens had decided that they were going to stand neutral until an orbiting cruiser had changed their minds. Now they were a sullen unwilling work force. No help from there.

 

Above it, however, was his place, the geosynchronous orbit where over 100 warships lay in silence, awaiting their call to battle.

 

The mothball fleet, Mothball 7.

 

As Shannon closed, he noticed Gobi Skywatch, a single antiquated OBS2, sitting on the edge of the fleet area. He wondered how she would stand for long against any modern attacking force then he understood. When Gobi had been chosen for the mothball fleet, the Rex were just recently allies. A thrust here by the Packhome would cut the fleet reserve by a tenth. The OBS2 was not there as a defense, the Treaty of Terranova forbade that. She was not there to protect Gobi; she was there to kill the mothballed vessels before anyone could capture them. A small ship charged out from the Battle station, a destroyer, TANS Custer, moving like an aggressive terrier.

 

He winced a little at the idea that for the next few months, his entire mobile force would be a Rodger Young class destroyer.

 

Then he grinned. If someone had told him five months before that he would be freed, demoted one rank, and put in charge of even one destroyer, he would have declared the person mad.

 

He surveyed the ships in his mind. 11 Dreadnoughts, only one, the Mt

Helens class Pike’s Peak less that 200 years old. 9 of them were Niitaka’s that had come off the ways during IW 3. The last was the Union Jack class Rising Sun, the first try at the assault carrier, she had been built right before the start of IW4, during a Nationalistic upsurge on Earth as well, hence her name.

 

Made without the ultra light materials commonly used in modern assault carrier construction, she and her four sister ships were slow and stolid. Carrying 60 fighters at the expense of all long ranged weapons, her class had been a stopgap measure. She had been the forerunner of the modern assault carrier. Thanks to new materials and technology, that class of ship was as fast as any in the fleet.

 

Leaving Rising Sun and her sisters hopelessly out of date. Mentally he considered doing a full refit, converting her to a standard Dreadnought design. That could wait.

 

Next came the battleships, 7 Uganda class, 7 Manitoba class. Then the 15 Yorktown class light carriers only one, Iomungundr, built during IW3, less than 200 years old. They were hopelessly out of date now. The Calimari had used massive ships to attack, too large for the 18 ship (Squadron and a half) deck load of the small ships. But they would be useful in ferrying fighters to the front, or rear security. Then 10 battlecruisers, 6 Polk class, 3 Devonshire class, and a single Riverside class that had fired shots in anger in IW I almost 300 years ago.

 

Then the 18 Heavy cruisers, 5 Providence class, 4 London class, 8 Tokyo class, a Sydney. All of them dated from IW3.

 

20 light cruisers, 5 Mississippi class, 6 Yangtzee class, 8 Saltash class, and an Atropos, sister ship to Rhiannon.

 

12 Destroyers, 2 Mongol class (Actually upgraded Sullivans class), 5 Shigure Class, a pair of two and a half century old Forrest (Which should have been upgraded to Fubuki class during IW3 then upgraded to Achates during IW 4, but were somehow missed). Then the only two Hamilton class not in active service, Ingram and Taney.

 

Last were twenty-nine Frigates and Corvettes that had been mothballed since the start of IW3, considered too small to survive in a fleet action, they could at least take over duties from destroyers desperately needed at the front.

 

But regardless of their fighting power, until they were refurbished, they were just targets in orbit without shipyard facilities, which Gobi did not have. He had requested a half dozen of the General Electric class mobile dry-docks. Unfortunately, he had been informed that damaged ships closer to the front required them more. He had first been promised three, and then had been told that only one would be sent to him. Mitsubishi had not yet arrived.

 

Runningfox turned to his men, and began to snap orders. His people moved aboard Gobi Skywatch, and began their survey. When Mitsubishi arrived, as she did three days later, they were ready.

 

As the huge orbital factory/shipyard plunged into orbit, she spawned dozens of smaller vessels. Cutters and pinnaces moved command units to Skywatch. Tugs pulled out fully automated factory modules that were carefully set down on moons and asteroids large enough to supply needed materials. Factory modules were even dropped onto Gobi itself to draw out atmosphere materials. Only then did the ship do its real magic, sections sliding into new positions, making the short squat block blossom into a mobile space station twice the size (in outside area) of a Dreadnought.

 

Captain Stoddard, Captain of Mitsubishi arrived by cutter even before his ship had spawned. He was a tall lanky man from Fisk, but his smile was genuine. "I've heard a lot about you, Commodore."

 

"I hope I can live it down, Captain."

 

"I hope not!" Stoddard beamed. "Aren't you the one that fought the Heechi to a standstill?"

 

"Well, I did have some ideas, yes." The Heechi had seen the human reactions to the Calimari, assumed that the humans had been the insane ones and had declared a short nasty war on the Alliance. Runningfox, then on Admiral Cameron's staff, had suggested the tactics that had stopped short of annihilation.

 

"If you're in charge, then I have some suggestions." The captain flung his hat aside, and dived right in. He had been a yard-dog his entire life, and some of the design specs sent out by BuShips had always rubbed him wrong. He called up a schematic of a destroyer, waving at the highlighted XO racks. "Look at that! Thanks to those bastards, none of our destroyers can mount or carry anything larger than a standard missile without losing half of their capable load! If a destroyer could carry say a Capital Missile..."

 

"Or a Bombardment missile?" suggested Runningfox.

 

"Damn, you're right!" Stoddard hissed. "Picture some Rebel outfit suddenly eating some Boomers when they're facing destroyers!"

 

As a Terran Alliance officer, Runningfox approved. Part of him, however, flinched.

 

"The other thing I've been looking at is the Omega and Courier drones. Did you know they haven't upgraded the computer or the software in almost a century? The computer is twice the size of a modern one, and the software is positively 20th century medieval. I can assemble a system that does the same job, better, but only half the size. The extra memory could store everything down to weapons damage done to enemy vessels."

 

"Captain, do what you think is right."

 

Stoddard worked directly with Runningfox, and agreed that they would begin with the Mongol class destroyers, Sikh, and Apache, and the Yorktown class carrier Invincible. The experienced captain agreed that the ships would be ready for shakedown and training within a month. Meanwhile, his own survey officer had begun going over the vessels in orbit, first verifying what Runningfox's staff had done, itemizing the repairs needed to get them ready for combat.

 

A ship can be mothballed in two radically different ways, in space or on a planet, and on the surface of it, it looks easier to do so on a planet. After all, to inspect it visually from outside doesn't require a space suit. But there you have to seal the ship completely, hoping against hope that the hull metals and hatch seals will resist corrosion long enough for the ship to live again.

 

Unfortunately, you also have to deal with the corrosion inside, where elements in the air remaining in the ship attack compounds rendering them weakened, or destroyed. Another problem is dust, which precipitates onto the decks, worms it's way into electronics, and causes small shorts in systems. Ships left as little as five years in hostile environments have been considered a total loss.

 

On the other hand, in space, all you need to do is walk through the ship, pulling out any equipment that can be damaged by hard vacuum, (not much; after all military construction usually assumes the worse possible conditions) then open her up to space. Unless struck by meteors, the ship is just as fresh and clean as the day you opened her airlocks.

 

To reactivate her, you seal the hull, and pump her full of air again. Then you painstakingly go over her systems, replacing anything obsolete with more modern equipment, and test the systems.

 

While seeming a complex and time consuming job, refurbishing and upgrading is actually quite simple. Engines have as many moving parts as so much bread, and hadn’t changed at all since 300 years before. Lasers had remained virtually unchanged until the Creeper War of 100 years before, when the Particle beam was developed.

 

Shield generators had been redesigned and upgraded constantly, but the newer ones were still not much more complex than the ones used during the Creeper war. Perhaps smaller. The same missile launchers that had blasted the Rex during IW2, laid waste to Creeper homeworlds during IW3, blasted Calimari ramming fleet ships, or shredded the defenses of Deephome III during IW4 would accept the slightly smaller more complex missiles of today. The other energy weapons, Krupas, Skewers, Antimatter packets and Pinholers were virtually the same as the ones mounted more than 300 years ago.

 

The major changes had been in computers and their software, the seeker heads and engines of missiles, the AFMs, used by missile launchers and point defense against enemy fighters, the antimatter warheads of the larger missiles, and the attendant SCRAM equipment necessary to dump those warheads before they kill the ship carrying them.

 

In point of fact, the smaller ships themselves could be easily ready in less than three weeks each, the cruisers, carriers and larger ships taking an average of a month unless there were serious problems. The entire fleet could be readied in less than five years, assuming enough supplies and upgrades. The hardest part of refitting a vessel is getting young men and women used to systems designed and laid out before their grandparents were born.

 

Transports had begun to arrive almost immediately with first hundreds, then thousands of men and officers to fill out the crews, along with over a thousand crated fighters to fill the Carrier hanger bays. With nowhere to put the men, Runningfox had been forced to build a base on Gobi itself, and placed the senior officer of the transportees, Captain Manshee Al Hanali in charge. While laid out in strict military fashion, and kept scrupulously clean, it looked like a larger more sedate version of the internment camp on Nike. But at least in Nike, you didn't have to build on top of a swamp the size of a planet.

 

Once prepared, Sikh and Apache were towed out. Captains Bretson and Raspegie went aboard, and assigned the crews as they arrived. In the lead, with his Flagship Custer, Runningfox began the arduous process of melding the individuals of the men into crews. First the simpler maneuvers, formation, weapons drill, then as they began to work together, the harder parts, smoothing the rough edges of unblooded men and women. He had decided that these two ships, along with the Invincible and one of her sisters would remain here as the start of his opposing force, to push the untried crewmen of yet sleeping warships.

 

Once his opposing force was mustered, he would then begin with the Fleet Carriers and Dreadnoughts. Even now, Mitsubishi was engulfing Pike’s Peak like a snake working at a severe case of indigestion. By his estimate, it would be a minimum of two years before the bulk of the capital ships had been readied. And, while the worked up vessels would be leaving as soon as Runningfox considered their crews trained, it would be almost four years before all that remained would be a lowly OBS2, and his exiled command.

 

Runningfox had never been assigned to a training command before. Not even to the Academy as an instructor. He'd always been a line or staff officer. He had gone through the manuals for training enroute, and had noticed that too much of it had been rather simple simulations, and wargaming, not unlike what he had gone through himself at the Academy. He remembered that first terrifying crunch of battle, the noise, the smell, the death around him, and even then had almost wanted to scream at the men that had trained him. Training had not prepared him for the hell of the real thing.

 

He decided to correct that. Back in the 20th century, the NATO alliance, facing overwhelming numerical odds, had developed a unique training regime. They had taken units of their own military, then had trained them in the tactics of their primary enemy, the Soviet Union, which had depended less on initiative, and more on teamwork and overpowering force. These men then used those tactics to attack men in training. The men they faced tended to lose quickly when first sent in. But then learned the best ways to counter the standard tactics.

 

In point of fact, these programs, the advanced Infantry training center at Fort Erwin, Red Flag in Nevada, Top Gun in Miramar California, brought the already trained men to a new pitch of readiness.

 

The training command cadre was called the Aggressors, but the Army name was more in keeping with his chosen task.

 

OpFor, Opposing Forces.

 

Sitting down with his officers, Runningfox went back to that idea.

 

* * * * *

 

The missiles scorched in on the Dnepr. In the command chair, Captain Von Wirth lolled, blood spraying from a wound in his chest. It had started quietly, Dnepr patrolling, with Captain Von Wirth in command. Then suddenly, missiles had screamed in from a stealthed ship. She had launched the first decoy, holding the second until they could spot a target, but before the sensors could even start looking, one of the missiles had gotten through, killing the decoy still on the racks, and a piece of plating had smashed into the Captain opening his suit like one of Jack the Ripper's girl friends. Now She was in command.

 

Commander Harrison almost screamed at the damage showing on her internal sensors. "Damage Control! Report!"

 

"Point Defense 1 is hanging in space, sir." Came back the tired voice. "We can't seal-"

 

"To hell with sealing it! Get it back on line!"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

As the missiles approached, she turned toward sensors. "Have we got that bastard on screen yet?"

 

"No, sir. He's stealthed too well."

 

They froze as the point defense lasers kicked in, smaller anti missiles shooting out to attack missiles farther away. The count dropped to six, five, three-

 

The universe exploded. Hull plating boiled, and the bridge crew felt the air sucking them out.

 

"Cut it." Runningfox's voice cut through the noise. The airflow stopped, fans stepping down from their tornado force to suck smoke out of the bridge. The forward bulkhead slid open and Runningfox stepped onto the bridge. He looked around the room, at the stains of pyrotechnic charges and bloodpacks.

 

It had been a long time since he'd seen this for real. But just this simulated cruiser version he had constructed on Gobi sent chills down his spine. The Battle Cruiser version would be ready in a week. He turned to the woman in her pressure suit, still shocked from the carnage, and put his arms behind his back rocking on his heels. "How would you evaluate this, debacle, Harrison?"

 

The woman from Nike snapped up her visor, snarling, and then her face went bland. "I fouled up, sir. I should have launched the second decoy before the first salvo hit, before they soft killed it."

 

Runningfox stepped down, tapping Von Wirth. "Stop overacting, Eric, I don't give out best acting awards." He walked past, and faced the woman. Like all of the influx of new trainees, she'd heard rumors about Runningfox, and had expected some kind of oily creature trying to cover his ass.

 

This man hadn't fit that mold. His idea of working up had first shocked, then electrified her

 

"Commander, Do you know what would have happened if you did?" She stood mute. "Your ship would have survived about 40 seconds longer. That is all. I designed this so that one ship alone couldn't win it."

 

"You son of a bitch!" She stopped, appalled by her own words. Had she actually called a flag officer that?

 

"Accepted. Now, about this debacle. I have decided on your grade for this exercise." He lifted the pad, and punched in some information. "Eric, what do you think?" He handed the pad to Von Wirth.

 

"I agree, sir."

 

Runningfox turned back to the woman. Here it comes, she thought. We're giving you a cargo tug, so we don't have to lose men in combat because of incompetent officers.

 

Runningfox handed her the data pad. "Commander Harrison, until we get an officer with enough rank to command her, Dnepr is yours. Congratulations, acting captain."

 

She stared in amazement as he left. Then she transferred that shock to Von Wirth. "But I lost the ship! We died!"

 

"Commander, in real life, we need winners." Von Wirth said. "But a winner is first and foremost someone that doesn't give up. You saw me die, and less than five tenths of a second later, you were snapping orders, trying to win the mess I left you. That is what he's rewarding." He wiped blood from his gauntlets then smiled. "It also means you're about to head off to war, little woman."

 

Runningfox waited until Von Wirth exited the simulator before proceeding on. "How do you see them, Eric?"

 

"Eager, and some of them as cuddlesome as puppies, sir."

 

"Let's leave your sex life out of this. Will they hack it?"

 

"Sir, sims work fine to train for responding in peacetime. These are better than average, I'll admit. But you know as well as I do, that even if you try to pretend, you know it's a simulation. That causes more deaths in combat than enemy fire in the first salvos."

 

Runningfox considered, then grinned. "Then why don't we turn up the pressure? Make it more real? We'll..." As he explained, Von Wirth snickered.

 

* * * * *

 

The Corvette Freemont spun as the Destroyer Ney followed. Captain David O’Meara looked at the signal from Commodore Runningfox, and smirked. That kid Smith was in for a shock. "Weapons load all tubes, real missiles, practice warheads."

 

"Sir?" Lieutenant Kominski looked shocked. O’Meara handed him the signal. Kominski snickered. "Magazine, load all tubes with blue loads, I repeat, all tubes with blue loads."

 

When the button flashed red, Kominski hammered it flat.

 

"Jesus Christ!" Captain Michael Smith blanched as missiles, real missiles lanced out at him. A Corvette doesn't have much of a salvo, even with the faster reload times of the new launchers. But at less than 7 light seconds, even a heavy cruiser would have worry about it. All he had was a destroyer. "Point defense on automatic!"

 

The weapons officer punched his panel three times. Unfortunately, he had been lazing along so far, and he missed the point defense button the first two times. It only delayed firing for 2 seconds.

 

The first missile plunged straight on in, and vanished with a puff of anti-missiles. A moment later, the second popped open, spraying a mass of mylar to simulate an antimatter warhead.

 

Captain Raspegie, observing training, tsked as he marked his pad.

 

* * * * *

 

TO, OFFICER COMMANDING GOBI

FROM CINC CODALUS SECTOR.

RE; SURVEY OF TERMINUS FOUR

1. SINCE YOU HAVE NOT REPORTED THAT THE ABOVE MENTIONED SURVEY HAS BEEN DONE, YOU ARE ORDERED TO PROCEED WITH ALL HASTE TO COMPLETE IT.

2. YOU ARE HEARBY AUTHORIZED TO DETACH A FORCE OF NOT MORE THAN TWO LIGHT CRUISERS AND SUPPORTING VESSELS TO SURVEY TERMINUS 4.

3. THESE VESSELS ARE TO SURVEY UNTIL SUCH TIME AS THEY FIND A SALLYPORT INTO REBEL SPACE, OR UNTIL THEIR VESSELS ARE NO LONGER ABLE TO SAFELY CONTINUE.

4. SINCE SUCH A SURVEY MUST BE COMMANDED BY A COMMODORE YOU ARE ALLOWED TO BREVET ONE OFFICER TO THIS RANK.

SIGNED V ADM. STANTON, OFFICER COMMANDING CODALUS SECTOR

BY DIRECTION CINCTF WILDERBECK

 

Now was not a good time. The first two Dreadnoughts, Pike’s Peak and San Gorgonio had just began their work up, and Runningfox was now being reminded none too gently via orders from fleet central, that he was required to do a survey of the unknown warp line. He considered, then turned to Elaine Brice. "Send to Codalus that except for the Carriers Essex, Enterprise and Minsk, which had been refurbished, but still don’t have crews aboard, all available ships in Gobi are tasked to OpFor or are in the process of working up at this time. Give them the specifics of all ships at present in squadron, and the working up vessels.

 

"Also, note that a standard survey mission since IW 4 has been carriers, or battlecruisers, and that if necessary, I can detach one or both of my own carriers to the survey squadron."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

With his squadron consisting of the Destroyers Custer, Sikh, Apache, York, Leonidas, Taney, Ingram, and the Light Carriers Invincible and Iomungundr ready to go, he mentally waved good-bye to the carriers. The three light cruisers he had allowed himself were only now working up. Training would slip a little, but by holding on to one carrier from each working up squadron, he could rotate them, and still supply a full training regimen.

 

As it was, he had caught flak from Codalus about his 'inappropriate use of needed material', and 'time wasted on unnecessary training'. Then a week later, he'd received a commendation from the Supreme Force Commander concerning his 'revamping of an outmoded training regimen'. The flak from Codalus had died down to an occasional grumble.

 

A few hours later, he glared at the new message from Stanton. He reassigned priorities, so that two Christopher Columbus Class Corvettes could join the presently working up light battle group. He reported that as soon as that squadron was prepared, he would dispatch it.

[machievelli]

"Come." The two officers entered Runningfox's office, snapping to attention. He waved them to chairs

 

"Ready?"

 

"Yes sir."

 

"Do you understand your orders, Acting Commodore Von Wirth? Captain Everhart?"

 

"Yes sir. You know, I never knew how much I'd miss command." Von Wirth said. "I can't wait to fly my lights on Essex."

 

"I'm afraid that won't happen." Runningfox handed him the pad. "I just received this from Sector. Fleet command had already assigned them to the fleet massing near Al Hadji.

 

"I had intended to assign either Invincible or Iomungundr to you, but I was put on notice by Admiral Stanton that in his own words, 'if the man I send is too cowardly to rough it with cruisers and destroyers, than maybe I should send someone with more guts'."

 

This angered them all. Stanton, the junior man on their Court Martial board, was now thanks to attrition and some serious butt kissing, a full Admiral and had been placed in command of Codalus Sector, of which Gobi, one transit away, was part. Every message sent by him to Gobi dripped vitriol.

 

"I am giving you Custer, though." He told Everhart. "Her crew is a damn sight better than Ney's."

 

They chuckled at this. The Officers aboard Ney, just out of final working up, were slow to get with the program. It was bad enough that they had to work under Outworlders. But they had been soundly beaten in training by every ship in the training squadron. It isn't surprising when you go against cruisers, or Carriers. But getting beaten by one of the working up corvettes?

 

"The Corvettes Freemont and Cortez are also worked up, so I'm giving them to you."

 

"That's his plan." Von Wirth groaned. "Take a hard luck destroyer, and give us two green as grass crews. Angels and ministers of grace defend us."

 

"I hope you don't mean that. After all, both ships will be first ones crewed completely from Rebelville." The camp they had been in had been nicknamed Rebelville by the Media. Now, thanks to paroles given freely by captive officers, and especially captive enlisted men, they were manning warships on this far reach of the Alliance. While the newly recreated rules for treatment of prisoners of war forbade forcing them to work, it is a sad fact that once the terror of captivity had worn off, most prisoners of war would gladly do anything that didn't include pulling the trigger on their fellow soldiers. Besides, this was the perfect place to test the concept. Unless this survey found a new Terminus that entered Union space, the only way these men could escape would be to fight their way through fifteen transits. They had a better chance of winning the lottery the first time they tried.

 

"The Captains of those ships," He finished, "are well known to each of you. David O’Meara, and Shanna Bar Joni."

 

Everhart reached out, grabbed Runningfox's hand, and shook it as if completing a business deal. "Done and done. You take the hard case mates, we'll take the runts of the litter."

 

Runningfox stepped back, smiling. "Attention to orders. As the senior man, Eric, you've got your broad stripe back; at least until some Assembly pantywaist finds out and screams. Jason, you're second, so you're in command if anything happens to Eric. You will proceed down the unexplored tramline. You are ordered by Fleet Central to survey each system, find other Termini, and if readily available, verify resources of use to the Alliance. As you proceed, you are to launch courier drones to report. I know they won't travel more than three Termini or so, but you'll love this.

 

"Traveling behind you will be three Singapore class transports, rebuilt to shipyard specs. They will be carrying the materials, supplies, and technicians necessary to build and man Deep Space Communications relays in each system so explored.

 

"As each ship is unloaded, it will turn back, leaving her sisters to continue while they reload. We will have a communications net that is at worse, four systems behind you at all times."

 

"Who authorized that expenditure?" Von Wirth asked. The undertaking would tax the ten most affluent Planetary Corporation budgets if this were peacetime. In the present situation, it would probably gut the economies of all seventy Planetary Corporations.

 

Runningfox's eyes gleamed. "Prime Minister De La Hoya pointed out that a number of systems within the Alliance lack Deep Space Communications Relays. Every one knows why too. The only ones that could afford them were Planetary Corporations, First Worlds, and the transit systems along the Rex Frontier, where the Fleet, and the few Outworlds that paid blood for them put them in. The Planetary Corporations wanted it that way. So much simpler to make the Outworlds beg for help, or wait months for diplomatic replies.

 

"That was all well and good when the Outworlds were still playing the game. But when they rebelled, the same communications lag that had been the Planetary Corporations whip snapped back and hit them hard. They were frantic that it took four months before they knew Alan McIntyre had reached Xanadu, and almost two years before they heard about the Battle of Inroads.

 

" De La Hoya slipped it up on them right and proper. Whenever a Planetary Corporation delegate complained about the speed of the war news, De La Hoya showed him the gaps in the communications net, caused by the Assembly's rulings. Finally one of them suggested fixing it. De La Hoya hemmed and hawed, then suggested that the Corporate Citizen that was complaining suggest it as a bill, with funding to be decided later."

 

They laughed. A lot of the bills suggested by the Planetary Corporations were phrased that way. If they liked the concept in reality (Or expected to make a killing on it), the money was always there. If not, they could spend decades trying to find the financing.

 

"But De La Hoya stuck it to them again. The committee, to decide where the funding would come from was stacked."

 

"Stacked?"

 

"Like a frozen deck of cards. All First World moderates. They decided that due to the emergency, all relays were to be paid for by 'existing Alliance resources'. They also decided that only they could determine which of the various pending non-military projects were important. In other words, the funds set aside by the Planetary Corporations for development of their pet projects just vanished. Just as icing on the cake, the committee also made the installations free to the systems that need them. Regardless of how the Planetary Corporations squealed, they have to foot the bill to correct the problem they've worked for years to create.

 

"We of course, are a special case. A tramline with no population, no voters, and untold resources, but vital if this Terminus leads anywhere. The Corporate Citizens tried to have this entire tramline given to them in honor of 'meritorious service to the Alliance'."

 

"They expected someone to believe that after all this crap?"

 

"The Delegate from Lloyds was, I hear, very hurt by their attitude. They're still trying to live down the fact that it was their Economic-Conservatives that caused this damn war by pushing the Reapportionment. They also didn't figure on the Bureau of Colonization standing up to them. Now that 80% of BuCol is what would have been called Outworlder before the war.

 

"They told them to take their 'Meritorious service', and shove it up hard sideways.

 

"Oh the Planetary Corporations were able to get a bill passed so that any colonies on this tramline have to pay for their individual communications systems eventually, but they've satisfied themselves with the idea that if anything like this happens again, they will have tight communications for reaction.

 

"Back to the orders. Since your Corvettes only have eight months endurance in expendable supplies, you must find planets that might be able to supply victualing sources. Failing that, you will be required to back track until you meet one of the ships trailing you, and resupply from their stores."

 

"That sounds ominous to me. How long is this survey to continue?"

 

Runningfox sighed. "The Supreme Force Commander at Fleet Central gave the orders, and I can't rescind them. 'Until such time as a Terminus that leads into the Outworlds or Annex is discovered. If that is not possible along this tramline, until such time as the ships sent are unable to continue further safely'."

 

"You know sir, the more I hear from Stanton, the less I like him." Everhart said.

 

Runningfox looked them over. "Any questions? That is all."

 

Von Wirth stood, picking up his cap. "Just out of curiosity, sir, what are you going to do with Ney?"

 

"I'm going to move my flag to her, and shame them into being the best."

 

The two men snorted, then all three were laughing.

 

Half an hour after that meeting, Runningfox's cutter lifted off. Separated by two rows of seats, his staff went over progress reports. Elaine Brice, a citizen of New Annapolis, the primary planet of Epsilon Indii, remaining as Chief of Staff, moved up beside him, and opened her pad. She had given his new staff a chance as he'd asked. Now, thanks in great part to her, they were a smoothly running team.

 

"TAN destroyer Ney, Captain Michael Smith of New Athens commanding. Executive officer Brian Collins of Tombstone. She is fully Corporate World manned."

 

Runningfox nodded, lost in thought. The woman stopped her briefing. She'd worked for him for almost two years now, yet he was still an enigma to her. He didn't spend much time with his officers except when duty required it. According to his file he was unmarried, and her own subtle investigations told her he liked women, but didn't have any presently known relationship. For a moment, she pictured him nude, and blushed furiously.

 

"Something on your mind, Elaine?" She blushed even harder.

 

"May I be blunt, sir?"

 

"Haven't you always been?" he asked.

 

She mentally changed the subject. "Sir, every officer aboard Ney has lost family to the rebels. Smith lost his father, uncle, and two older brothers. One of them when Admiral Takagi's force was destroyed during the battle of Inroads. He was on Basilisk, her flagship."

 

"The worst of the horrors of a civil war, Elaine, are that we kill our loved ones and friends instead of the enemy."

 

"Be that as it may, sir. A great deal of their recalcitrance can be traced to that very fact. They refused to accept anything told to them by the senior officers of our squadron, all of whom were in Rebelville with us. They won't accept anything said because of our-" She tried to find a gentle way to say it, failed, and pressed on, "-our treasonous stand against authority. Their disaffection is affecting the crew, and has caused the officers to freeze up during training and simulations."

 

"Then what do you suggest, Elaine?"

 

She decided to dive right in. He wouldn't like it, but there was no other way to say it. "Send Ney out without completing the training phase of the regimen. They won't be as efficient as the other crews we've trained, but they'll be out of here, and so will avoid further dissension."

 

"If I were running an operation where my job was to be popular, I would have sent them on already. But doing so, untried, with a captain and officers too stupid to listen, is too close to murder for my conscience."

 

"Yes sir." She sighed.

 

"What I intend to do will be decided when we board her. Just follow my lead. Tonight over dinner, we can discuss changes in Ney's specialized regimen."

 

The Ney was an old Fubuki class ship. Now upgraded to Achates Class, mounting two missile launchers, a usual Krupa beam, and two point defense clusters, she was now only slightly out of date. Her crew was just over two hundred men, a Platoon of which were Marines. Using the system of the ancient British navy, Runningfox had assured that marines manned combat stations (Missile 1 and Point Defense 2) separately when not suited up for ground or boarding action. The cutter rolled smoothly as MacNamara took them slowly around her, as Runningfox always wanted to look any ship over from outside the hull before boarding. Her hull was a gleaming fatheaded spindle, weapons arrayed neatly as was required behind featureless doors. Only then did MacNamara drive into the boat bay.

 

The system cycled, snagging the cutter with a short ranged tractor, pulling it in and onto the pad area assigned to it. The lock cycled and before MacNamara was fully shutdown, the light showing atmosphere came on.

 

The ramp hissed down, Runningfox stepped down as the boson’s pipe skirled, and the side boys snapped to.

 

Very sloppy, even by Runningfox's standards. He looked the men over, seeing undress and fatigues alongside a couple that had made the effort to get into dress uniform. Then he first saluted the Flag painted on the bulkhead, and returned the salute of the ensign commanding the detail. "Request permission to come aboard."

 

"Granted, Sir." The young man, in rumpled fatigues piped.

 

"Ensign Devereaux, I assume. Where is Captain Smith?"

 

"Uh, He and the XO are back aft, sir. There's an intermittent fault in Missile 1. They are trying to trace it and correct it." The rush of words told Runningfox that it was a lie this lad had been given to cover his own ass.

 

"Tell him I will meet him on the bridge immediately. And Ensign, come with me." He walked to the end of the line of side boys. He lowered his voice, but the acid of it was clear. "I don't care if your men have to show up naked for honors. But at least assure yourself that they are all dressed the same. That," he pointed at the lack of uniformity, "would tell any flag officer arriving that you don't care. If they are all in fatigues, it looks like they have work that has to be done, which most Admirals won't complain too much about. If they're all in undress, you have a relaxed Captain and Admiral. All in Dress, you have a Captain wanting to make a good impression, or a hardass Admiral." He jerked a thumb toward the men around them. "That merely looks sloppy. Correct it before I go ashore, or this will be the last ship you serve on."

 

He and Elaine, followed by Flag Lieutenant Yanakov left the boat bay. Devereaux dismissed the side party, then glared at the chuckling MacNamara. "What's your problem, Coxswain?"

 

The man that had left for Gobi sullenly in tow would never have recognized the mirth in his own voice now. He hadn't expected things to turn out like this. "Welcome to the real navy, sir. If anyone can kick this bunch of Corporate Cit rejects into shape, that's the man. Me, I think you're a lost cause, sir." He saluted, and returned to the cutter.

 

Compared to the bridge of a Dreadnought, for that matter, the bridge of anything larger than a light cruiser, the bridge of Ney would have been claustrophobic. But to Runningfox, it was small and cozy. He walked to the ship's status console, brushed the rating aside, and ran some quick diagnostics. What he saw didn't surprise him. He made notes on his pad, and signaled Elaine and Yanakov over.

 

"Have I ever been a Martinet?" He asked softly.

 

"Not that I've ever seen." Elaine said.

 

"Not even when I shredded the status reports instead of filing them." Yanakov said. That had been once, two years ago. He had gotten much better since then.

 

"Well I think that's the kind of officer Smith needs to be dealing with, at least for a while. Don't be surprised if I snap at you. Act like it happens every day." Fifteen minutes after Runningfox had arrived, Smith showed up. His uniform was clean, but the crease had been rubbed out. He saluted as Runningfox lowered the pad.

 

"You've been pulled off Survey Squadron One, Captain, since your ship and officers couldn't seem to understand simple instructions. You're staying with me a while longer."

 

Smith's jaw clenched at the rebuke. "Yes, sir."

 

"Because of that, I had to detach a good ship, the Custer to replace yours. So Ney has just become my flagship, and you, are now officially my flag Captain."

 

If Smith held in his frustration any longer, he'd probably explode, Runningfox thought. "I want to speak with you in your office now."

 

"With all due respect, sir-"

 

While soft, Runningfox's answer cut like a knife. "I didn't ask for excuses, mister. Nor was that a request. I said in the office, now."

 

Smith bit his lip, and followed Runningfox into the underway cabin. Runningfox brusquely ordered Elaine and Yanakov to sit, and glared at the young man. In his years as an officer, he'd found that a calm manner put across his displeasure more easily than anger. Very few failed to do it right the second time when he spoke as if only an idiot could fail to understand his instructions.

 

However, there is always that officer that can't understand unless you treat him like a first year boot. That is why a temper tantrum, what the Book called 'vigorous verbal remonstration' sometimes did wonders. Some officers used nothing but.

 

"Sir-"

 

"Who told you to stand easy?" Smith glared, then snapped into a tight brace. Runningfox walked over to, then around the younger man, as if surveying some kind of displeasing life form. "I have seen sloppy ships before, Captain, but by the Great Spirit yours is by far the worst! The senior officers off relaxing while they put their junior ensign on the hot seat."

 

"Sir-"

 

"Save the crap. Ensign Devereaux did what you told him. He took a chance at a court martial to cover your ass." He clapped softly, ironically. "That is why I checked the systems display on your own bridge. Or didn't you think I could read? Now straight out, why weren't you in the boat bay?"

 

"Sir, we didn't know you were coming until you had arrived, sir."

 

"Won't wash. MacNamara called ahead before we took off, as the Book requires. Your XO replied, also as the book requires. So far, Captain, I'm just wondering if you are criminally negligent, naturally offensive, or just plain stupid."

 

"I'm a loyal officer, not like-" He bit his lip.

 

"Not like some you can name? Myself included?" Runningfox finished the half-voiced thought. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Maybe when I put this uniform on, I felt I was supposed to protect all of the people of the Alliance, not just the Planetary Corps." His voice rose back to normal. "You took the same oath as I did, Mister. 'To protect the people of the Alliance against all enemies, Foreign and Domestic'. Or maybe you were sleeping when the oath was administered.

“Just possibly I felt it was my duty to stand against orders that would have killed millions because some fat corporate world twit was angry that people refused to play a game where he sets the rules. That dared to complain when that same twit changes them when it suits him. Just possibly, I need a better reason than that to kill fellow human beings.

 

"As for the officers you defame, only fourteen of them lived through that disorganized hell hole they were stuck in for the horrible crime of obeying my orders. So their crime was refusing to mutiny against me."

 

"Orders are-"

 

Runningfox roared. "Spare me first year semantics, Captain! I went through the same Academy you did. But didn't you take Ethics? Or Logic? When I was there, they were requirements you had to pass. Haven't you learned from history? The Prussian ethic of the 17th century is still extolled, and the foundation of that ethic is that no illegal order is to be obeyed, regardless of blandishment or punishment.

 

"Hell, do you even know where your ship's name comes from?" Smith admitted his ignorance. "Field Marshal Ney was a commander back on Terra, Late 18th, early 19th century. He fought his entire life for an Empire named France. There are two quotes from the man that I admire. 'This battle may be lost, but there is sufficient time this day to win the next'. The other was during a battle where he refused the orders of his Emperor to do what the Emperor thought was right. His answer to the charge was, 'you may have my head, sir, but until that time, I will use it to win this battle'."

He dropped the pedantic tone. "As my flag Captain, you have to be the best of the best. And this ship will be the best as well. If you can't give me your best, you should have joined the Marines. Give your crew 24 hours of liberty, then you and I go to work.

 

"From that moment on, no one is going to get enough sleep. You, me, the deck hand swabbing the heads, no one. You'll drill until you drop, then drill again. Once you and this crew can find your butts without a roadmap, we'll train against the training squadron, again. When I'm done with you, you'll think of a battleship as an easy target.

 

"If there is any grumbling or complaints among the crew, you had better deal with them, because if they reach my ears, That lifting sensation you suddenly feel will be my boot right up your ass.

 

"When, not if you are all up to my standards, I intend to get every man aboard falling down drunk, primarily because there will be no drinking at all until that time.

 

"Tell your officers that play time is over, because I'm going to be right behind the slackers. Dismissed!"

 

Smith marched out, and Runningfox looked to Brice. She silently applauded. Yanakov shook his head ruefully, and he bowed in return.

 

"Now I see what I was missing. Thank god."

 

"Check aboard Matthew. We need quarters for the staff. If you have to, bump anyone including Smith to make that space. Don't take no for an answer. Then have an area on the bridge cleared for Flag Operations. I don't care if Smith has to have the Sensor officer in his lap. Once that's been taken care off, I want you to talk to the others. For a while, I'm going to be a raving monster, at least where this ship is concerned, and I don't want staff officers acting like that isn't normal."

 

"Yes, sir." Yanakov made notes, then left.

 

"What ever happened to him?"

 

“Who?”

 

“Field Marshal Ney?”

 

Runningfox looked to Brice, surprised. "Depends on which history you read. After that last battle, which he won, he was either shot as a traitor, or rescued by his men, shipped off to a country called the United States, where he died twenty years later as a school teacher. "

 

"And which do you prefer? "

 

"I never gave it much preference."

 

And why do I think that last comment was a lie? She asked herself.

 

Hubris

"Strategy is based on deception"

Sun Tzu 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

Eric Von Wirth was bored. When he'd joined the Fleet, he'd expected adventure, romance, and danger.

Instead he looked over his squadron as they settled into positions after transit and began the survey of the 30th system on this endless survey. Custer and Hooker were just moving toward planet 15 in this system.

'Survey until you find a sally port'. Yeah, right. This tramline so far was one of the rare varieties that were merely two Termini in each system. What the Stellographers called a 'pearl necklace'.

 

Sailors called them 'daisy chains', which while describing them very well, has other more coarse connotations.

He remembered a piece of history from his childhood. A dishonored legion of ancient Rome, over 2,500 years ago. They had been ordered to march east across the unexplored world until they returned home from the west. The orders, patently impossible, were followed to the letter.

 

No one knew what had become of that 2400 men.

 

The worst of it was that the resources of a ship, and the crew especially, were finite. While only half the allowed for marines were aboard, his people were still jammed into tin cans like so many sardines. Standard maintenance required stores, which each ship carried, of course, and more stores, which a base or supply ship could provide.

 

With the ships he had few worries, a warship is made to take abuse, at the hands of both friend and foe, though you do finally reach the law of diminishing returns. Maybe six months more at the slow steady pace of a survey mission before they honestly needed dockyard assistance. Knowing Stanton, he’d have to tow half of them back to prove it too.

 

But nothing could replace fresh air, fresh food, and seeing people that weren't in uniforms every minute of the day. Space travel was closest akin to the nuclear powered submarines of the 1st century BY. The machines could run almost forever, but the men tended to break down.

 

His crew was fast approaching the ragged edge. When they reached it, he might have a mutiny on his hands yet. Already the medics had down checked 5% as desperately needing R&R, something in even shorter supply. He'd read about a commerce raider named Atlantis during the Second World War, and this last month had taken a leaf from Bernhard Rogge's book.

 

One man in ten aboard each ship had been informed that they were on R&R aboard for a week. During that week, they were allowed to dress as they pleased, eat when they pleased, get falling down drunk if they wished, hell, even find someone in the R&R rotation they liked and wander off somewhere for something more intimate, and had no duties to perform unless they were attacked. It helped.

 

Stanton obviously didn’t care that the men might fall apart.

 

If he were to turn around right now, it would be 8 months back to Gobi at full speed, assuming the engines didn't blow their mechanical hearts (Which, since they were running about four months past their standard dockyard maintenance cycle) was likely. Sparing the engines, they could do it in a year. It had taken over two years at their present pace, with these orders.

 

But even for a cul de sac warp system; they'd struck what Survey would call gold. Ten of those transits were into systems with planets that might be able to support life, but he had neither the time nor the resources for even partial ground surveys. Eight more were systems that would require domes and artificial life support before man could call them home. But those systems were rich in mineral resources.

 

Two were extremely rare trinary systems, three stars playing tug of war with each other. According to every theory of Terminus mechanics, it should have been impossible for nature to even generate a Terminus inside a trinary. Yet here they were, just far enough apart to make none of the stars the primary. No planets had ever formed there, or those that had had been torn apart millennia ago. What remained in each were vast asteroid fields larger than the entirety of the Terra system. The larger of the two had one almost twice as big! Asteroids with every bit of mass as three solar systems, in bite sized chunks needing only foundry transports to process it and cargo ships to transport the material away. As the son of a New Zurich commodities broker, he knew what that system was worth. It meant added costs for sublight intrasystem travel, but look at the profits!

 

If only they could find a sally port.

 

"Commodore, we've received a contact message from Guderian."

 

"Thank you, Captain Harrison. I'll come up."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Dnepr was too small to have a flag bridge, so Von Wirth had taken over a screen near communications. They hadn't had time for him to gather a staff either, so there was no overcrowding. Harrison motioned him toward her command chair, and handed him the pad. "Sir, message from Guderian. Long range sensors report ships approaching from the across the system."

 

Finally, some excitement! "Any identification yet?"

 

"Nothing yet, sir. No transponders either way."

 

"Signal Hooker and Custer to rejoin at full speed. Signal the fleet to close on the target."

 

Like a school of bluefish, the fleet turned, arrowing toward the new ships.

"Range down to 48 light minutes. Aspect change, sir! Either their sensors aren't as fine as ours, or they took a while to decide. Now bearing on an intercept course. Increasing speed to 10% of light speed."

 

As much as he wanted to ask, Von Wirth allowed Harrison to command her ship. "How soon before we can differentiate ships?"

 

"With their new course, about one hour twenty minutes."

 

The squadrons closed. "Sir, we can break it now. Five ships, strength six or less. They're slowing, formation changing. Range now 25 light seconds. Ships are definitely alien configuration."

 

"All crews to alert." Von Wirth ordered.

 

"Sir, our XO racks aren't loaded." Harrison pointed out.

 

Von Wirth mused. "Strength six means destroyers or smaller, captain. Our normal salvos alone should be enough. Hopefully they can judge throw weight as well as we can, and aren't suicidal, because we could have that force for breakfast. Helm, maintain rate of closure."

 

While Von Wirth was an able officer, sure of his squadron and his men, he had never made a bigger mistake in his life.

 

As they closed, he readjusted his formation as well. Instead of Freemont and Cortez in the lead, he moved Mikuma and Dnepr to the fore. Guderian dropped in behind the Frigates. Custer and Hooker were far back, and hard pressed to join.

 

* * * * *

 

The commander looked at the ships closing. Two large vessels were in the lead. Behind them were two small vessels, and one the size of his own flagship. Back behind them were two more medium sized vessels. What an odd formation.

 

"Prepare for launch. His cursor touched the two largest vessels. They would give him the best measure of their ability. "Those two."

[machievelli]

At twenty light seconds, suddenly the scanners wailed. "Fighter launch!" The officer screamed. "Two of them are carriers, similar to the Lampier class!"

 

"Battle stations." Von Wirth ordered. He wasn't unduly worried yet. During the first year of IW3, the Alliance high command had believed a squadron of fighters were equal to a battlecruiser in battle, between throw weight and laser packs. Properly handled that had been a gross exaggeration. The Creepers had never learned how to use them efficiently, and when the Rex had fielded theirs, it had taken staggering losses before they learned that teamwork was not the same in fighters as it had been in pack hunts.

 

After the battle of New Uganda in December of 244 AY, the high command had finally admitted to themselves that a squadron was more equal to a light cruiser.

 

That had been 100 years ago, before the faster point defense, anti-fighter systems, and AFMs. Even a Rex fighter squadron would want to avoid his force. If these people were new to fighters, he was going to gulp them down like caviar.

 

And that was the last mistake Von Wirth ever made.

 

"Sir, those energy signatures look like really odd for fighters. Too big for one thing."

 

"We’ll inspect the wreckage afterward. Prepare AFM-"

 

"Missiles!" At a distance of eleven light seconds, well outside AFM range, but far before they should have been able to track, let alone fire, the fighters spawned missiles. Not fighter missiles, but standard ship missiles! A solid phalanx of missiles charged toward them.

 

"Over a hundred missiles,sir! almost all are targetting the cruisers!"

 

Point defense began thundering, missiles dying in puffs of antimissiles or ripped by lasers. But it was too little too late. Over half of the missiles were killed, but what was left was more than a squadron of Dreadnoughts could throw. Then the first missiles exploded.

 

The fireball was small, almost unnoticeable, but it's affect was shocking.

 

"Sir, shields one to seven have shut down!"

 

Von Wirth paled. No missile was that powerful!

 

Then more missiles exploded against Mikuma's naked drive field. Alarms screamed as systems overloaded.

 

Mikuma stumbled out of line, but she wasn't alone. Dnieper spun aside, to all visual signs intact, but her systems dead.

 

Jason Everhart stared in horror from the bridge of Custer. "Signal all ships to withdraw!" As Custer turned, Hooker following, he looked at the screen angrily. Guderian had clawed free, though she was staggering. But Freemont and Cortez were charging toward the enemy. "Damn it, order those maniacs to withdraw!"

 

Before the rating could comply, the screen lit. It was David O’Meara. "No time, Jase. We'll keep them off your back as long as we can."

 

On the screen, the enemy destroyers fired missiles, fighters adding their laser fire at the surprising cavalry charge. The Corvettes were the center of a Catherine wheel as they fired, their launchers going to rapid fire. On screen, David was still talking. A missile hit Freemont's shields. Two more scorched in.

 

"Tell Martin-" there was a flash behind O’Meara, and the communications screen went blank. As the three destroyers ran, Cortez continued her lone banzai charge. There was another salvo from the destroyers, and she spun crazily aside like a top. The enemy closed now with the destroyers as their fighters ran frantically back to reload.

 

"Captain's conference, now!"

 

A moment later, the screen showed him Captain's Davies and Mueller.

 

"I'm open-"

 

"Can it, sir." Davies cut him off. You're the ex Dreadnought captain. What are your orders?"

 

"Someone has to get through to the next system. Our courier drones don't have the range to reach Gobi. They will have to make at least four transits before they even reach the Deep Space Communications Relay net."

 

"We know that sir. Your orders?"

 

He hated it, but it had to be done. "Guderian and Hooker are to attack the next time the enemy fighters close. I will endeavor to get through the Terminus to launch the drone. The instant it's off, I will transit back-"

 

"Sir, we'll be dead by then. Save yourself."

 

"Negative. As you have both pointed out, I am the senior officer remaining. If I want to rescue two lunatic destroyer captains, I will! Custer out."

 

Minutes later, the fighters roared back in. Spewing AFMs, Guderian and Hooker broke back insystem, their spacing widening as they chose diverging courses. Custer threw her own weight in as she ran. All three ships went to rapid fire. The old maxim from the 20th Century Missile navy in this case was true. Use them or lose them. The fighters split, only one squadron going for Custer. Half of the remaining force split to attack Guderian and Hooker, the other half orbited, ready to reattack any ship that survived.

 

"Sir?" The rating at the sensor panel had brought up a system map. For a moment, Everhart didn't understand what was so important. The screen showed Guderian and Hooker fighting for their lives, the enemy fighters closing, the enemy ships back where the squadron had died. Then his eyes widened. On the screen, a light flashed, then a short distance away, another. Both fluctuated, then vanished again.

 

"Sir, those are the IFF transponders of Mikuma and Dnieper."

 

"But the ships are dead!"

 

"Not according to that. It reads as massive systems failures, but nothing that can't be repaired."

 

* * * * *

 

Eric Von Wirth staggered to his feet as alarms wailed. He caught an outflung hand, and pulled Harrison to her feet as well. "Damage report?"

 

"I don't know yet, sir-"

 

"If we're going to die, you can at least call me Eric." Von Wirth went to a console, looking over the rating's shoulder. Every system was going haywire, except for the gravity compensators. He was happy about that, whatever the weapon was, if it had affected the compensator, his crew would have been spread thin on the nearest surfaces.

 

A computer flickered to life, but when asked, it claimed that Pi was 2, and that 2+2= 1.745832.

 

"What do you think, si- Eric?"

 

"I think we'd better get the Marines into Steamers." He checked his sidearm. "Since nothing seems to work, we'd better pass that word by runner."

 

The Marines shrugged into their Combat armor suits, nicknamed Steamers because the originals had little or no climate control, and spread out through the ship. A private stationed at Airlock 1 signaled that something had attached, and backed away as a ready squad thundered down the passageway. The lock opened, and a small alien entered. It saw the Steamers, and froze. Then suddenly it fired a small wide bore pistol toward them. Private Lanzecki leaned up to aim, the projectile hit him, and popped, forming a shell of netlike strands. His suit spasmed, then collapsed.

 

"Fire!" The squad fired, plasma rifles blasting the alien and half of the lock to rubble.

For a while it was touch and go. The aliens didn't seem to have any weapons beyond their pistols, but if one saw the Marine first, the Marine went down, his suit disabled. Then one arrived with a gun half his size, and began popping nets into spaces where Marines crouched.

 

* * * * *

 

The assault commander looked at what was left of his force. These beings were maniacs! The ones in their huge armored suits were bad, but even the unarmored ones fought like angry Vindrei! If they tried to enter through the door, they would be boxed in, with nowhere to go but down. He signaled the one with the cutter, and motioned to the bulkhead. The Engineer moved up, and readied his tools. The bulkheads were 21 Bretai thick, and he set the cutter to that depth, plus four. Then he switched it on. A small ball of light warned him of the monomolecular wire's tip, and he thrust it into the wall, slicing across, up, across, then down. With the angle he had used, the chunk of plating twice his size fell into the next compartment.

 

The others poured through, and after they were all gone, the engineer trimmed the razor edges of the cut before following.

 

* * * * *

 

"I don't like the sound of that." Harrison commented. Von Wirth snorted. The weapons console had spun up a couple minutes before. But before he could do anything, suddenly the system crashed again. Whoever they were, they'd found a way to make every electronic system go ga-ga on command.

 

The hatch to the corridor opened, and a Marine staggered in. He was in unpowered armor, and looked beat. "We can't hold em forever, sir. They've got some kind of monomolecular cutters, and they're going through the walls like rats through cheese. Most of the Steamer equipped troops went down first. They're using some kind of nets. Jangles either electronics or nerve on contact."

 

"Hold as long as you can, Sergeant. If I can access the self destruct-"

 

The hatch exploded, Von Wirth felt an impact and was flying, his eyes cataloging the scene. The shrapnel ripping the Marine apart. Harrison screamed, blood spraying as she fell. Then he hit the deck, a puncture in his arm his only injury.

 

"Harrison!" Eric fell to his knees, pulling her back into cover.

 

The woman shuddered, then reached out, catching Von Wirth's hand in a death grip. "Sarah..." She shuddered again, and died.

 

Von Wirth drew his sidearm, and waited.

 

* * * * *

 

"Everything is recorded on the drone."

 

"Guderian is gone, sir."

 

"How long to the Terminus?"

 

"Two minutes."

 

"Before the fighters overhaul us?"

 

"They'll be on us in thirty seconds."

 

"Prep the Omega Drone."

 

"Hooker just bought it sir."

 

"The last fighter fired on us."

 

The fighter died a second later, but his strike went home. Point defense destroyed all but two missiles. The first stripped away their shields. The other caused overloads in several systems.

 

"Prepare for warp!"

 

They hit the Terminus, slowing frantically. For an instant, tidal forces tried to turn her symmetry into a metal and flesh pretzel. The stars danced crazily, then changed into yet another star field. "Turn ship 180 degrees! Launch drone!"

 

It wasn't a conscious decision. Everhart knew he had to run like hell to save his ship. But something made him turn back anyway.

 

The ship turned back. A thudding sound reported that the drone had gone. While a reactionless, inertialess drive isn't magic, when turning 180 degrees at this speed, it was a big help.

 

"Terminus at 350 relative - transits! Fighters!"

 

Everhart didn't state the obvious. Fighters were too small to survive warp transits according to everything known to science. But here they were. And Custer was in the best position to make them rue this day. "Fire!"

 

The first ships through were blown to hell as Krupas, point defense and AFMs ripped into them at knife fighting range. One of the damaged fighters rolled past like a boomerang, and he stiffened. They looked like shortened pinnaces, with a large cylindrical abdomen attached to them. Seven fighters had come through. But as close as Custer was to the Terminus, they hadn't had a chance.

 

"Sir," Executive officer Brandeis brought up a screen. The damaged ship that had rolled past was frozen as the computer analyzed it. "Those aren't pinnaces, sir. They're a weird hybrid of fighter and Bangalores. See? Here's a fighter a little smaller than one of ours. And in the back, six missiles about the size of a standard missile, with all of the additional hardware used in an Bangalore carrier, including the engine for maneuvering it into position. That's why the energy signature was so odd. Cunning and effective. Once he's dropped his missiles and that carrier, he can attack as a fighter."

 

Everhart started to order communications to launch another drone with this information when the scanner officer shouted, "Transit! Enemy Destroyer!"

 

"Fire!" The enemy destroyer staggered aside as every weapon aboard Custer pounded her. Shields flared, then died, armor boiling as missiles melted it. Parts of the ship blasted away as the Krupa pounded on the hull like a demented version of the famous drummer they were named after were playing it.

 

"Transit! another-" Custer screamed as the mauled enemy ship found her range.

 

“Skipper, they’re using particle beams!”

 

That was madness! Nothing smaller than a battle cruiser used that weapon! It needed a goddamned linear accelerator half the hull size of a destroyer!

 

"Missile one is gone!"

 

"Maintain fire!"

 

"Sir-" The bulkhead exploded, the rating about to speak sucked into space. Men slapped down their visors. Those too slow died.

 

Still the weapons roared. The savaged alien destroyer suddenly exploded, and Custer's weapons turned on the other enemy ship. But another half dozen fighters were transiting. An enemy missile exploded against her drive field, and consoles blew as they overloaded.

 

"Sir-" A particle beam licked in through the missing bulkhead, and the bridge crew died, exploding like so many bombs as atoms of their bodies were suddenly superheated by fission.

 

As the fighters and destroyers closed on the hulk of Custer, far and away her drone sped. It was an idiot simple piece of equipment, an engine, a navigational system, and a molecular memory recorder the size of a man's fist. When it had been launched, Custer had still been alive. Now only it existed of that doomed squadron.

 

It was a pity that Everhart had not had a chance to check the memory before launching, which was standard procedure. Because when the enemy missile had hit, it had sent a pulse of energy greater than the drone could accept. It fried the operational systems, which was the recorder, and if it hadn't still been inert, it would have fried the engine and navigational system as well.

 

If it had been checked, another drone could have been launched in seconds.

 

Still and all, the remaining systems worked. Everhart had thought it would have to make four transits, and he had been correct. It passed a Deep Space Comm Relay, and was queried, dumping out it's information before self destructing.

 

The relay accepted the blank file, puzzled over it, then sent it across the system via the chain of Deep space relays every 6 light minutes to it's brother, which caught the message, put it into another drone, and launched it through to the next system, where the process would begin again. It sped through this system at light speed, and was picked up by not only the other relays, but by the transport San Diego, which was enroute to lay even more relays. Her computers stored the file, and a rating looked at it, then erased the file heading.

 

After all, if it was blank, it couldn't be important, right?

 

 

 

 

"Give me a fast ship, for I intend to go in harm's way."

John Paul Jones

 

Reaction

"Only move when it is to you advantage to move. "

Sun Tzu 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

In the empty space surrounding Gobi, a lesson was being taught. And the most important part was all because Michael Smith was a Technojunkie...

 

* * * * *

 

"God Damn it!" Captain Smith watched in the sims as Ney was eaten alive yet again. This time, it had been more one-sided. Two destroyers protecting a transport, which he had been slated to attack. Everything had gone clean and perfect. Right up to his attack run. Then suddenly, the 'transport' decided to attack him, since it was a cruiser in disguise.

 

"Sloppy, Captain." Runningfox had sat in that damn chair and watched, as they been drubbed again, saying nothing! How could he stand having his flagship whipped so easily?

 

More than anything, Smith wanted to wipe that smirk of the traitorous bastard's face.

 

"I went by the Book, sir."

 

"Do tell." The sarcasm was so thick, it almost choked Smith. "So did your opponent. The rules are all well and good, Captain, but they restrict you. Perhaps you should stick to Drones, Captain Smith."

 

Smith grumbled, turning back to the screens. First he complains when we don't play by the rules, (all right, it was stupid not to cover all bases with his ignoring Runningfox's arrival) then he complains when we adhere to them.

 

Perhaps you should stick to drones. Suddenly, Smith smiled. It would have to wait until Runningfox went ashore, or to another ship for a while. But the way he worked, that might be in the next hour.

 

* * * * *

 

"You're crazy,sir." Commander Brian Collins blurted out.

 

"XO, it's impolite to comment on your Captain's mental stability." Smith replied. "I just want to know if what I want will work?" He turned to the remaining person in his cabin, Lieutenant Susan Blankenship, his Electronic Warfare Officer.

 

"Well, the standard practice drone is short legged, Captain. Not much more than two minutes at standard ship's speed. Besides, it's a cooperative thing."

 

"What?"

 

"I mean, the drone sits there shouting, 'I'm a battleship! I'm a battleship!', and your computer, says, 'All right, I'll believe you just this once.' and tells you that it's a battleship."

 

"You mean it just confuses the computers?"

 

"No, sir. Our computers know it's a target drone, but are told by us to report it as a battleship."

 

"Then we have to convince them by fooling the computers?"

 

Blankenship started to agree verbally with the XO, then suddenly grinned. "Wait a minute. What if we could convince their sensors to lie?"

 

"Huh?"

 

She explained.

 

"But what about the range? As you said, a target drone is too short legged." Collins complained.

 

“So is an ECM drone. But a message drone is hyper capable and long legged.”

 

"Even better. Say we take the decoy hardware, and stuff it in a message drone?"

 

"We'd have to step down the engine too, or they'd know it when the drone hits full speed...."

 

"Do it." Smith ordered.

 

* * * * *

 

Blankenship scowled, glaring at the circuitry. The frequencies of a ship’s drive and equipment were easy to recognise. After all the sensors detected a ship and told you what class it was at several light minutes. An ECM decoy was merely a missile with a heavy weight transmitter that sent signals that matched the frequency of a ship’s drive, weapons, and with enough information, could mimic a ship exactly.

 

Fitting the warhead, which was almost half again as broad as a the shell into a communications drone, however was the bitch.

 

She hissed, then snatched her fingers back as an electronics mate adjusted a data solid, causing a sharp arc.

 

“Watch yourself, O’Malley! That almost singed my hair!”

 

“Sorry, LT. I found the short in bus 18.” He motioned. “The signal was hetrodyning.”

“It was…” he looked up, and saw THAT look in his LT’s eyes. She was always doing that, some idea catching in her mind, locking everything else out as she worked it through. “Give me a minute.” She leaped up, and in three strides was at the computer console. Her fingers blurred, and she watched the screen, touch typing at a pace few but professional stenographers could match.

 

“Son of a bitch!” She turned. “Get me a Type 4 message drone, and shift all of that into it.” She tapped the com panel. “Skipper, this is Blankenship. Could you get us assigned to Terminus security for a few hours? Without the Commodore?”

 

Two days later, she was able to show him exactly what she had created. Now they just had to show the commodore.

 

* * * * *

"Coming up on detection range." The captain of Cardigan sighed. The transport he was to hit was bumbling along alone, her escort running almost three light seconds ahead. Ney was living up to her reputation as a by the Book ship. The pity was, that the book didn't cover everything. His sensors touched then ignored a tumbling asteroid inbound as the destroyer turned to close.

 

On the 'tumbling asteroid', a voice spoke.

 

"Now."

 

Sensors screamed as engines kicked on line, missiles already racing to the attack. Behind them, dropping the deception came the Ney. Cardigan turned as the first missile impacted on her screens, then they were too close to complain as Ney's krupa smashed against them as well.

 

"End sim." The screens cleared, and Runningfox turned to a smirking Captain Smith.

 

"How did you pull that one out, Captain?"

 

Smith motioned to his Exec and to Blankenship. "We reworked a communications drone so that it would act like an ECM drone. Miss Blankenship figured out a way to confuse the sensors of another ship long enough for it to get us in killing range, and being in a commo drone body, it has some legs to."

 

"But the computers would still know it's a drone."

 

"No, sir." Blankenship snapped to attention. "I was thinking of that originally, but I figured out that by fooling the sensors instead, the deception would last longer. Besides, the emissions of engines and all are easy to imitate. So I packed drive simulators, shield simulators, weapons simulators into a courier drone shell."

 

"And how big a ship can your drone pretend to be?"

 

In answer, she turned to her console. Then, according to the sensors, the drone, now appearing to be a Dreadnought, turned to return home.

 

"And how did you generate a stealth field on the ship?"

 

"By running one of the regular drones in the bay when we shut down the engines on their approach. The simulators were set to create an aphasic frequency, one for each system. It told them we were a rock."

 

"That's cheating."

 

Smith gave him a surprised look. "It is sir?"

 

Runningfox nodded. "It will do, Captain Smith. Return to base."

 

All the way back to Gobi Skywatch, Smith wondered what the bastard would do. Runningfox hadn't been consistent there. He'd either scream about violating 'The Book' or maybe scream about how much drive simulators (among other simulators) cost. Not to mention the cost of the drone!

 

They arrived at the docking area of the Tombstone Skywatch, and Runningfox's staff hurried onto the station. Runningfox had said, well, nothing during the six hour run back.

 

Smith stopped wondering an hour later when a bemused Collins had called him to the cargo bay. A shuttle arrived, and case after case of beer, wine and spirits came aboard. The pilot, MacNamara had him sign for it, then informed him that Ney and her entire crew were off duty until 0600 of two days hence. As Runningfox had stated, he intended to get the entire ship drunk when they met his standards.

He also was told that his innovation, which would make a destroyer capable of stealth operations, would be forwarded to command under not Runningfox’s name, but under the crew of Ney, with his endorsement.

 

For Ney and Smith, it was the turning point. When other ships were sent to the front, Smith, not as captain, but representative for his crew, asked to stay. Not to avoid the fighting, but to teach others what they had learned from Runningfox. They had proven worthy of that request.

 

* * * * *

 

"Where are they?" Rear Admiral Wolchensky demanded. His force, three battlecruisers, three carriers, four cruisers and two destroyers fumbled on through the Asteroid belt of the Tombstone system.

 

He had been a cruiser captain before the war. Like officers in the old English army back when rank were something you bought, unless your senior officer died in combat, where you were given it, he thanked a 'bloody war, and a pestilential season' for his only chance at Flag rank.

 

In point of fact, he had gotten his present rank as he had his captaincy, by influential friends, a dogged manner in carrying out orders, and let's face it, serious brown nosing.

 

A big attack was being planned even now. The Alliance forces were massing at Al Hadji, while Admiral McIntyre in the Annex was preparing his forces, ships and weapons undreamed of before this war, all set to attack in months. With the Alliance attacking from the center, and McIntyre from the Annex, those Rebel bastards would be caught like walnuts in a vise. If he was there for the battles that followed, he'd have the combat experience he didn't yet have, but needed to advance to vice Admiral. Once he had that experience, his friends in BuPers had promised that he could get a cushy assignment closer to home, where politics meant more than medals, and people weren't shooting at you.

 

He'd hurried here to collect his Battlegroup, and had run into a brick wall named Runningfox. Battlegroup 51 had not finished shakedown yet, and the man dared to refuse to allow them to go before they were worked up.

 

He'd tried tact, and failed. He'd tried bluster, which had failed. Finally he'd ordered Runningfox to turn the ships over regardless.

 

The byblow had agreed, provided Wolchensky would put the order in writing.

 

That had stopped him cold. Any man in the Fleet could demand written orders if he felt the order to be improper, or unnecessarily dangerous. It wasn't often done, because if the junior officer proved correct in his stand, the document was used at the senior's court of inquiry, and if necessary, his court martial.

 

By the same token demanding written orders marked a man as a potential troublemaker. Runningfox was already considered a troublemaker and traitor to the uniform, with no chance this side of the grave for promotion. Therefore he had nothing to lose, so he couldn't use that against him.

 

Ships coming out of Mothball seven were rare gems to the commanders of Battlegroups, and fiercely contested because of it. Supreme Force Commander Wilderbeck had even gone so far as to have Runningfox's methods promulgated as a new fleet manual issued to the other bases.

 

Finally, amidst the shouting match, Runningfox had suggested a contest. He would take his squadron outsystem, and Wolchensky's vastly superior one would be tasked with finding him.

 

Laughing, Wolchensky had agreed. Five destroyers, three light cruisers and two light carriers against a light carrier Battlegroup? It was a joke!

 

Well that joke was on him, it seemed. First, Runningfox hadn't bothered to mention that the same Battlegroup had failed this test just two weeks earlier. Runningfox's ships had charged away, and vanished! It had been three days, and still no sign of them. Finally one of his Captains had suggested that they search the asteroid belt yet again.

 

Except for the fact that the carriers and cruisers were too damn big to hide there, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Now his Battlegroup moved carefully through the asteroids, scanners looking for ships lying doggo.

 

Unlike the asteroid belt of Terra, Gobi's was massive. A wandering planet twice the size of Terra had collided with what used to be Gobi 5 and shattered both less than 100,000 years ago, leaving a dense cluster that was only now starting to spread out. The scanners touched each rock within range, and declared the entire area radioactive. That screwed up the long range sensors, which made the fumbling necessary.

 

Wolchensky ordered tea from his personal samovar, and waited.

 

"Sir, sensors are picking up drive fields moving around planet 5."

 

He glanced up. Planet five, probably one of the moons of the two ill-fated planets. A poor rock battered by time plowed through the edge of the asteroid cluster every seven local years. No one in his right mind would hide there. But obviously, this Runningfox was not only a cowardly traitor, but a maniac as well. Only the best crews could have spotted him there, his chest swelled with pride. This crew! He conveniently forgot the reprimands he had intended to add to each and every man's jacket as he leaned forward, eager for the chase.

 

"All weapons prepare to fire."

 

The enemy squadron ran away, dodging through the asteroids. The Battlegroup closed, the smaller ships sliding into the cluster itself, the larger moving along it's edge, running past the planet as they moved into position. "Ready-"

 

"Missiles from aft, sir!"

 

"Fire on the ships, we'll turn and deal with those fighters once the squadron is dead."

 

The missiles raced out, then lost track as their targets just, vanished!

 

Now the missiles that had been fired at him came in, unstoppable in the rear arc of the fleet. Behind them came the Destroyers of Runningfox's OpFor.

 

"Helm 180 degrees about!"

 

Musashi turned, her point defense slapping down missiles. Then, amazingly, from the asteroids around planet five, more missiles and now fighters came toward them. Damn it, there was nowhere to hide in there! Where were they? From the shadow of Planet 5 came the Cruisers, their weapons pounding his screen from point blank range.

 

"Sir, code Omega from Valley Forge! Cyclops and Dragon report heavy damage!"

 

Wolchensky paled. His carriers! Musashi shuddered, and a soft calm female voice reported,

 

"CIC explosive decompression, Missile one destroyed, Engine pod one destroyed-"

 

As the computer continued the litany of destruction, the comm screen lit. Runningfox looked out at him.

 

"Sir the battle is over."

 

"What!"

 

"Sir the wargame sensors aboard your vessels shows Valley Forge, Cyclops, and Dragon dead or badly damaged. Musashi, Hesse and Shantung show as crippled. Your fighters were able to launch, but are being engaged by my own.

 

"Your entire force now consists of a Heavy cruiser, correction, Susquehana reported destroyed. Your force is three damaged light cruisers about thirty unsupported fighters, and two destroyers."

 

"Damn you that wasn't fair!"

 

Runningfox shook his head. Then spoke slowly, as if to a slow child. "Sir, war is not an exercise in fair and unfair. It is an exercise in killing as many of the enemy as you can without losing your own if possible. Any man that thinks it can and must be fair shouldn't be allowed to wear the uniform and command others.

 

"A commander strives to make sure that everything is done to weigh the battle in his favor. Any other action is not only pointless, it is madness.

 

"I repeat, what are you going to do?"

 

Wolchensky hissed. His pride had taken a beating, but he wasn't stupid. "What would you suggest, Commodore?"

 

"If you would come aboard, sir, I can lay out a series of drills that should have your men ready to go. It will be hard, and take a couple weeks, but you will be surprised by the difference."

 

"Very well."

[machievelli]

Wolchensky met Runningfox and Captain Smith in Ney's boatbay. He'd hoped to find something wrong with the cocky officer's crew. But Ney gleamed. The Marines were neat in undress uniforms. Only a bemused Runningfox jarred the ceremony.

 

Runningfox led him to his cabin, and handed him a copy of a tape. "In the last hour, we've received two drones. The first was an Omega drone. But the recorder has been erased somehow. I have to assume it came from my Survey Squadron. The other is from the transport San Diego. She is 25 transits out from Gobi, and reports that the Survey Squadron missed their rendezvous a week ago. This means that either the Survey Squadron found a sally port, that they have found victuals somewhere else, of more ominously, that they had been destroyed.

 

"I tend to believe the last possibility."

 

Wolchensky heard only as far as sally port. "That means they've found a way into the Rebel heart! I'll take my fleet immediately!"

 

"Sir, your ships are not ready. They need more drills-"

 

"We can do that on the move!" Wolchensky snapped.

 

"And if this is something we've never encountered?"

 

"I'll go through that terminus when I get to it!"

 

"And what about your orders to go to Al Hadji?"

 

"I'll send word to Admiral Stanton. We should hear back in two days."

 

"Sir, I will not release-"

 

"You'll have those orders in writing, Runningfox. Notify Stanton, and get out of my way!"

 

It took a week. But when the message arrived, Wolchensky was ordered to proceed. Runningfox was ordered to delay the refit of the remaining ships, the SD Carrier and the Battleships Vietnam and Sri Lanka. Instead, he was ordered to construct a pair of OBS4s to augment Gobi Skywatch.

 

He watched the Battlegroup until it was out of sight, then turned to Smith. "All right, Smitty. Take us home."

 

Smith, his irritation at serving with this man overridden by discovering someone who could lead men efficiently, gave the order. Runningfox made to leave the bridge.

 

"Oh, by the way, Smitty, I put the précis of your tactic into my fleet report. Using your gerrymandered courier drone to simulate larger vessels was a stroke of genius. They can probably use it out there. Between your electronics warfare officer, exec, and yourself, I expect at least a unit citation for you."

 

"All we did was what you taught us, sir."

 

"I've never had better students."

 

"Do you drink with your students?"

 

"Whenever asked."

 

"Come down to my cabin later, sir. We'd love to have you."

 

 

Preparation

"He whose Generals are able and not interfered

with by the sovereign will be Victorious"

Sun Tzu 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

The Coridiian council sat as Dakwas Kevoraan (Literally 'Father of some ships. A Commodore in human reckoning) began. To human eyes, with their attitude of comparing every race's physical appearance to what they know on their own world, they would have looked like lemurs, large soulful eyes, standing about a meter tall, and luxuriantly furred.

 

"We were on survey patrol, when my squadron, consisting of two Denali class Carriers, the Durriat and Bormelari, escorted by three Trebun class destroyers, the Trebun, Mored, and the Tegre, encountered an alien force here." Behind him, a screen lit, showing the sensor recording of the lead ship, Trebun. "The opposing force consisted of two ship the size of our Donakaga class, three the size of Trebun, and two the size of our Donwalla class."

 

The council, two Wasmadani (Literally father of the people) and Takwas (Father of many ships. About Fleet Admiral rank.) Moruna listened attentively.

 

"We formed a battle star, and at 20 light minutes, we launched our attack sleds." On the screen, dots of fire approached the alien ships. "Borwas (Flight father, wing commander to Terrans) Wasneigh launched at extreme range against the three larger targets as ordered, the last two being smaller, and the other destroyers farther astern. It was good that he did, for their defense was fierce." Missiles flared out, reipping into the attack sled before their own missiles could smash down the larger vessels.

 

"Only the two smaller ones, one of the destroyers, damaged and fleeing, and the two laggard destroyers remained. Our first losses were at this time. Lasers, such as our sleds carry, but much more powerful and incredibly accurate missiles designed to attack the sleds themselves shattered the second attack by our sleds, which had closed to laser range. We lost seven attack sleds with negligible return. I ordered all sleds to return, and to be reloaded with missile cylinders." On screen the alien destroyers were withdrawing, the two smaller vessels charging in.

 

"As they did, the small enemy vessels charged our ships." Sleds attacked them until Trebun and Tegre were able to bring them under fire and eliminate the threat. Tegre was damaged at this time by their missiles. "Once our sleds were ready, we sent them after the destroyers. Only now did we see what we had been lucky enough to avoid before."

 

The alien ships split up, one heading on toward the Terminus, the other two moving back to attack.

 

"Wasneigh broke his sleds into three groups. One pair of hands attacked the fleeing one, the rest split to attack the ones closer." Now veritable swarms of missiles ripped from the attacked vessels. The attack sleds closed and fired, but they took grievous losses in the process. Moruna watched intrigued.

 

“Pardon, what manner of weapon is this their destroyers are using?

 

“A form of modulated energy beam which causes matter to vibrate several million times a second. The hulls of our attack sleds were literally shaken apart by it.

 

"Both of these destroyers fell readily, and the other was hit before it could escape through the Terminus. To my shame, I ordered the closer attack sleds, Trebun and Mored to pursue."

 

On the screen, the sleds disappeared as they followed. Moments later, Mored followed, and a minute after that Trebun. But the Trebun's sensor now showed a scene of horror. The alien ship had not run, it had stopped at the Terminus, that hideous energy weapon ripping away Mored's flesh! Of the seven sleds that had proceeded her there was no sign except scattered wreckage. A hit was scored on the alien ship, then Mored vanished as her engines imploded.

 

Trebun fired, her weapons returning the favor with interest even as more sleds came through. Finally the ship lay dormant.

 

“The opponents have a weapon we have never seen before. Trebun recorded what appeared to be a rapidly fluctuating tractor-pressor beam. It cycles several million times a Doore, and literally shakes the section of the ship it is aimed at apart.

 

The council looked at each other in amazement. They had known such a weapon was thoretically possible. But how would it have worked?

 

"My losses were Mored destroyed, Tegre and Trebun damaged, though not seriously, and all but a hand of hands of my sleds."

 

The council were aghast at that. Up until now, exploring down the Tramlines on the other sides of their system, the attack sleds had appeared invulnerable. Yet fifteen of them had been destroyed in a single battle with light forces!

 

"While the combined personnel of the remaining ships were busy subduing those of their crews that had survived, and Tegre was busy disabling their weapons, Trebun was sent immediately home with the news. Seekers of knowledge sent by Takwas Moruna are examining them and their ships even now. However, the Takwas felt it was important that I return from the scene to report this personally."

 

"Why is that?”

 

"As the Progenitors said, 'the distant eye is a fickle witness, and should always be tested against all you know, as well as what others know'. He felt that my judgment of the situation would help in your deliberations."

 

"Give your judgment, Dakwas."

 

"First, this opposing force was surprised by our Attack sleds, but not for as long as would have been anticipated. They have obviously run into them, or their like before. The fact that they were armed with missiles designed to attack our sleds even without missile cylinders proves this.

 

"However the fact that our sleds carry long ranged missiles did come as a surprise. Their vessels do not appear to carry missiles with a long enough range to keep them at bay.

 

"Second, I brought the first analysis from the seekers. While their language is at present beyond us, they had some success with the alien computers. According to a file they found, and using our measurements instead of theirs, we had determined that their suzerainty extends over an area of space that would take light 4,000 years to cross."

 

"That is not possible!"

 

The Dakwas bowed his head. "Sir, the Progenitors recorded in the Analects, 'The impossible is just what has not been done yet'. We fly ships through the discovered Terminii to places they might have believed impossible in their time."

 

"A wise young one to know the Analects. However, is it also not written, 'Judge fact by what you know to be true, not what you wish to be true'?"

 

"The seekers I directed to study this data agree with them." Takwas Moruna said. "It was brought before you because of that data. We are facing an opponent larger and stronger than we are, and our tactics must change to confront that fact.

 

"Third, the actions of small groups of their personnel proved that they have been attacked by boarding parties before. On the three ships that remained to subdue them, we suffered eighty-seven percent casualties."

 

"Maniacs!"

 

"No sir, their tactics were well planned, and bolstered by powered armor suits that were designed for their tactical environment. Most of our losses were caused because our primary weapon; small captor guns, which were too short ranged. A well trained Subduer can fire one a distance of 800 shakti accurately, but the alien race's weapons have a range that is functionally line of sight.

 

"Each ship still carried five of the old large animal Captor guns, and these proved to be necessary. They also seemed to be ignorant of our mono-wire cutters. Several times they sealed bulkheads as if that would be sufficient to slow us for longer periods of time, and tended to guard those portals at first, not the bulkheads themselves.

 

"Regardless, due to their large size in comparison to us, and their habit of arming not only one in a hand of hands of their personnel, but having trained ground attack troops aboard their vessels limits our abilities."

 

The Wasmadani looked toward the last member. "What have you done, Takwas?"

 

"I have ordered in all of the frontier squadrons, and have ordered a fleet massed. I have also turned over copies of their armored suits for analysis to discover weaknesses, and if necessary, duplication for our own use. Ground conflict troops are being trained to augment our next assaults, and they are learning to work with Naval crews. Captor guns are being made, and a new type with a greater range and increased magazine capacity designed. Once these are in production, they will be issued to them. Last, three destroyers were sent down the Terminus past where the lone ship fought so well. They encountered another ship four systems on." He touched his controls. This ship was a huge ball. "It was a transport of some kind, with little armament, and was easily captured. Aboard it was this."

 

The device was large, the size of a Donwalla class corvette, but bulbous, with odd antennae. "The seekers of knowledge that were aboard the destroyers report that this appears to be some sort of communications array. It accepts messages sent at light speed, and either retransmits them to others, or places them in small missiles of some kind, which can then be sent through Termini. At intervals of 6 light minutes, we found more of these, all the way to the other side of the system, all of which were destroyed. On the Brenwas'(Captain) orders, they went forward three more systems, destroying the communications systems there before returning.

 

"This explains, sir, how they can maintain an empire as large as they claim. There is little or no time lag between contact and reaction. Surely they have been warned, and are massing to return."

 

"What do you intend to do, Takwas?"

 

"I suggest sir, that we discover how wise their strategists are. I will arrange a meeting engagement in one of the systems they have already discovered, using their own ships as decoy.

 

"However, since their union, and therefore their fleet is so much more massive than we. I request that one ship in three of our fleet be released to my command immediately, the remainder to be sent after us. I also request that Home Defense fleet be brought up to strength, and new ships be built to replace the losses I anticipate."

 

"All of your requests are granted."

 

 

Replacement

"There are five qualities which are dangerous in

the Character of a General

"If reckless, he can be killed.

"If cowardly, captured.

"If quick tempered, you can make a fool of him.

"If he has too delicate a sense of honor, you can

Calumniate him.

"If he is of a compassionate nature, you can harass him"

Sun Tzu, 'The ancient Art of War'

 

Elaine Brice started her pad. "Battle station 1's internal systems have been completed, and Captain Stoddard has maximized weapons emplacement. This puts him three days ahead of schedule on the station. Station 2's ribs have been laid, and he anticipates no problems with her.

 

"The Destroyer Apache has been replaced on station at close approach watch on Terminus 4 by Sikh. Captain Bretson reports no problems.

 

"Pursuant to your orders, the simulators on Gobi have been in use day and night. All crewmen have a basic knowledge of systems already, and our damage control drill with them has lowered their overall reaction time by five tenths of a second. They're growling at the ground attack training; someone there commented that he'd joined the Fleet to avoid mudcrawling.

 

"All pilots left over below from our drafts to the carriers are ready for flight operations. In fact, on my authority, they have been standing watch and watch with the pilots of our own carriers, and those to be assigned to the battlestations when they go operational. Material Resource Command has seen fit to grace us with 125 extra fighters, and pilots are flight-testing them right now.

 

"I had a demand from Captain Al Hanali again. He still wants Sri Lanka prepped, and has offered to do it from his own resources if necessary."

 

Runningfox snorted. He'd had nothing but problems with the Captain from Kaligata, the commander of the training command base below. "Probably by the stone soup method." he commented.

 

"Sir?"

 

"An old Western European folk tale. You ask someone for a pan of water, in which you put a stone, to make stone soup. As this person watches, you cook it, but you ask, a bit at a time, for other things. Meat, vegetables, salt, and when you are done, all you have supplied is the stone and the appetite.

 

"Tell him I will detach four of Mitsubishi's cutters to shuttle personnel. He may requisition parts, materials and tools directly from Captain Stoddard. He may not ask for personnel, docking facilities, or rebuilds without clearing it through me first. If he jumps the chain of command one more time, I'll report him to Fleet Central myself."

 

As Elaine made notes, the intercom sounded. She thumbed it, speaking without looking up. "Commodore's office."

 

"Sir, message from Boyne. Transits from Codalus."

 

"Which ships?" Runningfox asked.

 

"No ship's names reported as yet, sir. Classes include a Dreadnought, 2 battleships, and four battlecruisers."

 

"Put the squadron on battle stations alert. Carriers are to prep for alpha strike."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Half an hour later, even as Runningfox boarded Ney, another report reached them. The Dreadnought was the old Fujiyama Class Kitt’s Peak. The battleships were the Iowa class Nevada and Pennsylvania. The battlecruisers were old Sissyphus class Battlecruiser tugs Goliath, Indra, Marduk and Samson.

 

Ney leaped toward the approaching force at one tenth of light speed. More antiques. Kitt’s Peak. had been at Mothball 2, orbiting New Uganda until just last year. Nevada and Pennsylvania had been among the few survivors of the nuclear strike on Grumman, primarily because they were too big to land, and had been accidentally placed in the wrong parking orbits. The tugs had been relegated to duties in other backwaters of the Alliance for longer than Runningfox had been alive.

 

Considering the desperate straits the Alliance was supposed to be in, detaching such a force to send here showed either confidence, or stupidity. Either of which could be damning.

 

"Sir message from Kitt’s Peak…” The comm chief's eyebrows lifted. "Personal. uncoded, for you."

 

Someone over there didn't care who heard the message. Well, sobeit. "On screen."

 

"Just text, sir. 'Pursuant to Fleet order 17144, Gobi base hereby upgraded to level three, requiring Rear Admiral commanding. Therefore, Commodore Runningfox is to be replaced by Commander Battle Group 19.

 

"Commodore Runningfox to retain command Gobi Squadron, now designated Peace Force Squadron 10. Signed, Admiral Stanton'."

 

There was silence on the bridge. Runningfox looked at the angry faces, and snorted. "Come on people. Did you think the bastards would promote me?"

 

"Sir, there's an eyes only header for the rest of the signal."

 

"In my office." Runningfox left the bridge.

 

"That really bites it." someone said.

 

"As you were." Smith snapped. He leaned back in his chair glaring at the men on the bridge. "As long as I am captain of this ship, the upper echelons of our command structure will be respected." He looked around again. "Besides which, as senior officer present, it is my place to complain about the abuses of the upper echelons. So stop reading my mind."

 

Runningfox sat, then keyed in his security code. Admiral Noguchi glared at him, even though the message was fifteen light minutes old.

 

"Commodore, I have already asked that you be replaced, but I have been informed that since the big push from Al Hadji started last month, there are no loyal officers available.

 

"As ordered, you will remain in charge of your squadron. Enjoy it. It is only until such time as someone I can trust is promoted to sufficient rank.

 

"I will not allow that squadron to remain under the command of a man I cannot trust any longer than necessary. "Noguchi out."

 

* * * * *

 

Runningfox rubbed his eyes, then went back to the reports filed by Captain Stoddard. Whatever else could be said of Admiral Noguchi, an able dockyard supervisor wasn't one of them. First he had torn a strip off Mitsubishi's captain complaining that Runningfox's 'lackadaisical attitude toward discipline' was responsible for Stoddard's shortfall. Nothing specific had been mentioned, and no reprimands had been filed, in Stoddard's file or Runningfox's. Verbal abuse, of course, didn't need verification like written reprimands.

 

Now, under orders from Noguchi, Stoddard was trying to refit the last two battleships, complete the construction of two OBS4s, and upgrade the weapons and sensor systems of the OBS2 of Gobi Skywatch, all at the same time. With a full shipyard, it would have been an easy month's work. With four of the massive GEs, as originally requested, it would have been a hard two month job.

 

With merely one, it was next to impossible.

 

Stoddard had back channeled the file to Runningfox specifically because of this. Noguchi had taken a smoothly running operation, and in less than three weeks had reduced it to a snarl of opposing groups. Each had been told that their part of the assignment was more important than everyone else’s, and if the techs couldn't work fast enough report them for dereliction.

 

Of the 2500 men aboard Mitsubishi, a third had been put on report, about 500 were under different forms of arrest or 'punishment', and the rest had taken an attitude of passive resistance just short of 'white mutiny'. Work that should have been done was languishing.

 

Elaine Brice had brought up something even more ominous. When her office had been taken over by Noguchi's 'expert staff', one of them had accidentally left Noguchi's files and 'orders to subordinates' on her desk.

 

Noguchi had brought in a team of combined JAG (Judge Advocate General's office) and Fleet readiness investigators, with orders to go over every order given since Runningfox had taken command. Another team had begun to go over every requisition forwarded to Runningfox during the same time.

 

MacNamara had mentioned that the officer in charge of this last team, Captain Tamara Steinbrenner, had given him a direct order to 'keep an eye' on not only Runningfox, but the officers in his squadron that had graduated from Rebelville as well. His orders, he had been told, were to forestall any attempt by the officers to 'cover up' known discrepancies. His answer to these orders was to record a voice copy of her giving the order.

 

Meanwhile, a Fleet Inspector General's office team had arrived from Sector Central to audit his squadron.

 

This audit had resulted in a formal verbal complaint that he had wasted 'valuable resources' on antique hulls that could have been 'better spent' on the more important ships, such as the two aforementioned battleships.

 

He had to laugh at that. The wasted resources had been upgrading ships such as the Taney class ships to Achates class, and the 200 year overdue upgrade of his Scipio class ships to the same standard.

 

Worse yet, his entire squadron had been downchecked for being improperly fitted out, as if his use of the old Achates design had been a flight of fancy. They complained because every one of his cruisers and carriers had been fitted with Stealth ECM, just as every other new built bloody light cruiser and Carrier had been! In fact his junior officers had been approached by these 'impartial' judges off the record to complain about his 'harsh treatment' of Corporate Citizens.

 

Again, no reprimands had been entered into his file.

 

Being an officer willing to learn, and totally unsure of what was required to refit a mothballed vessel, Runningfox had learned the entire method by working hand in glove with Captain Stoddard to streamline the archaic designs they sometimes found. Instead of cable runs that blocked sections of passageway, the captain had developed his own method, submerging cables into the overhead, deck or bulkheads, with easy removal panels for repair. They'd worked together to replace bends in the destroyer loading tubes, originally used for flash blocks, (Better done now with small shield generators, as battle line ships did) and sped up reloading times at the expense of relocating the Communications office and Marines quarters.

 

This had been cause for reprimands, since it 'wasn't the way the navy did things'.

 

Commander Lanzecki had gotten hold of personnel files of Noguchi and Steinbrenner as well. How was something Runningfox hadn't bothered to ask. Runningfox had mentioned that with all of the promotions and field brevets caused by the war, that it was odd that Noguchi wasn't a full admiral by now, and Steinbrenner a rear admiral at least. Men junior to each had been so promoted, just look at Stanton at Sector, Or Wolchensky.

 

The files explained a lot.

 

Noguchi had taken command of Tombstone Sector after Admiral Johanson had been relieved and forcibly retired after his failure to hold both Gastenhowe and Tombstone. In fact too many of the upper echelon Admirals had been cashiered or retired because of such failures in the first months of the war. Officers lucky enough to survive the first months of the war had been praised and awarded medals in situations even worse.

 

Noguchi, the planner that had come up with the 'brilliant' ploy of capturing Gospodin, which had cost Admiral Steinbrenner his life and command, had then ordered that Tombstone be recaptured. That plan had cost him half a Battlegroup, and had gotten him sent back to Terra, where he had been put in charge of Material Resource Command. He had been bumped from that sinecure when an Inspector General's Office team discovered that he had placed the defenses of Mitsubishi, Grumman and other Planetary Corporation planets above the fleets at Tombstone and Al Hadji on his supply lists.

 

The damn fool! If the Rebels had wanted to take those corporate sumps they would have first had to confront the very fleets he was stinting!

 

Steinbrenner had been before a court of Inquiry 8 months after the battle of Gateway, when the first prisoner exchange had been organized. Over 1,000 men that had been interned in Rebelville were unaccounted for, the lion's share of them under the sadistic discipline before it could be stopped. It had been discovered that 'interrogators' had murdered the men.

 

Nothing substantial had come of it. Too many of the upper echelons then were rabidly Corporate Cits with their disdain of the 'proles'. The fleet was still learning the lessons of the Civil Wars of Human history. The officers and men had been reassigned, Steinbrenner had been relieved of command, but they had transferred her, in grade, to Material Resource Command.

 

She had been transferred out of there with Noguchi. Both had been sent to bolster Admiral Stanton's command bare months ago, and were now in Gobi.

 

Feeling like the proverbial one-armed paperhanger, Runningfox tried to keep things from falling apart.

 

 

Ambush

 

"Ground in which the army survives only

if it fights with the courage of desperation is

called 'death'(ground)"

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

Twenty odd transits away, Admiral Wolchensky was busy, naming the systems they entered. Upon their transit into the very first system, he had declared that it would be named Nova Wvroclau.

 

The comments by his staff that naming systems was the right of the discoverer were brushed aside. If the missing, possibly dead Von Wirth had not seen fit to give them proper names, just cataloging them instead, then it was his right to do so. So in the last eleven months, instead of drilling his men, he had been naming systems. He had assured himself that this would be a legacy that outlived him.

 

Three systems back, the deep space comm relay net had abruptly stopped. According to the records received from Runningfox, however, it should have extended 27 transits along, not the 24 he had recorded. This he decided was due to poor record keeping, which was as much Runningfox's fault as the captains of the ships laying them. He had reprimanded those captains in his last report.

 

As he decided what to name the next system, a recon fighter patrol was being launched from Cyclops. Doctrine called for full squadron patrols, but when Wolchensky had seen how much maintenance time was required for a dozen fighters, he'd ordered that pairs would do just as well. And since they weren't expected to fight, they were to be unarmed. Captain Zumwalt's complaints had fallen on deaf ears.

 

The two Recon fighters of Gold squadron raced ahead of the slower ships, headed for the major asteroid belt of Novaya Siberia (Wolchensky's name for the system), with orders to close on the Terminus.

 

Lieutenant Janet Devry settled her shoulders back against the seat padding, trying to find a more comfortable spot. She hummed as she kept one eye on the sensors. Even in a fully unexplored system, recon is a very boring task. There isn't-

 

She blinked in surprise. She'd just passed within a few light seconds of something the size of a destroyer. "Lieutenant Martinez?"

 

She could have sworn he sighed. The malaise of being under Wolchensky's command was getting to them all. "What now, Devry?"

 

"I've got a metallic reading to starboard. A destroyer sized ship."

 

"There are rocks out there the size of dreadnoughts, lieutenant."

 

"I know that, sir. But this one looks too good. Request permission to investigate."

 

Martinez swore under his breath. If he didn't the twit would complain. "All right. But make it quick."

 

The recon fighter rolled, coming back toward that fleeting contact. Devry set her scanner to tight beam, and watched.

 

There it was. Damn it, it had to be a ship! Nothing natural had such high concentrations of metals. And neither composite ceramic armor nor Armorplast occurred naturally.

 

Suddenly her fighter staggered, the engine whining. It was almost as if she'd been snagged by a tractor beam! But no one had the technology needed to snatch fighters off course at full speed!

 

"Sir! He's got me! A tractor beam!" Martinez might have heard and answered her, but all she could hear was the screech of jamming. She saw the ship an instant before she spotted the open boat bay. The tractor beam stuffed her in like a snack.

 

"Damn it, Janet, answer!" Martinez swore feelingly as he turned to retrace her course. "Cyclops this is Gold lead. My wingman has just disappeared." Suddenly, like a shark leaving the depths, a destroyer of unknown design appeared. "Cyclops! a destroyer in the asteroid belt! I'm-"

 

A point defense cluster blew his ship into flinders.

 

* * * * *

 

"Sir, report from Cyclops."

 

"Put it through."

 

"Sir, our scouting flight has gone off the air. This was their last message." A tape began to run. 'Cyclops! A destroyer in the asteroid belt! I'm-'. Captain Zumwalt came back on. "That is all, sir."

 

Wolchensky pondered. They'd had a dozen false alarms in the first week or so, most of them from pilots. He'd hoped his men were past that now. He'd given enough reprimands for it. "I thought I told you to send more experienced flight leads, Captain Zumwalt."

 

"I did, sir." Zumwalt was beyond trying to complain about Wolchensky's anal retentive attitude concerning flight operations, of which the admiral knew less than nothing. The fleet had reinstituted the American Navy's rule after IW3, that only pilots commanded carriers or squadrons with carriers, and for the same reason. Commanders that didn't know what a carrier could do failed to use them to their fullest ability. Worse yet, those that didn't know what a carrier was unable to do put the fragile hulls in danger without thinking.

 

Unfortunately, the war sent the rule by the wayside. The first time that had been done intentionally, he recalled, was in June of 1942 when the Americans placed another cruiser commander named Raymond Spruance in charge of carriers, a decision that had lead to victory at Midway.

 

But Wolchensky was no Ray Spruance. He spoke levelly. "Gold 7 is Lieutenant Martinez. A very stable and dependable person. The fact that he sent an incomplete report means he was too busy to report fully. Or dead. Sir, request permission to launch my ready fighters."

 

If he didn't let him, the damn captain would complain again. Maybe this time in writing. Like demanding written orders, written complaints were the bane of flag officers. Wolchensky had been a classmate of Zumwalt. The bastard was a Outworlder, and only here because of the Rebelville paroles. But if he was right, all of his treasons wouldn't matter. "Oh very well."

 

Seconds later, two squadrons launched, one from Cyclops, and the other from Dragon. Almost an hour later, they reported not one destroyer, but four, running at full speed for the Terminus.

 

They bored in for their attacks, and were disconcerted when along with the usual fire they were hit by what appeared to be tractor beams, ripping fighters apart. Unfortunately for most of the pilots hit by it, they didn't get off a signal. The ones that did were unremarked. Even so, the destroyer Zucachi was crippled as her sisters escaped.

 

Wolchensky refused to send additional fighters, instead increasing the fleet's speed. Great Admirals didn't allow pilots, junior officers to get all the glory. 19 hours passed before the enemy ship was spotted. It turned at bay when about 40 light seconds distant, charging back toward them.

 

"Capital missile batteries, prepare to fire." Wolchensky ordered.

 

"Sir." Captain Rudderman, his flag captain spoke from his screen on the bridge. "We could learn a lot from that ship if we capture it."

 

"Captain, if I want your opinion, I'll ask for it! Obey your orders. Fire."

 

Rudderman had been a good officer, but the stultifying effects of being under Wolchensky had taken their toll. A Flag Captain is supposed to be the tactical mirror of his Admiral. He must know his Admiral's mind, and know what orders the Admiral wanted him to give. So far, Rudderman hadn't figured out if Wolchensky wanted anyone else to give orders. He tended to second guess not only his flag captain, but every captain in the Battlegroup. If he gave an order without checking with the Admiral first, Wolchensky invariably complained about it. "Capital missile batteries, one salvo, fire."

 

Missiles howled downrange. Oddly, sensors reported that every targeting system on the enemy ship lit off simultaneously, then died. No one noticed that her shields went down a moment later, or that she had suddenly stopped, as if her engines had been shut down.

[machievelli]

The first missile in the salvo of Musashi's capital missiles blew her apart.

 

Far ahead, still out of sensor range, the three surviving Coridanii destroyers coasted to a stop at the Terminus. In the boat bays of two of them, a Recon fighter and a strike fighter now rested.

 

Wolchensky paused in place long enough to load his ship's XO racks, then went on toward the Terminus. They sighted the enemy ships at 72 light minutes, but again forbore to launch fighters. When they approached within 48, the enemy ships transited.

 

Wolchensky paused again, this time sending through a scout drone. When informed that the enemy flotilla had run on, he sent through first his light forces, then the carriers, followed finally by his battlecruisers.

 

Once through, he reorganized his formation yet again. The heavy cruiser Susquehana was ordered to fall back with Dragon and Cyclops. The battlecruisers formed around the carrier Valley Forge, and the light forces, Seine, Danube, Tenryu and the Destroyers Cardigan and Longstreet were placed three light minutes ahead of the Battlegroup.

 

Over an hour later, the ships aligned to his satisfaction, the main body started out after the vanguard.

 

* * * * *

 

"Observe these ships." The Dragnashi-Mergashta (Seeker-at-long-range) said, touching a series of blips at the back of opponent's formation. He had much to work with. Their own standard formations, and the ones they had seen when the first intrusion occurred. Now they saw another. Three ships in a line ahead, preceded by two vessels spread about one half of a light second apart. Following them at several light seconds, were three ships in a triangle with a ship between them, and behind them, following closely, another pair of ships in line ahead, with another ship behind and to the right of them.

 

The Rudwas leaned forward. "Your estimate?"

 

"These," the hand touched the five ships in the lead, "are two destroyers leading three cruisers; a typical vanguard formation. The ones behind," he touched the triangle formation, "are protecting the central one. It is probably a carrier, similar to our Zumbira or Kartumpch. The last three are again in a protective formation. The one to the rear is a guard to stop attack sleds from assaulting these two. Therefore they are probably Stratha class, or Denali class."

 

The Rudwas nodded. The formation made sense if those types of ships were there. "Molkia (Speaker), send all data to the Takwas. We will continue the mission."

 

* * * * *

 

Jasper Mulligan, Captain of Tenryu, commanding the van almost purred as the enemy destroyers ran. They were maneuvering frantically, but the range as closing, albeit slowly. He estimated that they would be in range in about five hours. "Sir, we're getting intermittent transponder readings from ahead of the enemy destroyers."

"Identify."

 

"Closest one looks like TANS San Diego, lost almost a year ago. Now we're getting more about thirty light seconds farther on. Cortez, Freemont, Custer, Dnepr, Mikuma, Guderian, Hooker. Sir, it's the entire Survey Squadron."

 

Send that report to the flag. Continue pursuit."

 

A short while later, Wolchensky's own sensors were able to verify the report. What remained of the Survey Squadron ships had been tractored into a clump, only the San Diego, rolling like a billiard ball through the heavens hadn't joined that Sargasso Sea. Another enemy destroyer had abandoned San Diego, and even now, as the main body approached within 48 light minutes of the

Survey Squadron, a cruiser sized ship had broken away from the hulks.

 

Whatever it was, it was slower than the destroyers, which clustered around it. There was his target. "Orders to Valley Forge, Cyclops, and Dragon. I want those ships crippled. Full deck launches as soon as possible."

 

The Battlegroup closed for almost nine more hours, and then fighters launched in swarms, running toward the van, which was even now passing the survey hulks. Aboard Tenryu, a rating noticed an odd power surge for just a second as they passed the remains of Custer. However, Mulligan had read another rating the riot act for reporting every sensor blip, so she didn't report this one.

 

As the fighters roared past the vanguard, approaching the enemy line, long range sensors reported another destroyer sized contact. Then a rash of contacts. An instant later, the lead ship spawned a dozen fighters, which came in to cover their flotilla.

 

The wing commander from Valley Forge didn't even pause to think. "Squadrons two bypass the enemy line, and take out those fighters. Squadrons four and three, I want that carrier! The rest of you, follow me!"

 

Fighters met in a swirling ball of laser and hyper velocity slugs. Behind them, the vanguard was almost in missile range, and the fleet was just passed the San Diego.

 

Unnoticed in the fleet's blind spot, San Diego stopped rolling, then from her ruptured sides streaked attack sleds, their wide missile filled abdomens aimed at the ships of Battlegroup 51's main body, just a few light seconds away.

 

The first Wolchensky knew was a panicked rating screaming "Missiles!" as 240 missiles ripped into his formation from astern. The carriers Cyclops and Dragon, along with their escort Susquehana shuddered and pinwheeled out of formation. Both Musashi and Hesse were also hit as the fighters howled through the formation a few seconds later.

 

"Fire, Damnit!" Wolchensky screamed, but the surprised point defense was late. The fighters flashed past, turned, and came back around to attack the stern. "Fleet turn 180 degrees about!" he ordered.

 

The ships ponderously turned, their AFMs tearing into the fighters that dogged them. As they did, their blind spot now centered on the Survey Squadron. At that moment, the other 140 fighters in the trap launched into the attack.

 

A rating panicked, and the Omega drone from Musashi launched away from the embattled fleet. Both Musashi and Valley Forge gushed atmosphere as the fighters, now free of their missiles slashed at them with lasers.

 

Mulligan turned to assist as the fighters reached the enemy ships. Now a solid phalanx of fighters came in from ships hanging just at 48 light minutes. The AFMs plucked fighters from the hornet swarm around the fleet, and most of them sped back toward that distant fleet to reload. But only Shantung fought. The other ships rolled drunkenly like hulks as the enemy approached her.

 

The weakened force retreated, but over 90 more fighters were closing. Thirty of them were smashed before they could launch, but 360 missiles shot toward the weakened force.

 

There were no survivors.

 

Advance

"Keep him under a strain, and wear him down."

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

"Magnificent." Takwas Moruth said. A good sized fleet had fallen to them this time, at the minuscule cost of 85 fighters killed, three destroyers and a heavy cruiser badly damaged. Even now boarding parties were winkling them out. The creatures were almost twice as large as the Coridanii. The unarmored creatures were bad enough, with their small eyes, generally hairless appearance, but the ones in armored suits of some kind were even worse! The ones in armor were almost four times as large!

 

The suits had proven more vulnerable than the creatures themselves to the Captor nets, and Moruth had gotten not only several hundred of the antique Captor guns to deal with these, but a couple of thousand of the newer design. The guns, used by the Progenitors for capturing large dangerous animals worked much better than the smaller net guns. The newest guns, with twenty net charges each, were even better. But his losses were still appalling

 

Maybe the seekers of Knowledge or the Builders of tools could develop a weapon that caused the armored suits to lock up, or a gas that would subdue them without killing too many, the Progenitors knew there would be enough prisoners to try it on. Entire teams of seekers had been assigned to this. To examine them, test them in the same mazes and behavioral tests used by the progenitors, learning their language. Others studied the dead, and analyzed their food to see what was safe to feed them. More studied their ship designs, and weapons, while more studied their computers.

 

For Moruth, it was actually simpler, however. The opponents were strong, their weapons having a fantastic range. But they were slow to learn, and naive. He turned to his staff.

 

"Inform the home world that I intend to advance until I face serious resistance. The remainder of the fleet is to join me at full speed."

 

Except for the destroyers tasked with keeping the enemy systems suppressed, the fleet moved on.

 

 

 

 

Prisoner

‘Treat the captive well, and care for them.

This is called winning the battle and becoming stronger.’

Sun Tzu 'The Ancient Art of War.'

 

Janet Devry snapped awake, looking around her in shock. Her recon fighter had been dragged in as neat as you please, some kind of weapon had shut down all of her systems, and she had sat in the boat bay, watching the enemy watch her. They were short furry people, with the most lacksadaisical attitude toward security she had ever heard of. There had been no marines that she could see, only a few faces watching her. Her air had started to go when an alarm of some kind rang. The fleet’s fighters were attacking, and any minute she’d be killed by her own people. She had fallen asleep from lack of oxygen happy at least to not be awake when she died.

 

Now she was in this, well, she couldn’t describe it as a cell or brig. There was more room than the average Commander got aboard a cruiser. The bed was luxuriantly soft, and so was the carpet as she sat up. The walls had been painted a soft green, and on a table was a bowl of fruit.

 

She hadn’t seen this much attention to detail in hotels she had stayed in!

 

She checked her kit automatically. After doing it every time she got in the cockpit since leaving the training center at Miramar, it was perfectly normal. The only things the enemy had removed from her suit were her side arm, and the rescue buoy attached to the flight suit. Everything else, including her fighting knife was still there. Maybe they didn’t think a knife was a weapon? She asked herself. That was ridiculous. The 20 cm long, 30 angstrom edge blade was capable of cutting through the deck if she was inclined.

 

She stood, and moved to the table. She didn’t recognize any of the fruit. She gingerly picked up a red striped fruit so described. The skin was hard, like citrus. She set it down, and lowered the knife, slicing through it delicately. Not because she was worried about the fruit, but to assure that the molecular width blade wouldn’t cut into the table as well. The smell was indescribably delicious. Like, cinnamon and lemon mixed with a touch of pineapple. She set the knife down, and picked up a piece. The taste was both hot and tart in her mouth, and she moaned her appreciation.

 

She strolled around the room, looking at the walls. Smooth, but slightly rough to the touch, almost like wallpaper. She finished the first half of the fruit, snatched up the other, and walked completely around until she came to the entry door. It didn’t move, which wasn’t surprising. After all, she was a prisoner.

 

She was investigating a smaller separate walled off area with what looked like it might be their idea of a bathroom when the hatch wooshed open.

 

Two small figures entered, one carrying what looked like a chessboard, the other a pad made for their size. “Hah-lo?” one said.

 

She stepped out, and glared at them. The one that had spoken looked at the pad, then back at her. “You be guh-hest. Any needs, just spuh-eak.”

 

“Who are you?”

 

“I Broogil, Dragnashi-Sorelians-Mooh-Vaht.” He touched his chest, “Title means, seeker of tuh-ruth of those we test.” He motioned toward his companion. “This is Merkurd. He is Brogdali-Mooh-Vaht. One who proh-tects those we test.” Merkud set down the board, and began setting up what was obviously a game of chess.

 

“Does he play?”

 

“Not weh-ll. Just lear-rned last week.” Broogil made a note on his pad, and walked out. Merkud held out his closed fists, and she tapped the right one. The pawn was white, and she leaned over the table, making her first move.

 

A short while late, as she was trying to extricate her queen from a cunning, trap, she noticed a noise.

 

Merkud was purring.

 

"Sir, I have not yet begun to fight!"

John Paul Jones of USS Bonhomme Richard to Captain Richard Pearson Of H.M.S. Serapis, September 24 1779

 

 

Analysis

"Order or disorder depends on organization; courage or

cowardice on circumstances,; strength or weakness on dispositions."

Sun Tzu 'The Ancient Art of War.'

 

The news that the war was finally over spread through the ships in Gobi like wildfire. Of course nothing had been announced officially yet, only that both sides were 'negotiating'. The battle of Viracoca, with it's horrendous losses was now a historical nightmare. But even Noguchi was willing to admit that they didn't need two 300-year-old battleships that desperately.

 

It was a good thing too. Sri Lanka had an intermittent feed fault in her missile launchers, (Smith and his crew had roared when they heard that) and the fault appeared to be not in the software or the mechanical systems but in her computer hardware itself. It would have been a year with their resources before she was ready, even if that meant going over every centimeter of her wiring and circuitry.

 

And Vietnam was even worse! Some long dead idiot had left Vietnam’s recycling plant on when her atmosphere was vented 250 years ago. The system, totally enclosed, had run on patiently, then, about a century later, had ruptured. The solvents had sprayed out into the vacuum, eroding half of the pipes in the recirculation plant, and the remainder had volatized over every square centimeter of her interior. The system, somehow ignoring the rupture, had pumped tons of waste of every description into the corridors and compartments, which had then sat for another century or two before they had opened her up again.

 

Vietnam didn't need a refit, she needed a rebuild.

 

Runningfox was kept busy by running interference for Stoddard's shipyard crews. Every day or so Noguchi came up with yet another master plan that would set everything right. Since the battleships were a long-term problem, Noguchi had ordered that the twenty odd Frigates and Corvettes be refurbished. As if twenty antique, short ranged, weakly armed small boys could equal even two old battleships in throw weight!

 

This ‘masterstroke’ been stymied for a while when it was discovered that almost all were pre-IW3 survey refits, back when cost consciousness was more important than capability under the Planetary Corps. XO racks had been removed; military engines, which were high powered for their mass at the expense of excessive maintenance, had been replaced with commercial models as a cost efficiency move. They were simpler, and could run at full power almost forever. Unfortunately at the expense of being so slow that even the battleships could outrun them.

 

Noguchi had come right back with orders to refit them with military engines, and XO racks, yet another impossible mission heaped on Stoddard's shoulders.

 

Why now? The war was over, and no one but Runningfox seemed to believe that something was down that tramline.

 

Runningfox and Ney had just checked the manifests of a supply convoy when Elaine Brice called him. "Sir, Gobi Skywatch just received an Omega Drone from Musashi!"

 

Ney hurried back to Skywatch, and Runningfox arrived at Communications just in time to see Tamara Steinbrenner leaving.

 

"I was told we received an Omega Drone report from Musashi?" he asked.

 

"We did, sir." The rating said. "But the Ice Princess took all of the copies, and gave orders that they are not for dissemination." He looked at Runningfox for a moment in speculation, then laid a disk on his desk. "Unfortunately this one was left behind." He smiled. "Pursuant to those orders, I'll have to run it through the formatter." He put it in the machine, hummed to himself without touching the formatting key, then handed it, still with the data, to Runningfox. "You needed a new disk, sir? Hopefully the formatter is working more efficiently now. You'd be surprised, sir, by the data it forgets to erase."

 

Runningfox looked at the disk. A trap set by Steinbrenner? Or maybe a clue to what was happening. He decided to risk it. "Very true, chief."

 

* * * * *

 

Stoddard entered Runningfox's office, taking the seat he was motioned to. "Ben, you mentioned the modification you were thinking about for the older Omega Drones. Did you do them?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Were Wolchensky's ships so equipped?"

 

"Yes, sir, though Von Wirth's weren't."

 

"Then your staff should be in on this." He handed the disk to Stoddard.

 

"What is it?"

 

"What happened to Battlegroup 51, and maybe some answers about what happened to Eric."

 

* * * * *

 

Twenty hours later, Runningfox's staff and Captains met with Chief Electronics Mate Conklin, the man in charge of system analysis, his assistant, and Runningfox's Chief of Intelligence, Lieutenant commander Tomas Lanzecki.

 

Intelligence analysis has always been mainly guesswork. Lanzecki and his staff constantly had data dumped on them like so much manure every day. His people's first job was not, as a neophyte might think, to tell their commanders what was found, rather it was to weed through that pile to find what the specific analyst, or his superior, considered valuable.

 

Only then could they use the data they had to project what they believed was important.

 

Note the operative 'believed'.

 

Every military disaster throughout history had been partially caused or augmented by the failure of the Intelligence operatives to look at the right piece of data, which 90% of the time happens to be right in their hands. Consider if you will, the attack on Pearl Harbor, in 1941.

 

Since Lanzecki knew about as much about the Omega drone's capabilities, as any neophyte, I.E. none, he had assisted primarily by doing what a wise Intelligence Chief should, which is sitting down, keeping your mouth shut while the people who know what they are doing collate.

 

"It worked like a charm." Conklin said, bringing the readouts onto the screen. "Have any of you seen an actual Omega Drone readout?"

 

"Not since my time in the Inspector General's office." Elaine answered. Everyone else had shaken their heads.

 

Conklin shrugged. He was used to explaining the arcana of the Emergency Shipboard Field Incident Reporter (As it was called by the technicians.) to the neophyte. "The thing most ship's officers don't know or tend to forget is that every time you go to battle stations, or your weapons fire, or your shields start taking damage, the Omega drone starts recording automatically. It also does a basic systems sweep every hour under normal conditions, and every ten seconds under combat conditions, recording any anomalous readings. Of course everyone tends to think only of the last data stored, not the entirety of that record. That is why the data is sort of a ‘deathbed confession used in courts martial.

 

“The flagship gets a data dump of the same sort from every ship in the squadron, battlegroup or fleet as well unless told to ignore it. Even drills activate it. The old ones have about 30 hours of recording space on them. This newer one has closer to 300 hours, so every couple of months or so on a normal ship under wartime conditions, you have to purge the record. Otherwise it will record only for what it has time remaining. Anyway, every time damage is inflicted, shields, armor, systems, etc, the readings here change." He touched the screen. "Usually by the time you're ready to launch it, most ship's systems are chewed up. In fact, they are designed to jettison automatically if the ship’s systems drop below a certain level, so that a record survives.

 

"I mentioned the purging because they didn't purge this baby, which would have shown up. The first time they went to battle station in over six months, they were close enough to scan an alien ship."

 

"Alien?" Runningfox asked. "Could it have possibly been new construction from the Outworlds?"

 

Lanzecki shook his head. "No sir, definitely alien in configuration. Weapons don't change much, but alien designs show different attitudes. The first thing to look at is the hull. You've seen Rex destroyers. If you were to put one side by side with Ingram, say, you'd see a difference in the way the weapons are located. But mostly you could see from a long way off the artistic bent of the race that built it. That would make a Rex hull oddly shaped to us. Calimari, for example, seemed to hate square corners and had smoothly rounded edges, so their hulls look like they were molded from an processed resin, big streamlined teardrops with missile tubes and gun barrels."

 

"That's right." Runningfox agreed. He'd remembered the instinctive revulsion he'd felt touring a captured Calimari cruiser.

 

Conklin nodded. "The same is true of a human ship. It feels comfortable to the eye. Now look at this."

 

The ship looked elfin in comparison to the ships closing on her. The hull looked almost as if it had been molded, or turned out on a potting wheel.

 

"Now June, hold, enhance, and magnify." The rating on the control panel moved her hand, and the screen froze. Then the ship was moved by the computer to the center, darkened areas more clearly marked.

 

"Definitely not manmade. Also unlike anyone else we've contacted. Though they are closer to what we would consider artistic than anyone else.

 

"Anyway, once Musashi was in range, her capital missiles blew the ship to hell-"

 

"They didn't even try to capture it for study?"

 

"No, sir. Admiral Wolchensky's orders were very specific. Note this. A really odd reaction to the incoming fire. Three seconds after missile launch, all enemy targeting systems come up for two seconds. Then nothing. Everything shuts down. No sensors, no shields, and more importantly no engines."

 

"Why would they do that?"

 

Lanzecki shrugged. "I don't know, sir. Death wish, maybe. Now, course change, out of battle stations, we drop out again, and here we are about ten hours later, right before they transited into the next system. This first is the data feed from the vanguard, Tenryu, to be exact. Here are the nearest enemy ships at 72 light minutes. They continued on, the enemy transits when our ships reach 48 light minutes, ours transit, and then we have..."

 

"Holy Christ!" Blandsley gasped. "That's the San Diego!"

 

"Yes, sir. Notice here, a destroyer-sized vessel departed her side moving out with the enemy squadron. But that isn't what surprised me. Look at this. I missed this myself at first. When I saw what had happened later, I went back and found it. Now June, hold San Diego, enhance and magnify." The rating again worked her magic.

 

For a long moment, they stared. San Diego had been blasted from end to- "Wait." Smith leaned forward. "Those blast almost look symmetrical! Down the sides as if designed!"

 

"They not only look it, they are symmetrical." Conklin agreed. "Spaced at exactly the same distance apart, nineteen meters. But look at the scale. Each one is no less than 8 meters across. No weapon known is going to make perfectly symmetrical holes like that, eight meters across, and 19 meters apart. Now, June, freeze, and rotate."

 

The camera angle shifted. By chance they were aimed directly down one of those cavernous holes. In the depth of it, they could see a bulbous shape.

 

"That looks like a missile." Captain Morgan Bretson, Captain of Sikh suggested. “Or Bangalore carriers.”

 

"That’s what I thought originally. No a fighter of some kind." Conklin said. "Look at the size! Bigger than any fighter we have, though it is about the size of a Bangalore carrier. As for the holes, they have been roughed out to look random, and are just big enough to allow that weapon to deploy. Now, The vanguard passes San Diego, and..."

 

The clump of hulks came into view. Runningfox gazed sadly at the transponders that still announced their names proudly. "The Survey Squadron." The other captains leaned forward, eyes cold and angry.

 

Conklin was unmoved. Of course, part of his duty was examining Omega Drones. He had to have the same attitude that keeps a pathologist at it. “Yes, sir. But look at this." His finger ran down the scanner lines as they swept the dead ships. "Hull integrity, placement of supposed weapons blasts. This ship, the Dnepr, was intact when they began gutting her to hide more fighters. So in fact, are most of them."

 

"How is that possible?" Runningfox asked. "They couldn't have taken the entire squadron intact!"

 

"Oh no? Look here. Every ship reads basically intact before they gutted them, with the exception of Custer, Freemont and Cortez. Custer has particle beam damage, which none of the others do, Freemont and Cortez took what looks like minor laser damage. All of the others were somehow disabled, and their weapons were knocked out with either Skewers or Pinholers."

 

"So Von Wirth surrendered."

 

"I don't think so, not after seeing what happened to Battlegroup 51. Now watch. The van is passing the squadron. The sensors are ignoring the hulk so that they can scan the enemy ships they are closing on, so all we got was a side lobe."

 

For a moment, a beam had licked out, touching the screens of the lead ship, Cardigan. So lightly, that only a very astute sensor officer would have noticed it.

 

"Just for a moment, someone on the other side jumped the gun. That was a missile sensor aboard that destroyer there, Hooker I think. When I noticed this, I ran the tape back, and got us that view of the enemy fighter.

 

"Worse yet, I've seen a seeker signature like that before. On an Bangalore carrier."

 

Runningfox felt cold. "So they have Bangalores?"

 

"From what the rest of the tape had, I don't think so, sir. But they have something equally nasty.

 

"Now, about fifteen minutes later. The van is well past the hulks; the main body is approaching San Diego. Wolchensky's fighters are launched and committed to the attack. Wait now, hold!" He touched the line of sensors from the vanguard. Another enemy ship had appeared on long-range sensors, and beyond it- "There you can see the first vague sensor readouts. That is the enemy. I estimate 37 ships, counting the six ships already encountered."

 

"That's a Battlegroup, not a squadron."

 

"Agreed. What I did was hand this off to June, our resident data wizard."

 

Electronics Mate 2nd June Tannerman nodded. If she was bothered by the scrutiny of a horde of captains and a Flag officer, she didn't show it. "On one hand, we had tons of stuff. Data dumps every minute or so from the vanguard, then every 10 seconds when it hit the fan. I've seen these where all you get is the bridge, or sometimes just the important stations. Whatever Wolchensky thought he was, he was really anal retentive, because I was getting thing that had no business being recorded in an emergency. I was getting readings on the galley, for Christ sake. On the other, I didn't have much actual observational data to work with that would tell us what happened. But a base has resources even the biggest ship doesn't. First I had to wash this and the data feed from Longstreet to Musashi when they were within 48 light minutes through the computer three times to remove sensor ghosts and background clutter.

 

"Then I had to get creative, use mass spectrometers and the like. A base could do it, but a warship doesn't have the time or equipment to-"

 

Runningfox made a dismissive gesture. "Let's just say you're a magician, and get on with it. Talk."

 

She looked at him as if he were speaking Erutu. "Sir, I am recording this entire meeting for the record, so that others can take the same raw data, and if I am correct, verify it. Anyway, at this point, I still had a muddy undefined reading. In all, I used 1900 of the 1,975 programs used for pattern discrimination. Lists attached, fiche B. That gave me the number of ships, 37, for the enemy fleet. To verify that number, and again later, I used a program called Predicted Next Image. This was able to verify that there were as many distinct images as we thought, no more, no less.

 

"Then I went on to mass spectrometry and radiation spectrometry, even to visual-"

 

"At that range?" Bretson snapped. "Christ, woman, how big do you think a ship is?"

 

"Madam, regardless of preconceptions about size, a ship's mass is actually only one half of one percent of it's actual volume. As an example, during the Great Eastern War, the Americans fielded a ship design called the Nimitz class, which displaced 87,624 metric tons, just smaller than the modern Battlecruiser in mass. Her mass as a solid chunk would have only been a cube of assorted elements 11 meters to a side, whereas her dimensions were 332 meters by 40 meters beam, and 11.73 meters above water. About half as big, at least in surface area, as a modern Fleet carrier.

 

"Using that as a meter stick, I then went to albedo, which is the amount of light reflected by an object. That gave me 12 large ships, 17 medium sized, and seven small ships. Then finally, I used pattern recognition. I ordered Gort to scan all vessels at present in system from a distance of 48 light minutes. This gave me enough extra information to come to the following conclusions;

 

"The enemy consisted of three large ships, battleship or Assault carrier sized. 9 battlecruiser or fleet carrier sized, 17 cruiser or light carriers, and seven destroyer or Lampier class escort carriers, not counting the ships we've already IDed."

 

Runningfox looked to his captains. If even a fifth of those ships had been carriers, Wolchensky would have had been outgunned in every way, with little or no chance of survival. "Continue."

 

Conklin again too up his narrative. "Here, the enemy launches a single escort carrier's load of fighters. Our fighters were ordered to concentrate on the enemy ships already verified, the destroyer flotilla here, the lone carrier here, and her fighters.

 

"The main body is well past San Diego, and fourteen seconds later-" The screen was a hash of missiles. Conklin tapped a readout. "This is the datalink feed from Cyclops. Just for a second, we got this."

 

The alien craft was jarring. It read as big as an attack loaded cutter, but it's entire aft end was a huge swollen egg sack of missiles. "That was what the enemy used, some kind of manned missile carrier. A fighter," his pointer ran along the smaller front section, "with a section of missiles and an engine. Basically what the original Bangalore carriers looked like. From the scale they look to be the size of standard ship's missiles, not SBMs, thank god. From what I can see, the missile six pack can be jettisoned," he touched another shadow, and June's magic brought up another fighter without a missile pack.

 

"A lot of them must have already fired into the main body's blind zone, because they had already begun to take hits. Now this is very interesting. The missile here is hitting Cyclops' shields." The missile exploded as if on command, the burst was small, almost what a conventional high explosive missile would yield instead of a nuclear warhead. But one of the readouts jumped.

 

"Christ, a gravimetric pulse!" All eyes turned to Captain Morrison, commanding Leonidas. He blushed furiously. "Gravity field mechanics was my best subject in the Academy." He said defensively.

 

Remembering page after page of equations, Runningfox shuddered. "That read for a moment as if there was a planet there."

 

"And there is the effect." Conklin said. On the screen, the shields of Cyclops had dropped as if they had been turned off.

 

"Wait a minute. Shields won't work if your too close to a planet, what is it, half a planetary diameter?" asked Bretson.

 

"Dependent on the gravity well. Half a diameter is a good rule of thumb though." Morrison said. "Something like that. Planetary shields were tried back in the 1st century B.Y., but they had to give it up. Any gravimetric surge over .1% of a standard gravity killed them, and even the most stable planets have surges up to .17% now and then.”

 

"That was what we thought." Conklin said. "Now with the shields down, another missile hits." This time the same readout jumped, and the one beside it as well. "They release not only a Gravimetric pulse, but an electromagnetic one as well, equal to a G0 star's magnetic field at half it's diameter. Without the shields, all systems are affected by it.

 

“But our systems are hardened against EMP!” Bretson said.

 

“Against nukes or radiation from antimatter packet explosions, yes. That generated pulse is what Mercury gets every second from Sol. We haven’t put anything on Mercury because everything that close gets fried by the EMP on approach.” Conklin pontificated. “Now we go on, Weapons are failing, Cyclops drops from the datalink. So does Dragon and Susquehana. Musashi takes a hit, which as you can see weakened but didn't kill her shields. Another hit, however takes them all down."

 

On the screen, the battlecruisers and the lone carrier were dodging frantically. Around them like bees from a disturbed nest ranged over 100 fighters.

 

"Now we only have a few seconds of recording remaining. June, ten seconds of time for every second of memory. Now freeze! Look at this!"

 

The situation aboard Musashi looked bad enough. Almost half of her weapons were gone, though armor had only now been breached as the fighters began using lasers. Missile 1 and 2 out, boatbay, Skewer 1. Runningfox looked at the reading confused. What was he supposed to see? Conklin touched the line for Missile 1. "Missile 1 is trying to come back on-line!"

 

That couldn't be right. "But it was destroyed!"

 

"No, the computer lost contact with the systems, and automatically records them as damaged, off-line, or destroyed if that happens."

 

"A power surge."

 

"No way. That would have burned out some of the circuitry, which this didn't. But a hardened system will shrug off an EMP, and try to start again. That is what’s happening.” He pointed at the hologram. “I've seen that before. That gentlemen and ladies, is what a standard primary start-up sequence for a missile launcher looks like. June, same speed advance. Here, computer spins up, super conducting circuits check, missile in the tube self tests." The screen went blank.

 

"That was when the Omega Drone was fired. Somebody panicked, and launched it early. That scared kid deserves a medal. I went back and checked the drone recording from the San Diego. They had received a drone message from the Survey squadron, but it had been blank. There had been a file there, but a massive Electro-magnetic pulse had scrambled it. It took me several hours to get anything from it. The record had been wiped clean just like every system on Musashi as we watched. Except for traces that it had been there, and scattered images. The ships on that record match the enemy destroyers.

[machievelli]

"That is why I don't think Von Wirth surrendered. The enemy popped off a few salvos of these missiles of theirs. They hit, and every electronic system goes belly up. Once the systems are knocked out, all they have to do is have something as small as a destroyer just sit there and scan them while someone goes along with Skewers or Pinholers to knock out the weapons. With their technical know-how, I wouldn't be surprised if they've developed some kind of Variable focus particle beam generator, similar to the Variable Focus Yoshimitsu generator I've heard about from Fleet intelligence on their own, which meant they might only need one ship to pull it off. Every time a system tries to come back on line, they pop off another missile, and put them down again, while they eliminate all offensive and defensive systems. Also, this would explain why the ships were captured. Every computer went tits up right along with everything else. They couldn't input the self destruct codes.

 

"Whoever they are, they've combined two systems we have, the Bangalore Carrier, and the fighter, with this missile warhead of theirs, making a small ship with one hell of a one-two punch

 

"To our advantage, Custer's damage gives me the idea that they've never been in a real stand-up fight before. From her damage, she has to have been hit by larger warships from close range. No one arms destroyers with Particle beam weapons that we know of, and very rarely does anyone do it with even a battle cruiser. But these people seem to. That implies that either the enemy had few of these missiles, or somehow Custer, of all of them, was able to close the range, and dish out some hell herself. That implies that they have never faced an equal opponent before."

 

"Wait a minute." Runningfox paced. "Von Wirth runs into a group of unknown ships. Now I knew him pretty well, and know his orders to the letter. If he had been badly outgunned, he would have retreated, so the force had to be equal to or smaller than his own force. So they see what, a half dozen ships at maximum scanner range, 72 light minutes. He turns to investigate. At what, 30 light seconds, he gets engine readings, which would give him an indication of size. If any of them were bigger than him, he runs, launching a communications drone as he does. But he didn't do that. So there are maybe six or seven ships, most or all of them destroyer sized.

 

"The problem is, he can't differentiate by class until he's closer, about 20 light seconds.

 

"Now they didn't launch at 30 light seconds, why? First, they don't know who we are either, and they aren't Calimari, or Creepers. They want to know something about who they're fighting before taking their shot.

 

"So they allow the Squadron to approach. Then, at about 20 light seconds, when they can get a good read on us, they launch.

 

"Von Wirth sees them coming, and launches AFMs-"

 

"Maybe not." Conklin interrupted. "An AFM's range is only five light seconds. He couldn't know that those missiles probably outrange him."

 

"That's true. He doesn't know what he's facing yet. But the enemy probably doesn't know about the AFM yet either. Hell, no one thought about fighters until the Creepers threw them at us.”

 

One of the shocks of the Creeper war had been the introduction of the Fighter. Almost the size of an old 2nd century B.Y. mid sized airliner, they were nothing more than weapons systems with a fusion reactor and space for up to three people. The original fighters were devastating, but the technology was something the Creepers had picked up from one of the alien races they had exterminated. They had never had the inclination to fly seat of the pants style, and throwing them into the second battle of Tassfaronga had merely given the designs to the Humans, and later the Rex.

 

“But even then, they didn't develop the AFM, we did!" Lanzecki disagreed.

 

"But sir, the fact that they developed this abortion of an Bangalore means they have to know about the AFM!" Morrison protested.

 

"Not necessarily." Conklin again interrupted. "This is divergent technology. We've never built manned Bangalores because we only use them in minefields, Terminus assaults, and added salvos for capital ships. This is a logical progression of that.

 

"Sir, take the example of the Krupas. Both sides had tractor beams, using the same mechanics Yoshimitsu suggested in his theories. When the Rex trotted out the Krupa for the first time, R&D had to admit that the capability was right there in Yoshimitsu's theories all along.

 

"Hell, Old man Yoshimitsu had postulated not only the Krupa but the Skewer as well, over 150 years before they ever saw combat! Knowing that old man, I bet we'll find that the variable focus beams Gateway RDS developed were probably in there too.

 

"Or for that matter, take the Bangalore. The seeker technology had been around for almost 50 years before someone put them together with an upgraded longer ranged capital missile back during the Calimari War. All they needed was the transport bus to take them through a Terminus.

 

"And fighters? Why did the Creepers develop them first? Sure they found the data first, but why would they use it? It would be like teaching them to ride roller skates, and make as much sense.

 

“Why didn’t humans, with a hundred years of history on Terra, of such weapons used in combat do it first? Or for that matter, why is it that the Rex, with their love of single combat, didn't develop them? Building down in size instead of up to match us with battle cruisers and battleships? Hell, their hunter’s code almost went ballistic when they found out that single combat was still possible in space!" Conklin stopped. Every eye was on him.

 

Runningfox smiled. "I stand corrected. The enemy just tried something we hadn't considered. Now where was I?"

 

"The squadron about to get poleaxed by something they hadn't anticipated." Stoddard said.

 

Runningfox winced at the statement. "All right. Since there were so few enemy ships, I would assume two or three destroyer sized carriers, like the Lampier-"

 

"Why not a Yorktown or a Nightmare class? Or even two of them? For that matter, why not an assault carrier?" Blandsley asked.

 

"The number of fighters you would need to put down the squadron quickly, but not fast enough to kill them all. As I said, even if there had been only one ship, say something the size of a fleet carrier or an assault carrier, he would have been wary. Besides, no one in his right mind is going to send one of them out without more escorts than I'm postulating. Even a Lampier is still too expensive to just send out alone. We send at least one destroyer, sometimes two with one of them. One Yorktown class would sound good, a Lampier carries 16 fighters, and an Yorktown 24. But a Yorktown would have at least four escorts, meaning only one carrier. But a Nova Athens or a Novaya Zemlya class Assault carrier have at least eight or ten escorts, including heavy cruisers or battlecruisers, which also throws my postulates off. The extra fighters those ships would carry should be enough to throw any survivors out the airlock, yet somehow Custer survived the first assault. But it could be either one or the other of the light carriers. Anything bigger, and he would have run like hell!"

 

"Not that it would have saved them." Lanzecki murmured.

 

"No, but it would have allowed him to get off more than one Omega drone. So they walk up to a light carrier or a pair of escort carriers, and take it on the chin. Some of them, including Custer, escape, and run for the Terminus. They had to be close to it, or Custer wouldn't have survived to get in close. So why don't the fighters chop them up?"

 

"No internal weapons."

 

"No. The Corvettes took laser damage, and Musashi was getting hit by lasers when their fighters attacked her. More likely, whoever was in charge on the other side didn't expect the AFM and anti-fighter point defense. Maybe he got chewed up by that surprise. With that in the equation, he wouldn't want to risk fighters close in. Or maybe they had never tried it before because of their long range armament. So he recalled them and reloaded with more of those damn missiles. That is why Custer survived. I know if we had that kind of weapon and I was in charge, I wouldn't want to risk my fighters any closer than necessary. I'd just use them to stand off and blast away-"

 

"Wait a minute, sir." Conklin stood. "June, back to where they first spotted San Diego."

 

The screen lit up, and San Diego appeared at 72 light minutes. Then the Survey hulks were spotted, now a destroyer sized ship moved out, joining the destroyers. "There! I knew something was wrong with that!" He pointed. "Now back to right before transit." The three destroyers calmly transited when the Battlegroup reached 48 light minutes distance. "I think that proves it. Their sensors are definitely less efficient than ours."

 

"How can you be sure from that?" Bretson asked.

 

"When the Battlegroup approached the Terminus, where were the enemy ships? 48 light minutes away! Wolchensky waited to load his XO racks, but when he finally transited, where were the enemy ships? Waiting exactly 48 light minutes away! They had time to run yet they waited until our ships transited to do so. Besides, they had been in system all that time, and they didn't send any message at all? They should have been screaming on every channel they had, and firing Communications drones like skyrockets! Yet nothing is recorded by our ships, and this ship," he tapped the cruiser sized ship, "sits there another four hours before it suddenly turns to run. Why? Because it was supplying life support power for those fighter pilots, probably just a sealed compartment, and waited until they could see the Battlegroup before leaving. Then again, the supply ship had to be a Cruiser. Only a fool would have left a merchantman sitting there that long."

 

"You're right." Runningfox looked at the screen. "A fool or a genius. Until this time, the anguard wasn't gaining much. Now they have a speed advantage."

 

Lanzecki leaned forward. "Sir, you said yourself that this was a well organized ambush. Let's carry that argument further. Maybe that was a cruiser dogging it intentionally. It makes sense only if they knew where Wolchensky's carriers were. They had to suck the Battlegroup past San Diego to catch them all, and having an enemy right there in front of them that they can catch would have made them ignore the survey hulks. Leave them for after you've killed the enemy ships you can see. To assure that, the enemy would have stayed at maximum detection range, just like a shadowing cruiser would.”

 

Conklin stared at the screens. "They waited until the Battlegroup transited, because 48 light minutes is their own range. Paused to pick up these ships, then played wounded bird to suck them in closer." he whispered.

 

"You're right, Conklin. We may have a 24 light minute reach on them with sensors."

 

"I hadn't noticed it before, sir. But It makes sense. If the enemy destroyers had been running flat out, all of them would have gotten away. If all else failed, they could have split up, and some of them would have definitely gotten away."

 

"Good work. Gentlemen and ladies," Runningfox turned to the captains of his squadron. "We're going to divide the squadron, and recreate the battle as we know it."

 

"Sir." Elaine looked nervous. "That would mean borrowing Admiral Noguchi's battleships."

 

"No. I meant the Survey Squadron. I know we're going to make a lot of assumptions, but I think we can work it out pretty close to what really happened."

 

A week later, a tired squadron came back into orbit. Runningfox had used Rio Blanco and Boyne to stand in for the lost Mikuma and Dnieper. Ingram, Taney and Leonidas had stood in for the destroyers. Gort and Apache had disabled most of their weapons to match the Corvettes, and the remainder of the squadron had become the enemy. It had probably looked odd on Battlegroup 19's sensors. Two forces approaching each other. At 20 light seconds apart the fighters launch (Too close for doctrine) and approach the ‘cruisers’. But they dive away six light seconds from their targets. Ships reel as if damaged, and a lone destroyer, or two, maybe three, once all five of them run away as the fighters, instead of commencing close attack runs, return for reloads.

 

Regardless, Runningfox now had solid numbers to work with. The enemy had used a minimum of 24 fighters, assuming six missiles each. That meant his estimate of their carrier strength had been if not correct, at least damn close. The sensor data from Musashi's Omega drone had shown that the missiles the enemy used had the same range as a standard ship's missile, meaning that the fighters had not had to close to AFM range unless they decided that closing would ensure more hits. Only a capital ship's AFMs, a huge two stage missile in other words, could keep them at arms length.

 

Once he was back in orbit, he'd asked Stoddard to drop by his office. When the Captain arrived, Runningfox walked him through the records of their jaunt.

 

"Now I know the stock answer, but I want your opinion. Can Capital AFMs be mounted and fired from our XO racks?"

 

"Not without major software changes." Stoddard replied. "The Capital AFM was developed during the Calimari war, and while a lot has been done since then. If we just mounted them, all they’ll do would be to take up space. After all, they need constant updates from the ship’s computers before launch, not just a ‘here’s the target kill it’ like an anti-ship missile.

 

"But if I took the sensor package out of the new mark 15 SM, say, it might work." He considered. “Better yet, why not mount them in Banglore Carriers? Same software as the Mark 15 SM.”

 

"Get on it. Adapt some of them, and I'll have the Squadron run them out and test them in the asteroid belt."

 

"In my copious spare time, you mean?" Stoddard asked with a wry smile.

 

Runningfox nodded, a slight smile on his face. "Break time's over, back on your head." Runningfox called in Elaine, and dictated his report, mentioning where graphs, recordings etc should be attached, ending with the analysis derived by Conklin and his own staff. Then he had asked her to make an appointment with Noguchi.

 

An hour later, he was finally ushered into Noguchi's office.

 

Noguchi went on reading a file as Runningfox waited. It was a juvenile power ploy, see how hard I'm working, and how dare you keep me from what's important? it had better be good. Finally he initialed the pad, tossing it in the out box. "What now, Commodore?"

 

Runningfox set the pad down on the desk. "My staff, with the assistance of Captain Stoddard's crew, have just completed a full analysis of Musashi's Omega Drone recording.

 

"Considering our findings, it is our opinion, sir, that we have to notify Sector and Fleet Central immediately."

 

Noguchi looked at the pad, and snorted. "What do you think I have a staff for, Runningfox? My people did their own analysis, without your biting wit, and that has already been sent to Sector." He waved off the report sitting in front of him. "Wolchensky ran into a rebel force, and was either destroyed or captured. End of report."

 

"Sir, my staff-"

 

"Has more important things to do than interfere with the smooth operation of this station!" Noguchi roared. "If your protégé Von Wirth had been worth the broad stripe he lost at the court martial, he wouldn't have turned traitor a second time to deliver your Survey Squadron into enemy hands!"

 

Runningfox bit back the retort that sprang to his lips. His reply was calm, and courteous. "Sir, with all due respect, defaming a man that is probably dead changes nothing. Your analysis is nothing more than a pipe dream.

 

"Von Wirth's squadron ran into something we've never seen before. This enemy has weapons that can cancel our shields like a bad credit rating. They also have a style of fighter used in a way we have never seen, making a squadron of them lethal even to the Kitt’s Peak. The fact that the same weapons made short work of a Battlecruiser task force supported by three carriers is alarming.

 

"In our opinion, sir, if the force that destroyed both the Survey Squadron and Wolchensky's battle group is enroute here, this station is in deadly danger."

 

"That is quite enough!" Noguchi leaped to his feet, glaring at Runningfox. "You will return to your squadron, and do what a Peaceforce command should do, namely customs patrols. You will drop this matter, and that, Commodore, is an order!"

 

"Sir, I request for the record, that you send the report my staff has compiled up the line."

 

Noguchi swept the pad into his hand, and smashed it down into his wastebasket. "That's what I think of your report! Now get out of here!"

 

Runningfox marched out, headed back to his office. His mind was set on what he had to do. Elaine stood as he entered, sitting as Runningfox motioned her back to her chair. "I want a full staff conference in here as soon as possible."

 

"Everyone is here except for Ney and Sikh. Ney's at Terminus 4, Sikh in checking the latest incoming merchant vessel."

 

"We'll leave Morgan and Smitty out of the loop for the moment. Every one else here A.S.A.P." Half an hour later, the captains and were ushered in. With the exception of Kenji Yamata, Arthur Singh, and James Everett Morrison, all were from the old Battlegroup 7.

 

"You all helped with the analysis for the report, so I felt you have the right to know Admiral Noguchi's reaction. Noguchi's staff has already sent their report of Wolchensky's action.

 

"Those people either ignored or didn't notice the enemy fighters, the sensor readings, or the weapons effects. According to it, Wolchensky fell to rebel forces."

 

"Bull." McDonal snapped, eyes flaming. "If the Rebels had developed something like this, they'd have had the Assembly building under their guns a year ago, and to hell with negotiating!"

 

"Maybe we should get used to calling them the Union now." Runningfox chided. "Still and all, if you expect rebel activity, it makes everything easy to explain."

 

"Sir, it's a joke." Griffon shook his head. "Look out for spiders, ignore the snakes in the grass."

 

"What are we going to do, sir?" Singh asked.

 

"We aren't going to do anything." Runningfox looked at the report sitting before him. "I on the other hand, intend to send the report over Noguchi's head."

 

"To whom?" Robiton snorted a laugh. "Stanton? He wouldn't believe you over Noguchi if we landed one of those enemy destroyers on his bloody lawn!"

 

"I intend to go higher than that. Stanton is in charge of Codalus Sector, but above him is the Chief of Naval Operations, above him the Supreme Force Commander, above him, the Defense Minister. I intend to send copies to each of them. We are in too serious a situation for the chain of command to restrict me."

 

"So you can get the ax and leave us hanging." Raspegie said. "Damn it, sir, we're all adults here. Some of us would like to take a stand to."

 

"I won't-"

 

"What?" Elaine Brice’s voice was soft. "Let us get hurt again because of you? Martin," He was shocked by her use of his given name. "Please, let us help."

 

"Damn straight, sir." Morrison said, surprising the others. "I hated your guts when I first got here. Some of my family is dead, on both sides of the frontier. Hell, the girl I was going to marry is from Highlands, and is serving on Admiral Li's staff with the Rebels.

 

"You took a stand back then. It took me a year to figure out why, and I respect you for it now. But Command is never going to let you live it down as long as you wear that uniform. Well I think it's time I took a stand, and I stand with you."

 

Runningfox looked at the determined faces. Lanzecki looked perturbed. The only man that worked with him, yet still was leery of Runningfox, he would be the best measure of his staff's resolve. "Tomas? What do you think?"

 

"I don't give a damn about standing beside you, sir." Lanzecki looked at the others. "But Conklin and his people did good work, work that will be ignored if we let the Admiral have his way. I'll back you because they were right."

 

Considering his enmity, that statement was a statement of overwhelming support. "All well and good. But right now, let's think damage control. How do we assure the survival of Gobi?"

 

"We don't." Blandsley said. "Not as long as Noguchi is in charge."

 

Runningfox stared out the armorplast at Gobi below. His domain to protect, if only he was allowed to. If the enemy fleet came as he was sure they would, his two light carriers would be overwhelmed in short order. He needed carriers, but where could he get them? Light glinted, and he dismissed it. Rising Sun, still in orbit-

 

He turned. "Elaine, call Captain Stoddard. Ask him how quickly Rising Sun can be brought up to speed. Not everything, the crew can get weapons operational. Just engines, bridge, quarters, hanger bays, and if possible, stealth ECM. Tell him he can have every man off the squadron if it will help."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"All right gentlemen and ladies. First we cut our collective throats. Then we find a way to fight these bastards, without the help of Noguchi."

 

* * * * *

 

Runningfox snapped to attention. Noguchi ignored him for several moments, then looked up. "It has come to my attention, Runningfox, that when you took command here, Gobi B had not been surveyed, and you made no attempt to correct it."

 

"I was busy, sir."

 

"No doubt. I still have yet to find what kept you so busy. Anyway, I intend that you correct your error now. Take your squadron to Gobi B, and do a complete survey."

 

"Sir-"

 

"You have a problem with my orders, mister?"

 

"I was asking concerning maintenance supplies."

 

"I will detail three supply ships to you."

 

"And my carriers?"

 

"The Supreme Force Commander detailed them to you, and I won't override his orders." didn't have the guts to, more likely. Runningfox thought. "So take them."

 

"Also, Captain Stoddard has gotten Rising Sun operational, at least for passage. She would aid our survey efforts."

 

Noguchi laughed. With no long range attack capability beyond her fighters, and bringing her up to modern fleet standards more a rebuild than a refurbish, he had almost expended her as a live fire target. The idea that the dashing Runningfox wanted to saddle himself with the 'Edsel' was amusing.

 

"Oh by all means, Commodore, take her with you. She's worthless to me."

 

* * * * *

 

Runningfox watched as the 60 fighters landed aboard the old carrier. Stoddard's men had done yeoman duty on her as had his own men, working ten hours a day on her, and 11 on their normal duties. The 2500 men assigned aboard understood two things about their ship. That she was old, slow, and decrepit, and that Runningfox expected them all to find ways around those disadvantages.

 

The three supply ships detailed to the survey, Harrods, GUM, and Sears and Roebuck reported, and he had them loaded as if for a full scale assault, tons of spare parts, repair supplies, and thousands of missiles.

 

At Rising Sun's top speed, it promised to be a long trip. 260 light minutes, at a speed of 6% of light speed meant a trip of almost 3 standard days.

 

But Runningfox used the time well. He'd shifted his flag to Rising Sun and almost immediately began drills. Smith watched him go, and almost felt sorry for the greenies. Almost.

 

Ratings new at their posts ran frantically as first a damage control drill began, followed immediately by power room failure, Flight quarters, then weapons firing, abandon ship, then damage control.

 

With Rising Sun's fighters supplying long range scans, the survey would take less than two weeks, and Runningfox intended that Rising Sun be ready for whatever came.

 

* * * * *

 

Regardless of what anyone thought, the Bangalore was not named after the city in India, nor for the First World. It was named after one of the worst weapons ever designed for warfare, which still saw wide use.

 

During the Second World War on Earth (2nd century AY) numerous amphibious landings were made, with varying degrees of success. One of the biggest problems was clearing the way so that large amounts of troops could get past the beaches, since any enemy with the brains to pour water from a boot would lay traps, including roll upon roll of barbed wire.

 

So the Bangalore torpedo was introduced. A weapon that killed entire squads, and was only kept for as long as it was because they had to find a simpler less deadly way to do the job.

 

The weapon was issued in 1.3 meter sections, that screwed together. The Bangalore ‘relay’ would begin when a man ran forward with the first section. Usually he got killed fairly quickly. At this point, another man would run forward with his section, screw them together, and continue moving it forward until he got killed, when another would-

 

You get the picture.

 

Facing an opposed terminus assault was a lot like that. The Bangalore, designed during the Calimari war, was the answer.

 

* * * * *

 

Stoddard had supplied what might be the answer to the Bangalore/ enemy fighter problem.

 

The capital AFM software refused to mate with the XO racks. It would take a rewrite of the basic systems to get it to work. However, the software of the Bangalore bus itself didn't give a flip what target it had been set for or what size missiles it carried. It would accept anything from a Star down to a fighter as target with equal élan. And the programming had been designed by the Dru to mate with anything. According to every bench test, the AFM accepted the programming from the bus.

 

By removing the Strategic ranged SMs from 200 of the modified busses, and replacing them with Capital AFMs instead, he had come up with a makeshift solution. In fact, Stoddard had joined Runningfox on the survey to watch the test firing. Tannerman, the mother of the ugly little beasty, came as well.

 

Using them as they were originally designed, which were full six missile salvos at a target would have been a waste of ammunition. It might take six AFMs to kill a fighter, but you didn’t fire off all six at that fighter at the same time. Tannerman had instead rigged the busses to run through the standard recycle period they used in testing at the factory, which was one missile per second. Then she put in lines of computer code that ordered the system to search for targets between fighter sized, and pinnace, assuring that it would automatically ignore anything larger. Finally, she added more lines to order the system to delete from it’s own memory bank any targets engaged by itself and ignore them from that point on. When it scanned for the next target, target one would no longer exist to the system, assuring that six different targets would be engaged in as many seconds.

 

* * * *

 

The Bangalore bus rolled from the launch bay of Rising Sun, verniers settling it on the bearing given by the Carrier's computers.

 

"Bus sensor acquiring, missile-"

 

The capital AFM shot away from the bus, it's target was one of Smith's special drones launched by Boyne five minutes before. The drone had gone out, turned, switched on the blip enhancer, then charged back in like a loaded strikefighter.

 

The staff watched in silence. At ten light seconds range, there was a flash. "Second stage separation, homer seeking, homer locked on target. Second stage ignition." Conklin intoned. Suddenly there was another flash, and the drone disappeared.

 

"Hard kill!"

 

As the men watching whispered, Stoddard ran the sensor data again. "Not bad."

 

"Sheer genius." Runningfox retorted. "You've just given us the chance we need."

 

"Maybe, sir. It needs some more tests."

 

Stoddard slapped the rating on the back, and turned to Runningfox. "Sir, that's all I can do here. Conklin and his team can finish up. I've got to get back to Gobi A. The first Battlestation is operational, and is supposed to be placed in 72 hours. I don't want one of those towing battlecruisers to scratch her paint."

 

"Took them long enough." Runningfox grumbled. "No offense, Ben, you and your men have done more than any rational man could expect, between Noguchi and me throwing work at you like lunatics. But if the man had the brains the Great Spirit gave a weasel, we would have had both stations on station already."

 

"Be that as it may, sir, my baby is moving."

 

"By the way, what did you name her?"

 

Stoddard looked surprised. He had been a student of Military history all his life, and had fallen in love with the old French Foreign Legion. "Huguette, after the firebases on the eastern edge of Dien Bien Phu." He replied. "The other two are Bridget and Danielle."

 

"Well let's hope she does better than they did." Runningfox shook his hand. "Captain Bretson will take you back."

 

Stoddard nodded, then snapped to attention, saluting. "Good luck, sir."

 

 

 

Preparations

“In war, numbers alone confer no advantage. Do not advance relying on sheer military power”

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War.'

 

The advance had been cautious, yet there was no sign that the opponent even knew they existed. Three transits from the system that had birthed the survey squadron, the fleet slowed, and one of the destroyers moved forward. One of the courier drones captured from the defeated ships was launched, and they waited.

 

On the opposite side of the terminus, the Primary Communications center for the terminus recorded the transit. The computers automically queried the dron’es transponder, and received the proper handshake. The drone downloaded it’s message, then exploded.

 

On the station, the fifty men and women went about their duties as the signal was routed, collated, then sent on to the opposite terminus for transmission. This took little time, barely a minute. Since everyone knew the Dru designed software was virus proof, and impossible to hack, the message wasn’t even checked.

 

Thirty minutes later, the station’s systems began to go down. The first anyone knew anything was wrong was when the artificial gravity went down, followed in rapid succession by lights and intercom. Though it wasn’t noticed for several minutes, the first to go down was communications. This was noticed when almost an hour after the drone had transited, an alien destroyer followed.

 

The destroyer halted less than a light second away, and cutters raced across to capture the station. Unready for any such assault, the few armed people were quickly subdued. As the ship dealt with them, pair of long range pinnaces had been dropped, and ran toward the opposite terminus.

 

On that end, the signal had been inserted into a drone for launch. But before it could be launched, their systems had gone down as well. Lucky for them, the pinnaces arrived and saved them from asphixiation.

 

As those people were being captured, the fleet moved toward the terminus.

 

The crews of those vessels pondered the dichotomy. The opponent was larger, stronger, yet had done nothing to even monitor their advance, let alone block it.

 

 

Guerrilla

"Thus a Victorious army is a hundredweight

balanced against a grain"

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War.'

[machievelli]

Captain Stoddard cursed as they ran the targeting discrimination program again. The Long Range sensors were refusing to come on line, or came on with such a hash of contacts, that even the targeting sensors would be hard pressed to find something. They were only 45 light seconds from the Terminus, over fifteen minutes at the lumbering speed set by the Towing squadron's commander, and Huguette was still acting like a petulant debutante.

 

Part of Runningfox's worries had infected him as well. Bad enough that two obsolete OBS4s weren't enough to stop a determined Terminus assault but he had only one! The minefields and Bangalores that would have made it possible couldn't be manufactured in quantity until Noguchi's demand for the other Corvettes and Frigates was satisfied.

 

Once Bridget was completed, (Another two weeks, plus another month for emplacement) he could turn at least some resources to mines. If the enemy attacked now, while they were disjointed, it would be a walkover. Minuette back in planetary orbit wouldn't even slow them down.

 

And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

 

Following the battlecruiser tugs was the signature of Sikh. Morgan, bless her heart had promised to wait until the battle-station was in position before she returned to Runningfox.

 

She was the only thing that had kept him from the throats of the Towing Squadron's Captains. Like their ships, they were all antiques that would have been retired five years ago if the damn war hadn't started.

 

Guthrie, commanding Goliath, the Senior Captain, sounded like every tug captain since the Greeks and Phoenicians first developed them, then proceeded to fleece their neighbors. Slow, opinionated, Stoddard was eternally grateful that while smoking had survived the twentieth century, chewing tobacco had not. Knowing the slow cudlike motion of Guthrie's mouth in deep thought, the deck would have been slimed with the juices.

 

The screen cleared, and Stoddard returned his attention to the matters at hand. The technician on the board cursed.

 

What now?” Stoddard growled.

 

"Still acting up, sir. We're reading eight blips at the Terminus."

 

Eight? Stoddard felt cold. The Frigate Discovery was alone on patrol, only one of the six small boys refurbished. He called up the scan on his repeater. One look was all he needed. "Don't recycle!"

 

"But sir, it's glitched again! See, now it says seven-"

 

"General Quarters!" Stoddard shouted.

 

"Sir-"

 

"Damn your eyes, we're under attack! Signal the flag!"

 

* * * * *

 

Alarms screamed aboard Sikh as her crew went to stations. Morgan Bretson, from a world called Camelot stared at the signature. Fighters, just like the ones that had killed Wolchensky's force.

 

"Lay us alongside Huguette, protect her as long as we can." she ordered. "And send a courier drone to Command."

 

"Gobi, sir?"

 

"Hell no, Runningfox." Then she grinned. “But since I don’t mind ruining Noguchi’s dinner, send him one too.”

 

* * * *

The green crew stumbled to their stations as Stoddard cursed. No time, no time, no time! Ahead of them, the tugs were still slogging toward the Terminus. "Signal Goliath to cut the tow!" He screamed.

 

"Goliath hasn't responded yet."

 

If he tried to launch, the powerful tractors would rip the fighters apart! He leaped up, and ran to the special systems console. Damnit! We can't launch fighters into that!" He began typing in the overrides. A moment later, the tugs leaped forward as 150,000 tons of station cut itself free.

 

"Enemy ship count now 21. That can't be right."

 

"Talk!"

 

"They read as fighters. But fighters can't-"

 

"Well obviously they can, or they wouldn't be there!" Stoddard snapped. "Prepare the AFM clusters."

 

He'd kept only two of the clusters for himself, a mere dozen missiles. The Mitsubishi was starting to run them off as fast as she could, but that merely meant that the enemy would capture them. Noguchi hadn’t even been informed of the project. Only Runningfox was fully equipped yet. You owe me, you old bastard Stoddard thought. “Send to Mitsubishi. On my authority, execute Damocles.”

 

“What? But sir-“

 

“Do it! Range to enemy fighters?”

 

“18 light seconds.”

 

"Launch clusters."

 

The two pods fell away, then their drives kicked in, throwing them past the now stationary Huguette and the towing squadron until their sensors locked on. At fifteen light seconds range, they acquired. If the computers had been really intelligent, they would have complained about being wasted on such minuscule targets. But all they cared or knew was that there were valid targets, and the man on the panel had said kill. The missiles ripple fired.

 

The battlecruisers milled, confused first by Stoddard's battle stations call, then by the loss of the tow, and finally by the streaking buses.

 

The missiles approached the enemy fighters, and the second stages burst into life, each attacking the nearest fighter. Seven Coridanii pilots had less than a tenth of a second of comprehension before they died.

 

Fireballs spalled the sky, and the raid count dropped from 42 to 35, then mounted again as more fighters, followed by three battlecruisers transited.

 

On sensors, Stoddard could see the rest of the Battlegroup, Kitt’s Peak Nevada and Pennsylvania headed out at full speed. They would never arrive in time.

 

"Send a full report to the flag, Tell him to pull back!"

 

Now the fighters that had raced ahead came into capital AFM range. The tubes of Huguette fired, salvo after salvo roaring out. Of the first fifty, only a dozen survived to launch at the towing battlecruisers.

 

Point defense weapons came on line, the point defense clusters on the tugs ripping missiles from the sky. The first salvo of 75 missiles was whittled down to three, which hit the shields of Indra. The ship staggered, but her guns kept firing.

 

With only Huguette able to fire long range weapons, the battle was definitely going to be one sided.

 

"Fighters ready."

 

Damn he’d forgotten them! "Launch! Tell them to kill those carriers!"

 

There were now five battlecruisers on his screen, and seven other ships, either cruisers or carriers. Three of them, from their size were definitely carriers, and these he earmarked for destruction.

 

Eighteen fighters, Huguette's entire compliment, launched, armed to the teeth. They tangled briefly with the next enemy attack wave, losing five before breaking through. But fifteen enemy fighters, most still missile armed, died with them.

 

Still, as that forlorn hope pursued their mission, fully 100 more fighters closed on the battle station and her escorts.

 

* * * *

 

Bretson's lips tightened as the last of the tugs went down. Sikh's guns kept pounding, ripping down missiles headed for Huguette.

 

But to protect the station, she had to leave herself open. Five missiles hit, her systems dying as she fell out of position.

 

Now alone, Huguette fought on.

 

* * * * *

 

Runningfox rolled, instantly awake, touching the intercom panel. "Runningfox."

 

"Sir, Gobi is under attack."

 

"On my way."

 

Minutes later, he strode into Rising Sun's command bridge. "Report."

 

"Sir, Huguette and the towing squadron dropped out of communications fifteen minutes ago.” Considering the light speed gap, that is almost four hours. “Noguchi is in retreat toward the Codalus Terminus, screaming for us to help. According to the data feed with the message, he was pursued by an estimated 200 enemy missile-fighters." She didn't have to say that the battle would be over before they arrived. Hell, it had probably ended before they even got the message!

 

"Known losses other that Huguette?"

 

"Towing battlecruisers Indra, Goliath, Marduk, and Samson. Frigates Discovery, Hokku Leau, and Trieste, Corvette Vespucci." She paused, biting her lip. "And Sikh."

 

Runningfox saw Morgan's face for a moment, then brutally brushed it aside. All that remained to escort the Battleships and Dreadnought was the Frigate, Liberty Bell 7 and the Corvette Clark. They had no chance at all.

 

"All ships, attention to orders. All warships with the exception of Rising Sun are to load XO racks with SMs from the Sears and Roebuck. All destroyers are to load two of Captain Smith's special drones in their holds. While we head in, Captain Smith can show them the alterations he developed.

 

"Formation will be as follows, Cruisers line abreast, followed at 20 light seconds by the carriers, followed at 20 light seconds, by the destroyers also in line abreast. All ships are to head in toward Gobi A at my command. We will close until we can scan enemy vessels. Once we do, we will cloak, and prepare to attack. Let's hope Conklin is right, or this is going to be the shortest campaign in recorded history. Gentlemen and ladies, I intend to first warn Codalus and the Rex of our situation. Second, deny the enemy any captured vessels finally, to advance down the enemy Terminus, and attack everything we contact."

 

He looked at the men and women there. New, old, they listened in silence.

 

"Transports are to go to this location." He touched the map, at a spot 90 light minutes from the enemy Terminus. Covered by Rising Sun-"

 

"Sir, the captain of Rising Sun, Monteith, leaned forward. "I have Stealth capability, and XO racks."

 

"You are also the only ship I can spare to guard the fleet train. We can't wait for you."

"Understood, sir. But if I stop here," he touched the map a bare 40 light seconds from the Terminus, "and go stealth, I can cover your backs. If there are more of them coming."

 

Runningfox smiled. "Excellent. Do so. But remember, Captain, your primary mission is to protect the fleet train. At least half of your fighters must be held to do so."

 

"Understood, sir."

 

"I am transferring my flag to Iomungundr. Blandsley will command the Destroyers. Captain Monteith, maintain the training schedule I have outlined. Your men must be ready."

 

* * * * *

 

Driving insystem at full speed, without the Rising Sun, it was 43 hours before long range sensors began detecting the enemy. Runningfox ordered all stop, and examined the enemy placement.

 

From their position, they could scan the planet itself. There were almost 40 enemy ships in orbit, along with the light codes of all of the captured vessels. Ships in pairs, slowly patrolling, covered each of the three Termini that entered the Alliance and Packhome.

 

Terminus 4 was completely unguarded.

 

He considered his options, then looked across at Brice. "All ships on whiskers, Elaine." The whisker lasers snapped out, touching the ships around them. A moment later, the screen before him lit. It had sectioned so that he could see every captain in the squadron.

 

"As you can see from the data feed from Garone, the enemy has most of his force surrounding Gobi. Since it has been two days, they are probably securing the planet even as we speak. There is nothing we can do about that. They easily outnumber us in every way, but we're not going to just charge in and attack.

 

"If my plan works, we are going to nibble them to death, at least long enough to make sure a message gets through to Codalus. Here's the drill people. We are going to loop over the system outside their sensor range, and close on the Codalus Terminus from outsystem. The destroyers will start here." He marked a spot 80 light minutes from the Terminus. "The cruisers and carriers will go stealth, and start here." Another spot this one 20 light minutes closer.

 

"We will approach, At least two Destroyers will be streaming Smith's special drones. Once the enemy spots you one of three things will happen. They will approach to attack, they will stand and wait, or they will retreat.

 

"If they retreat, there's no help for it. We'll close and one of the cruisers will launch a communications drone through. Once that's done, we'll retreat and hit the Mauritania Terminus. If they stand and wait, the squadron will continue their approach until the Cruisers and Carriers are within range.

 

"If there is an enemy carrier present, the Cruisers and carriers will launch and destroy them. If there are two of any other class, we will bypass them, allowing the destroyers to close, and hit them from both sides. We are going to run them ragged, and get their ships scattered out on this side of the system looking for us. So the more enemy vessels out here looking for us, the better.

 

"When they whistle up reinforcements, we will retreat, and hit the next Terminus. Remember, we are trying to get their forces spread out so that I can carry out our primary mission.

 

"Gentlemen and ladies, they have every ship they captured in this system orbiting Gobi. I intend to destroy those vessels before we go on. For that, the destroyers will have to loop over the system beyond our long range sensor range, and link up with Rising Sun. The stealthed ships will approach the planet when it has been stripped as much as possible, and attack. I know we seem to have a sensor reach on them, but don't depend on it.

 

"If anything happens to me, command devolves to Blandsley. Meryl, do what you think is right, and preserve your command.

 

"Here's where we earn our pay."

 

* * * * *

 

"Slowly." Runningfox whispered as if the captains of his ships could hear him. The carriers and Cruisers, invisible to all intents and purposes, closed toward the Terminus. The worst side effect of the Stealth systems was that shields and deceptive ECM could not be used with them. There was always a chance that that the enemy would spot them stealth and all. If that happened, the enemy could do serious damage before they were killed, even if they were just a pair of destroyers, at point blank range.

 

"Range now 28 light minutes. No- Wait, aspect change. Enemy is outbound." The bridge was hushed. "Aiming at the destroyers, sir." Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

 

Runningfox looked at Blandsley's deployment. The Apache was in the lead, with Ingram and Taney behind, spread in an anti-fighter formation. Behind them, the drones making them appear larger, were Ney and Leonidas, with Gort, sans drones, running rearguard. If they didn't know better, on long range scanners it would appear to be two carriers or cruisers with a screen.

 

But the most important fact, the one he hoped they didn't know, was that the real carriers and cruisers were 20 light minutes closer.

 

The two forces closed. Soon they were at twenty light minutes, and still closing. One invisible, the other very obvious.

 

"The lead ship is a destroyer. I designate it Cutpurse. The other is an escort carrier. Designation, Brigand." Lanzecki reported, making a record in the Courier drone's memory.

 

Runningfox smiled. When the war was over, it would take six months to explain to the enemy how sensor officers and intelligence officers think and come up with ship code names. He hoped the enemy had a sense of humor.

 

Closing at a combined speed of 2 tenths of light speed, the distance closed quickly. Now they were down to light seconds. Fifteen, eleven ten.

 

"Fire."

 

26 Strategic Missiles shot out, closing on the enemy from the still cloaked ships.

 

Their shields didn’t even have time to spin up. The enemy point defense was slow off the mark, only 8 missiles were killed before the remainder slammed into the enemy drive fields.

 

The two enemy blips flared, then vanished.

 

"Fire drone. All ships retire on course toward Mauritania Terminus. Once out of enemy sensor range, cruiser and carriers are to reload XO racks."

 

An hour later, safe from detection, the engines died as men brought out the missiles. The ship's hold and magazine couldn't carry the enormous Capital missile or SMs, so this next such volley from the stealthed ships would be standard missiles. But to balance in out, there would be 52 missiles in the next one. Once loaded, the ships pulled their cloaks over them again, and moved on.

 

* * * * *

 

The destroyers turned, but the enemy force sitting over the Mauritania Terminus stood fast. In system, Runningfox could see a mass of ships moving to join those two. He could slash in and kill these two, but the enemy would still be there, chasing. As he watched, fighters launched, moving to begin patrolling the outer system. "Pull back. Head back to the Codalus Terminus." he ordered.

 

As soon as they were clear of sensor range, the squadron turned to retrace their steps. The Codalus Terminus was still clear, but in system, they could see another mass of ships.

 

"Not too clear yet, But that middle one is big. I think it's a Dreadnought or an assault carrier, sir. Five escorts."

 

"Too rich for my blood. Signal the squadron, head toward the Khanisi Terminus.” He considered. Even with the courier drone power packs, the decoys wouldn’t last very long. “Order the destroyers to hold back. We'll take them on our own."

 

Seven more hours passed as they closed on the Khanisi Terminus. It led into a backwater of the Packhome of the Rex, and he intended to send through another drone to warn them as well. There were still only two ships here. The stealthed ships approached.

 

"Coming up on twenty light seconds. Got them. Light carrier, designate Pirate. Heavy cruiser, designate Bandit."

 

They closed, and at 10 light seconds, attacked.

 

The enemy was more alert this time. Two fighters managed to escape the carrier before it was blown from the sky. The cruiser reeled away, bleeding atmosphere as she turned to run. An unaugumented salvo from the stealthed ships ended her agony.

 

The fighters closed, then died as AFMs chopped them down.

 

"Pull back, be ready to load XO racks. Then we check the prize."

 

Realignment

"Offer the enemy a bait to lure him.

Feign disorder, and strike him."

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War."

 

Takwas Moruth had been busy enough before the reports began to come. The capture of the fleet and fortress, even with the loss of over 200 Attack sleds and three of his carriers had been easy in comparison.

 

That had been hellish. First the huge fortress, poorly placed, but still formidable. It had killed a hand of hands and a hand of his fighters at a range that was simply impossible to believe! The rest of it's missiles had been shorter ranged, but still fully one hundred of his fighters did not survive to reach it. The enemy attack sleds had poured through like a miniature tidal wave, killing a Zumbira class fleet carrier, the Donet, and two of his Stratha class light carriers, the Stratha and the Veriush.

 

But the fortress had fallen along with the five ships with it. Then had come the real horror. The three monster warships.

 

Why would anyone build and crew such monsters when attack sleds were more efficient weapons? True the Kartumpch class carriers were bigger than two of them, but these were not carriers! And they had those same horrible sled killer missiles!

 

He'd lost 100 more of the sleds before they put down those monsters.

 

The smaller fortress and the large unfinished twin of the one they had killed were easy in comparison.

 

Then had come the capture of the planet. A large number of the opponent’s people, dressed as were the prisoners here and at home, had lived in one area. That area was captured quickly, though there had still been losses.

But most of the aliens were scattered in hands, hands of hands, and hands of hands of hands across the main continent, family groups mostly, from what he had been told. If he had to guard them all, he would need twice as many people as his ships held! Added to that the problem that his people were smaller, physically weaker, and most unwilling to kill unless provoked, and it was a recipe for disaster.

 

Instead, he had ordered that the large camp be surrounded with cage wire, and guarded. The prisoners had been dumped into the camp with the others as the seekers of knowledge began investigating the treasure trove. The small groups were to be left alone unless they proved dangerous.

 

Then had been the tour of the largest enemy ship. They had weapons like his own beam weapons, but huge in comparison. He had seen and touched the huge missiles that the enemy had, and still didn't want to believe them.

 

Then the seeker and his Builder of tools had told him that in the magazines were missiles that dwarfed even these, so large that they could only be mounted on racks on the ship's skin!

 

How many of his ships would have been killed if he had charged in as the more junior Dakwas had suggested?

 

Now these attacks. The Destroyer Kasvesnieigh and the escort carrier Delerial, detailed to the Terminus the opponent’s ships had been fleeing toward had reported seven opponent ships closing. Their sensor had read them as five destroyers, and two larger vessels. The ships had left the Terminus, without permission, to collect them. His orders to the contrary had been ignored.

 

Then suddenly they had reported that they were under attack, from a range where no missile, not even those monster missiles could have come, and the two ships were gone, disappeared.

 

He had detached two heavy cruisers, the Movton and Somper with two destroyers a light carrier and one of the Kartumpch class carriers to take over the patrol.

 

Hours later, the Stratha class carrier Umphal and her escort, the light cruiser Zumtah had reported the same enemy ships approaching.

 

Those ships had maintained their positions, as ordered, and he had sent the Kartumpch, and one of his Doriagi class Battlecruisers to reinforce them. But they had turned and run before fighters could reach them.

 

Then, in the middle of a routine communication, the Stratha class carrier Wollola had gone off the air. Her escort, the heavy cruiser Dullulu had reported herself under attack, then had also disappeared. They had been guarding the third terminus

 

He had taken most of his ships, spread them like a net, and advanced on this terminus. This harrying fleet had done more damage in the past day, than the first three battles of the contest! At this rate, they would match all of his losses before they were caught.

 

The leader of this group was the one he sought, the one that understood war. Thankfully he settled into a more interesting contest than it had been so far.

 

They had hit the Terminii. Why? To report his presence obviously. It wasn't a direct challenge. These were small units cut off, by themselves, true. But all he had to do was be patient. He had more ships. They had to know or assume that. The Opponent wanted him off balance. They must have those long ranged monster weapons on their ships to kill from so far away.

 

Well he would spot them. If they attacked any of the ships in the net, the ones around it would close and his attack sleds would make short work of them.

 

As they approached the Terminus, he suddenly thought of one more option.

 

By deploying such a large number of his ships forward, he had left few at the planet. He ordered the fleet to turn and retrace it’s path.

 

It was already too late.

 

End Run

"Move only when it is to your advantage."

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

Like vengeful spirits, the carriers Invincible and Iomungundr, still stealthed, using the mass of Gobi to hide their approach, launched their fighters. Led by a single recon fighter each, they swept unseen around the planet and fell toward the enemy ships in orbit like hawks.

 

It had taken twelve nerve wracking hours to creep up this close, using the planet to block sensors from the three warships and ten transports still in orbit. Less than a minute ago, the enemy fleet had done a battle turn, and was screaming back toward them.

 

The enemy warships, a battlecruiser and two light cruisers (Lanzecki had designated them Ruffian and Privateer respectively) were caught off guard, the first strike ripping into their shields. They started to return fire at the fighters, and were fully occupied as the strike force rounded the planet. The entire plan was madness at this range. Nothing Runningfox had could survive even a minute against the unsupported battlecruiser.

 

"Shields up! Fire!"

 

Like ghosts, the ships appeared, shields slamming up as missiles howled into the attack. The battlecruiser, shields gone, armor boiling along with atmosphere staggered away. The light cruisers died as the second salvo went in, from the carriers, the Battlecruiser joining them a few minutes later as Rio Blanco Boyne and Garone pounded her. More salvos had obliterated the transports before they could do more than warm their shields

 

The avenging force turned, approaching the captured vessels, unprotected by drive or shields. One salvo was all that was needed to reduce them to slag. The squadron, stealthed again, screamed up and away from Gobi, leaving chaos behind them.

 

"Boyne and Rio Blanco down to 50% of basic load." Elaine Brice reported. "Invincible lost one recon fighter, six strikefighters, Iomungundr lost two strike fighters.

 

"One missile hit on Rio Blanco. It seems their ships use the same kind of missiles as their fighters. Her systems are already coming back on line."

 

"Good." Runningfox considered the view behind them. The enemy fleet had turned, now sweeping back toward him. He was far enough ahead of them that they couldn't catch him. Stealthed, they probably couldn't see him either.

 

He had thought it through as well as possible, and had seen only one alternative. He couldn't run back to the Alliance. He'd lost that option at the first Terminus. The Alliance and the Packhome had been warned, and would hopefully come to his rescue. But with the war just ending, the fleet would probably need almost two years to gather forces from wherever they were handy for such an attempt.

 

He couldn't stand and fight without killing all of his people, if not now, than before too long.

 

So instead he had fallen back on Napoleon's maxim. 'l'Audace, l’Audace, Toujours l’Audace!'. Audacity.

 

They would attack where the enemy didn't expect them.

 

Right down their entry Terminus.

 

* * * * *

 

The destroyers rendezvoused with Rising Sun. Since they had not had the chance to fire their weapons, they merely moved past her to protect the fleet train.

 

On long range sensors, they could see the boiling hell that was in orbit of Gobi. But until they received orders, there was nothing they could do.

 

Then Runningfox's message came.

 

ALL DESTROYERS AND TRANSPORTS ARE TO TRANSIT IMMEDIATELY. CRUISERS AND CARRIERS WILL HOLD POSITION 15 LS FROM GOBI END OF TERMINUS COVERING MANEUVER. DESTROYERS TO FORM LONG RANGE SENSOR LINE 20 LM FROM TERMINUS AFTER TRANSIT. TRANSPORTS TO MOVE OVER SYSTEM TO POSITION 50 LM OUTSYSTEM TO AWAIT RISING SUN.

 

Frantically the unstealthed ships raced to and then through the Terminus. Rising Sun was the last through. Once they had all vanished, Runningfox took one last look at the system he had been ordered to protect, and ordered the carriers through. Ten minutes later, all of the ships were gone.

 

The Long Run

"Attack where he is unprepared, sally

out when he does not expect you."

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

It's surprising how quickly the extraordinary and terrifying becomes commonplace. The runs across the systems were done with the destroyers in a wedge 30 light minutes across the base, with the cruisers and carriers in a globe around the unarmed transports 30 more light minutes behind them. Fighters with recon packs would have been faster, but there were only 150 recon packs, and less than two dozen recon fighters. If they used the expendable packs, they would have to fly the recon fighters into the deck, and would be reduced to the expedient they were already using. As it was, it looked to be a year or more to retrace the route Von Wirth had already surveyed, then more to find the elusive enemy home world.

 

They had supplies for three, without Rising Sun.

 

But Runningfox didn't have the heart to simply dump her between the stars, or to blow her to hell. She was a viable warship, and as long as he could, he intended to use her as she was meant to be used.

 

The long months of the advance were broken by repairs of systems not meant to be run this long without rest, and times of sheer terror as enemy ships were spotted. Runningfox used his sensor advantage to bypass everything possible. He knew their weapons loadout to the last round of point defense missiles. One battle they could win, even a dozen since they had longer ranged missiles in their arsenal. But ten would deplete their store of SMs, another ten their capital missiles. After that, they would be even with the enemy, except for the AFM clusters.

 

Unfortunately, all battles could not be avoided.

 

* * * * * *

 

The cruisers and carriers stopped, stealthed, five light seconds from the terminus. Runningfox was nervous. Eleven transits had gone without a hitch. Their luck couldn't last. The destroyers were moving in now from the stern, the transports right behind them.

 

The destroyers passed them, and then it happened.

 

"Transits! Destroyer, Cruiser, and an assault carrier!" The lead destroyer had barely stabilized his systems when Garone's XO racks flushed into his face. The captain of the cruiser behind him had just passed the order for battle stations when Rio Blanco and Boyne spat fire into him.

 

The massive carrier convulsed as both Iomungundr and Invincible poured their own fire into it reducing it to a wreck.

 

A fleet carrier followed, and staggered as Ney and Ingram fired, dying as Taney and Gort added their fire.

 

For a long moment, there was nothing, Then two more heavy cruisers appeared, their systems screaming as Apache poured missiles into them along with the other ships.

 

The destroyer that followed them was just as surprised, and died quickly as the carriers fired their second salvos.

 

Then nothing. Runningfox launched a drone, and when it reported nothing there, he ordered the destroyers through.

 

They had been incredibly lucky so far. It couldn't last.

[machievelli]

Dénouement

"Appear at places to which he must hasten;

move swiftly where he does not expect you."

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War.'

 

As the first ships of the third fleet began to arrive, Moruth sighed in relief. Thanks to the Gamester's ploy, destroying the fleet train in one lightning strike, he had been worried about the supply situation. But the second fleet had joined him with all speed. With them had been shipyard supplies and he had started his builders of ships on making fortresses like the opponents used. Now three of them were already in place at the Terminus the opponents had fled toward. Six more were being built for the other Termini.

 

He'd moved the Doriagi class ships to cover those two naked Termini, the carriers except for the Denali class escorts, divided evenly between the Termini, far enough insystem to cover each easily.

 

The only sour note was that the clever gamester was still uncaught. In the three months since the battle, there had been no sign of him. Had he been killed at the planet? Unlikely. The omega drones had reported no opponent ships destroyed.

 

So he was biding his time, making Moruth spread his forces thin. He had his cruisers, destroyers and the Denali class carriers spread out, looking for him even now, instead of having them where he needed them, escorting and protecting his larger carriers.

 

The speaker at a distance brought a message form over. "Takwas, we have received an odd message."

 

"Tell me of it."

 

"A message to the Rudewas of the destroyer Koreval. But Koreval has not yet joined us."

 

Moruna knew that. His memory was remarked upon by his subordinates. He knew where every ship was supposed to be. Koreval was with the last contingent of the Third Fleet, and was supposed to be enroute, with her sister the Mognnona, the light cruiser Rampal, the Heavy cruisers Mogwok and Sartempa, the carrier Rumtelish, and the Very Large carrier Zerianth.

 

How had the message failed to reach him when he was between it and home? The drone should have homed in on the ship itself.

 

Unless, He turned to the map of the tramline. Unless she had been destroyed! He took the message from the rating, checking the time and date it had been sent. If nothing had happened to the ship, she should have been, there, five transits from where he was now. They had left the home world 8 months before, so the message should have reached them three transits closer to home. A horrifying thought intruded.

 

The gamester had not run outsystem. He had run toward home!

 

So somewhere in that space, the gamester hid-

 

No, that one wouldn't hide. He was going for the throat!

 

"Which patrol is closest to the home Terminus?"

 

"The Heavy Cruisers Ronnda, Camero, Restwis, and Forneal, with the carriers Rumec, and Zorona, destroyers Kameral and Erened. Dakwas Koroli commanding."

 

"Send to Koroli immediately."

 

* * * * * *

 

Aboard Camero, Koroli received the message calmly.

 

GAMESTER HAS GONE TOWARD HOMEWORLD. PURSUE IMMEDIATELY.

TAKE WHAT SUPPLIES AND REINFORCEMENTS YOU CAN GATHER ENROUTE.

CAPTURE HIM IMMEDIATELY. OR ALL IS LOST.

 

Prisoners

"Therefore at first be as shy as a maiden.

When the enemy gives you an opening, be as swift as

a hare, and he will be unable to withstand you."

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient art of War.'

 

They were now twenty transits in, and the transport ship Sears and Roebuck was as empty as a politician's promise. Runningfox now faced a severe problem with overcrowding, the men of the other transports would only compound it as their ships ran dry.

 

But there was no time to waste trying to find a planet to maroon them on. He shifted the men to where ever possible space could be made, blew the Sears and Roebuck into atoms, and tabled the problem. He’d found another one to occupy him.

 

The squadron had moved out into deep space about 150 light minutes from the star while they unloaded what little was still aboard the Sears and Roebuck. As they had, Ney had discovered a terminus. Rare at this range from the star, a properly equipped survey squadron would have found it with carriers. Carefully, a stealthed recon drone had been sent through, and now Runningfox was staring at the data.

 

A closed terminus that led into Beaufort, Capital system of the Union. Eight transits behind the enemy lines. How long would the war have lasted if Eric had found this years ago? He thought of all the lives that could have been saved.

 

Now, however, he had to think of the Union lives he’d save.

 

He ordered another stealthed drone launched. It would travel toward the planet on a zig zag course until it reached the inner system before transmitting, and destroy itself after repeating the message one hundred times. They wouldn’t know where the terminus was, but he’d have it recorded in case war broke out again.

 

* * * * *

 

"Come." The door to his office opened, and Elaine Brice came in. There was something odd about her. Her eyes were a little glassy, and he could smell liquor.

 

"Sir, request permission to speak freely?"

 

"Always, Elaine."

 

"Sir, as your chief of staff, I have some questions that have been bothering me. We have intruded 26 transits now, and I was just wondering how far you intend to go." Her voice was the over precise of the seriously drunk.

 

"As far as we can. Until we reach their frontier, or their homeworld if possible."

 

"Why?"

"Because whether it has been declared or not, we're at war, Elaine. It's our job. We put this on," he touched the sleeve of his uniform, "and accept certain responsibilities when we do.

 

"Besides, how long would the Alliance have lasted if every war we fought was this badly mishandled? I want this enemy to understand that regardless of the start of this war, we won't knuckle under, or blow away. That we will take it on the chin, wipe the blood off, stand up, and beat them to a pulp if necessary.

 

"And if I have to explain this to you, maybe you shouldn't be wearing that uniform."

 

Her head jerked as if the rebuke was a physical slap. "No, why are you doing it? We could have run at Gobi, the Terminus home was clear! No one could have accused you of cowardice with the odds we faced. Most of the men would follow you into hell, and you know that. But what do I tell the doubters? This venture has all the sanity of Custer's last stand, or the Charge of the light Brigade!"

 

She ran her fingers through her hair. When he had met her, that hair had been prison-short, a brush of red and gold on her head. Now it brushed down almost to her waist, which surprised him. She had never had it down like this since he met her. For that matter, he hadn't even known she drank. "Even if we survive, the Admirals won't care! We can all die, and they'd just be satisfied that we're gone.

 

"How do I decide if the man I love is a genius, a madman, or just suicidal?" she blurted.

 

"What?"

 

The statement seemed to shock her more than it did him.

 

"I, uh, sir, oh crap." She spun on her heel, and ran from the room.

 

He sighed.

 

* * * *

"Sir, we've got human ships on the sensors."

 

Runningfox leaned over the ratings shoulder. There sat the survey squadron, intermixed with the San Diego and the remains of Wolchensky's ill fated Battlegroup.

 

"What do the transponder readings say?"

 

"Some damage to them, sir. But according to the transponders, they seem okay."

 

An idea struck him. Maybe it would work. "All ships, climb 90 degrees away from the ecliptic. Once we are 100 light minutes out, Captain's conference aboard Iomungundr. Tell Captain Gant of Sears and Roebuck to attend."

 

* * * * *

 

"It's sheer madness!" Blandsley exploded. The captain of the transports, and the dispossessed captain of Sears and Roebuck flinched, expecting the hammer to fall any minute.

 

"Madness? Maybe. Any one want to replace me?" Runningfox asked lightly. The warship captains laughed.

 

"But all we have is long range sensor readings. How do we know these alien weapons left more than scrap to use?"

 

"We don't." Runningfox agreed with annoying good humor. "But consider what Wolchensky left with. Three battlecruisers, a fleet carrier, two Yorktown class carriers, one heavy and three light cruisers, and two destroyers.

 

"We have there, a mother lode of spare parts for repairs farther down the line. A dozen ships without crews. Not to mention that in our group we have 400 men with no ship.

 

"If even one of them are still operational, we can add to our firepower, and ease the overcrowding aboard. An overcrowding that will get worse not better in a couple of months. But I see only one other option people.

 

"Our only other choice is we blow the ships to hell. Because gentlemen, we aren't leaving any of those ships here for the enemy. And the parts we can salvage will extend our range by what, four months?"

 

Robiton shrugged. "Do we have time to get even one operational?"

 

"The engineering staff can do a survey. If it takes more than a week to refurbish one, we'll give it up as a bad job, and blast them to hell."

 

“All right.” Blandsley agreed finally. “But how do we make this survey without being noticed?”

 

“Well…”

 

* * * *

 

Garone moved in, stealthed. A silent killer. Sergei Michelovich, her captain held his breath as his ship closed in. Before, when they’d set up to attack at the Termini, at the planet, it had been five ships doing this. But to maximize the readings, and minimize the loss, Runningfox had come up with this instead. At ten light seconds the ship coasted to a stop, activating her whisker-laser. It locked on Boyne, 10 light seconds behind him, which sent it on to Rio Blanco the same distance farther back, in a delicate chain of light back to Invincible, then finally to Iomungundr, which hung a light minute away.

 

The ships hung there for almost an hour as Garone silently collected her data, then they broke away, creeping back out of range.

 

* * * * * *

 

"Curious." Morlav-Chlovalki (Builder of tools) Rasnal said.

 

"What is?" The Loressi (Guardian or caretaker) asked.

 

"I was using their version of the Long-seer." He pointed at the Long Range sensor station of Musashi. "Fabulous work, much better than ours. Still it sometimes sees that which is not there."

 

"Oh, really?" Rasnal wasn’t really surprised with that reaction. The Caretakers weren't known for their curiosity, just their anal-retentive compulsive cleaning and cataloging. That was probably why they became Caretakers.

 

"Yes! Just for a moment there, I thought I saw a string of five ships reaching in from a light minute's distance. Then they moved away."

 

"Exciting." The Loressi walked away. Rasnal sighed. Caretakers could be so boring! He decided to go below, to where Mellee worked with the computer of the huge ship. A Seeker of knowledge would be interested in what he had found. As she was his wife as well, she might even want to snuggle while they discussed it.

 

* * * *

 

Elaine Brice entered with Commander Lanzecki, taking her place beside Runningfox. Her hair was back in it's uncompromising bun, and she colored slightly when she saw her commander. He motioned toward the assembled captains, and Lanzecki stood.

 

"The Survey squadron ships have been thoroughly gutted, so there is no help there. Shantung and Hesse are very badly damaged. We couldn't get them ready without a shipyard. The same is true of Seine, Danube, Hood Cardigan and Longstreet. Valley Forge and Musashi are heavily damaged, but could be operational with a full damage control effort in a month."

 

The captain's faces fell as the litany of destruction, and time they didn't have wore on.

 

But he had been saving the best for last. "Cyclops, Dragon and Susquehana however, were damaged, but mainly by Pinholers or Skewers. They are, for all intents and purposes, intact."

 

"We could do it then!" Yamata said with wonder. "We have people to man Susquehana!"

 

Runningfox sat in the sudden babel, saying nothing. Finally everyone was quiet, looking at him expectantly. "What are their defenses, Elaine?"

 

"Two Cutpurse, a Brigand, and five transports which our demented intelligence officer," Her eyes twinkled," has finally named Fagans."

 

"Then we all know what to do."

 

* * * *

 

One second the scene was placid. The next, the six ships were just there, SMs howling in at the surprised Coridanii warships. The destroyers and escort carrier died before they even knew they were under attack. Pinnaces shot free of the cruisers and carriers, and Marines in combat Steamers poured aboard the enemy transports. The destroyers closed, their marines boarding the Susquehana. Once the ships were secure, the marines moved on to the other captured ships, clearing them. The aliens found didn't resist, and were corralled, then moved to their own ships.

 

Once the prizes were cleared, the overcrowded transports moved alongside Susquehana. Damage was remarkably light, as reports told. Except for splashes of blood, holes cut into hulls and bulkhead in some manner to admit the alien boarders, and the holes left by Skewers and Pinholers, the ship was almost ready to go as it was. None of the fighters were aboard the retaken carriers, but eager crewmen were sending over crated parts and missiles even as the ships were surveyed

 

Some systems were missing some equipment, including an entire Krupa projector from Danube, and a Skewer projector from Musashi, but usually only one of each type, as if the aliens were merely adding to their store of equipment to study. The parts stores on the ships themselves usually had the parts needed to replace them stowed.

 

The Marines that had captured the transports began bringing back the pitifully few bodies they found aboard, including what remained of Eric Von Wirth.

 

Once the recaptured cruiser was ready to go, which had taken less than two days, they began stripping every usable part from the derelicts. Everything was ransacked by the raiders; who pulled anything that could be used, or be used to build other repair parts. The entire process, from the first missile fired, took less than a week.

 

Once the raiding was completed aboard, Runningfox had the aliens all transported to their own transport ships which had their propulsion systems disabled. He had been so busy up until that time, that he hadn't even seen the enemy, so he rode over in his pinnace to examine them himself.

 

They didn't look evil or dangerous. They looked-

 

Damn it, they looked cute.

 

"How many, sergeant?"

 

"One thousand fifty-eight, sir." The Steamered man replied. In a Steamer, even your own mother would have looked terrifying, a 3 meter troll with weapons sized to match. "We had a little trouble getting them to come over here from their own ships. We had to persuade them."

 

Runningfox looked over the enemy ranks. Persuade? An unarmed man would have been able to pummel a dozen of them into submission with his bare fists. In the front near him, a small figure cradled another in his arms. It looked up at Runningfox.

 

"Help." it said.

 

"They mimic English pretty well." The sergeant explained.

 

Rasnal looked at the huge alien, trying to support Mellee. The huge monstrous machine-man had pushed them along, and she had stumbled. The thing had casually picked her up, and thrown her. Slamming her into a bulkhead with casual and brutal force.

 

Runningfox moved closer, and knelt. The aliens near with the exception of the one that pleaded moved away, fearful. But even with him in their midst, they didn't move to attack.

 

He reached out, and gently moved the female's head. There was blood, and she moved limply, as if unconscious. He looked at the alien, it's large eyes looking at him with a mixture of fear and worry. "Tche feh down, Trown by Mah-line. Hut bad, mah-bee dying. Puh-leeze help." it said.

 

Runningfox turned a cold eye on the marine. "So falling down is classified as resisting?" He asked sarcastically.

 

"Sir-"

 

"Spare me, sergeant." He looked at the alien. "Give her here, we'll help."

 

"Sir, he can't-" The man's jaw dropped as the alien handed the female gently to the man. "You come to. Is there a doctor?" At the alien's confusion, Runningfox said, "One that can make her well?"

 

The alien turned, shouting in a fluid tone, with more volume than you would have expected from such a small chest. One of the aliens moved through the crowd.

 

"He comes too." Runningfox turned, glaring at the sergeant. "Pass the word to the other Marines. Since our enemies bothered to learn enough of our language to ask for help, maybe they know enough to do what you tell them. Try talking before getting violent."

 

MacNamara looked in surprise as Runningfox, followed by two aliens and a glowering Marine entered the pinnace. "Trophies? Or pets, sir?"

 

"Injured people, Mac. Take us to the closest alien ship. We're going to collect some medical supplies for them. Then back to Iomungundr."

 

MacNamara shook his head in amusement, and lifted out.

 

* * * *

 

"This is a hospital, not a barnyard!" Doctor Hersch growled. He glared at Runningfox as he laid the injured female on one of the beds.

 

He’d had just about enough of this crap. He pointed at the still figure. "Doctor, that is a wounded person, and this is where people go to be healed. That is when they don't wish to have boils lanced or leeches applied." Runningfox retorted. The alien doctor climbed up on the bed beside his patient, and opened the kit he had put together aboard the alien transport. The humans watched as he poured liquid over the wound, then sponged it off, revealing a pressure cut. His three fingered hand dived in again, and the nimble appendage brought out what appeared to be a weapon.

 

"Wait a minute." The doctor caught the hand, looking at the weapon. "If it was twice as large as it is, I would say it was an old fashioned cautery laser. Primitive." He set it down, and pulled out a wound sealer. "This should work." He said to the aliens. The sealer hummed as it knitted the wound closed, neat enough that there probably wouldn't be a scar.

 

The alien ran his hand wonderingly over the wound, then reached out. The doctor, nonplused handed him the device, and the Runningfox could almost see the frustration on both faces.

 

"Does she have a concussion?" he asked.

 

"Can't tell, sir. I'm a doctor, not a vet."

 

The alien that had spoken asked the alien doctor something, and the doctor replied. Then the spokesman looked to the humans. "Wait niaow."

 

The ship shuddered, and the aliens looked up in alarm, then at Runningfox.

 

"We just destroyed the derelicts and your warships. Except the ship your people are on."

 

They shrugged.

 

"Put them in a cabin together, and assign two of the Marines. I would suggest women, since they're smaller and less visibly threatening." Runningfox ordered. "You eat our food?"

 

"Yes." The alien nodded. "Sohm very bad. Most we can eat."

 

"Then have some food. We talk later."

 

"Hokay."

 

That taken care of, he returned to the control bridge. He signaled Elaine over, waiting until she leaned toward him to speak. "Do we have anyone with a good grounding in child psychology, or say a grade school teacher?"

 

If the question surprised her, he couldn't see it. "I'm not sure, sir. But I can check the records, and let you know shortly."

 

"Let me know tonight, at dinner." Her eyebrows arched. "You and I need to spend some time together. Besides, we're allowed a private life. I'm sure I read it in a manual somewhere."

 

She looked at him. "I don't need your pity sir."

 

"I wasn't thinking that. I was just thinking how long it's been since I had dinner with a beautiful woman without business on my mind."

 

She looked at him levelly. "You’d better mean business, Commodore sir."

[machievelli]

Action

"By moral influence, I mean that which causes

the people to be in harmony with their leaders, so that

they will accompany them in life and unto death

without fear of mortal peril."

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War.'

 

Supreme Force Commander Wilderbeck looked with surprise at the two women in De La Hoya's office when he arrived. The Head of ONI, Vice Admiral Susan Yoshimoto he knew, but not the stone faced woman with her, also in a Vice Admiral's uniform.

 

De La Hoya motioned for him to approach. "This concerns you as well Supreme Force Commander. You know Admiral Yoshimoto, but I don't know if you have met Admiral Netanyahu.

 

Now he recognized her, Sonia Netanyahu, the second in command under Admiral McIntyre at Viracoca. She had only recently returned from the Annex. "I've heard about you, Admiral Netanyahu. Welcome back to Terra."

 

"Thank you, sir."

 

"Supreme Force Commander, with the Interstellar Communications net now spread through what's left of the Alliance, How long will it take for us to be warned of trouble?"

 

"It is not my field, sir. But it would depend on the distance of the system from Terra."

 

"How long should it take for a message to reach say Codalus, if sent from Gobi?"

 

Uh, oh. "A bit more than two hours, sir."

 

"And for that message to be relayed to Terra?"

 

"About eight days, sir. Seven and some odd hours."

 

"The wonders of modern communications." De La Hoya picked up a pad from his desk. "If such a message could reach us in eight days, Supreme Force Commander, why then is it that the first I hear about the fall of Gobi, is from the Rex eleven months after the fact?"

 

"Sir "

 

"Spare me." De La Hoya picked up the next file. "Why does the name Martin Runningfox sound familiar?"

 

"You reprieved him from a death sentence six years ago, sir."

 

"Oh, yes. He was the one that got the word out about Gobi, by the way. So you stuck him in Gobi where if I remember correctly, we used to have a Mothball fleet area. What was it, 100 ships?"

 

"One hundred twenty seven, sir."

 

"Which he was to refurbish, recommission, whatever. He was also placed in charge of the working up and training etc?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Was he any good at this?"

 

"Excellent, sir."

 

"Yet when he reports that the Survey Squadron he sent on your orders was ambushed in his own words, 'by forces as yet unknown', what was done?"

 

"Admiral Stanton ordered Rear Admiral Wolchensky to take his battle group out immediately to find out what happened."

 

De La Hoya set down the pad, picking up another. Wilderbeck hated the habit, but unlike many politicians, when De La Hoya decided to rip a strip off you, he had all his ducks in a row, and you deserved it. "Admiral Wolchensky. Yes, I have his file here. A cruiser captain up until two and a half years ago. A mediocre one at that, if his efficiency reports are anything to go by."

 

"Sir, it was reported to me, by Admiral Stanton, that since Wolchensky was the senior officer there, of an already formed battle group, that he had been sent."

 

"I understand that, Supreme Force Commander. What I don't understand was why first, the objections of the man in charge of their training, who said, and I quote, 'They are as yet untried, and need several weeks of training to mesh smoothly' was ignored.

 

"Second, why, with a more experienced officer present, that man was left in limbo while a green as grass officer, charges off into the great unknown with a dozen ships and crews that make him look like the Old Man of the Sea?"

 

"Sir, Admiral Stanton deployed his forces as he saw fit. Besides, Admiral Wolchensky was given a training regimen for his men that should have assured that they were properly trained before they ran into trouble. Experience would have taught them more than any amount of training.

 

"As for Runningfox, he was not put in charge of the battlegroup because in Stanton's opinion, the force was probably a Rebel force. Due to his problems with fighting humans, Sector Command decided that he couldn't be trusted to pursue what might become an advance into Rebel territory."

 

"Again trust." De La Hoya sighed. He handed the Supreme Force Commander a list. "This is the list of ships reported to be at Mothball 7 when Runningfox arrived."

 

He handed over another list. "I don't really understand why, but the Fleet tends to give Es to ships that excel in different things, Gunnery, engineering, maneuvering, sensor operations, that kind of thing. This is the list of ships that received those honors during the last four years. Why is it that almost half of them, something less than 10% of the fleet, are all from Mothball 7?"

 

He handed over another list. "Ships that also excel in combat get Unit Citations, either from the fleet or the Assembly. Why is it that all of the ships on that list are also from Mothball 7?"

 

He picked up another pad. "The Manual of Mothball fleet, operations. Annotated as of 442 AY. Why is it that every section of this that has been updated came from ideas first tried at Mothball seven? You've beaten this into the heads of the other 9 mothball fleet officers, demanding more from them.

 

"What more does this man have to prove his loyalty? Nuke Beaufort now that the war is over?" De La Hoya shook his head. He picked up another pad. "Why did this come to me not from you, or the CNO, but from this Runningfox himself?"

 

Wilderbeck read the first line. "Dear sir, when the Omega Drone from TANS Musashi was recovered, an analysis was done by my staff, with the assistance of Captain Benjamin Stoddard (Commanding TANS Mitsubishi), Chief Electronics mate Rupert Conklin (Attached, specialist, TANS Mitsubishi), and Electronics Mate 2nd June Tannerman (Attached, specialist, TANS Mitsubishi)..."

 

It was the report Runningfox had sent.

 

Wilderbeck sighed. "Sir, When this report arrived, I contacted Admiral Stanton. His staff, agreed with Noguchi's, that there is no substance to the claims by Runningfox's men. More over, he believed the report and the attached recording purportedly to be from Musashi was fabricated as a specific plot to undermine Admiral Noguchi's authority in Gobi. While Admiral Noguchi did not send copies of Musashi's Omega Drone's recording, his analysis was complete. My own staff has checked the report, and while it is possible that he is correct, it appears to be nothing more than idle speculation."

 

"Ah, yes, Noguchi." De La Hoya lifted yet another pad. "Oddly enough, two officers, Noguchi and Stanton are in his direct chain of command. Both men appear to have received this same report, as did the CNO.

 

"I asked Rutgers, he said that while Stanton's argument might be valid, there was evidence in the report sent by Runningfox that needed examination. I can understand how blind hatred might color the judgment of these two admirals, but didn't you even bother to ask Rutgers? That is why I asked Admiral Netanyahu to check it out.”

 

"If it's idle speculation, it's also brilliant." Netanyahu said. The analysts on my staff were stumped, so they sent copies of this through the Interstellar Comm net to Gateway Research and Development Station. I still have contacts in the Annex, and they were glad to help. By the way, if I ever meet this Electronics Mate 2nd June Tannerman, I have been told we should grab her and send her off to Gateway RDS. They want to put her to some real work upgrading our long range sensor suites instead of fixing antique hulks.

 

"According to the Annex, the same theories that gave us the use of the grav drivers used with the Mjolnir missile suggests that this enemy warhead, that they have named the Suppresser, is not only feasible, but easily within our own grasp. I haven't the grounding in physics that they do, but what it does is create an 'inverse' gravitational and electromagnetic field, which just for a billionth of a second, mimics a star at very close range.

 

"As for their missile armed fighter, what Runningfox's reports call a 'six pack', I asked BuShips, and their answer was that the first interim design for our own Bangalore buses was similar, a Capital missile bus attached to a Pinnace. It was suggested that these pinnaces make the jump, then fire the missiles. The faster more discriminating software shelved the idea." She didn't mention the casualties that such an attack would have required against a massed Terminus assault, such as one of the Calimari Deephome.

 

"Last, the suggestion that a variable focus energy beam was possible sent them haring off down another path. Expect to see that in the next year or so."

 

De La Hoya looked at Wilderbeck. "Supreme Force Commander, when you handed me the report sent by Noguchi, you told me that all analysts here and in Codalus Sector agreed with it. Was that a lie?"

 

"Sir, when I delivered that report, this one had not yet arrived."

 

"So why didn't you report the loss of Gobi?"

 

"That report, if sent by Codalus, hasn't reached my desk, sir."

 

"The Supreme Force Commander is telling the truth, sir." Yoshimoto said. "My informants in Codalus report that no signals concerning Gobi have been sent in the last eight months, except for bland progress reports. Nothing before that mentions an attack on the system. It appears, that the break in this communications net starts at Codalus itself."

 

De La Hoya shook his head. "Supreme Force Commander, as you can see, the men above this Runningfox have kept him out of the loop, whether because they don't consider him important enough or from pure malice has yet to be determined. You have helped them lie not only to you, but to the fleet, albeit unintentionally. Are you going to now correct this problem?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Good. First, replace this Stanton. Give him the personnel desk, or BuShips, or wherever you're sending pariahs for the moment. I want him where I can get to him if even half of this report is true. Vice Admiral Netanyahu will take command in Codalus for the time being.

 

"I want the truth in this matter. If we're at war yet again, I want it over and done with as fast as humanly possible."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

 

Breakthrough

"The reason troops slay the enemy is because

they are enraged."

"Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

Runningfox had gotten into the habit of visiting the aliens every day. It was restful, compared to the activity anywhere else on the ship. The aliens, Mellee and Rasnal, the mated pair, and Soorentemi, the doctor, had settled in easily. It had taken less than two days before the Marines had started treating them like pets rather than the enemy.

 

Mellee was a Dragnashi-Sorelians (Seeker of truth) Rasnal a Morlav-Chlovalki (Builder of tools), and Soorentemi a Merinsi- truvahhn (Healer of the injured). Within a month or so, their Standard had improved to the point that had surprised their liaison, Engineering Rating 2nd Elspeth Lane.

 

As with any languages, some words didn't translate across readily. 'Enemy' became 'opponent', and the concept of a deadly enemy shocked and dismayed them. War became 'The greatest game' instead. The humans they considered not enemy, but 'Strong opponents', and their grasp of military tactics was astonishing for three people that were not actual serving officers. Marine Lieutenant Shomron, who had played Chess at the Grand Master level, reported that the worst of them, (Soorentemi) was a competent player, Rasnal good, and Mellee was almost at master level at chess, and they had easily (and laughing) defeated every one who had played them but him.

 

"Fast-moving-small-clever-Predator!" Mellee shouted. She ran over, catching his hand. "Come to talk with us again?"

 

"Yes." He sat, looking to Lane curiously.

 

"Their literal translation of your name." she told him.

 

"Oh." He leaned down, watching the battle chess game between Mellee and Rasnal. The female was beating him handily if Runningfox read the board right, and without the bloodthirsty tactics and disregard for losses you usually saw in the civilian populace. "Could you answer some questions for me?" He asked. The Coridanii faced him.

 

"Sure."

 

"Why did you start a war with us?"

 

The question seemed to surprise them. "Do you not test those you meet?" Soorentemi asked.

 

"Test?"

 

"Yes. Play the Greatest of Games with them to see which is the better?"

 

"Not if we can avoid it."

 

"Then how do you judge who shall be friend? How do you decide who to help, and who to stop from reaching space?"

 

"We don't." Runningfox said. "Unless they attack us first."

 

"Ah." Mellee rocked back and forth, the Coridanii equivalent of a nod. "You let them play when they are ready."

 

Runningfox shook his head. Maybe their concepts were wildly different. the door opened, and Elaine Brice came in. Her hair was down, and she glowed, at least to Runningfox's eyes.

 

"Gamesters-Mate!" The aliens shouted. Rasnal ran over, dragging the woman over.

 

Again, Runningfox looked to Lane.

 

Lane was struggling to keep from smiling. "That was what they called you at first. The Gamester."

 

"You mean..." Runningfox blushed.

 

"Sir, we're approaching the Terminus." Brice reported.

 

Runningfox stood, and almost ran from the room. Brice looked at the giggling Lane, but didn't receive an answer.

 

"Why did Fast-moving-small-clever-Predator turn red, One-who-watches?" Soorentemi asked.

 

Lane burst out laughing.

 

* * * * *

The three carriers slowed, their stealth fields hiding them from view. Ahead of them less than a light minute, were the cruisers, lead by Susquehana.

 

50 light seconds behind them were the destroyers and transports, still moving at the full 4% of light speed of the transports. They would reach here in just under 12 minutes.

 

Gant had who had never expected to command a warship at all seemed to have overcome his shyness and seemed ecstatic as the new Captain of Gort. His crew, pressed from every ship of the squadron was the most highly trained, and most uncoordinated at the same time, anywhere. Blandsley was back in his element again as commander of the screen and Susquehana as well.

 

Only Robiton was having trouble. He had been captain of the Pinotubo, and Runningfox's flag captain before. But he had been removed from his last squadron command, probably to never receive one again. Unfortunately for him, he was next senior in command, and now he commanded the destroyers and transports. The first time in nine years or so that he held what was ostensibly a commodore's billet, and he was making heavy weather at it.

 

The squadron was now three transits farther than Von Wirth's original survey, or as far as he had been able to report. Beyond this Terminus, as with the last three, lay Terra incognita, and possibly the enemy.

 

"In positions, sir." Blandsley reported.

 

"Let's do it, Meryl."

 

A courier drone shot through the Terminus, and for several minutes, they waited. Then suddenly, it reappeared. Instantly it's data banks purged, then it settled back into Susquehana' flank.

 

The feed came in moments later, and the Sensor officer turned. "We have a very organized society beyond there, sir. There are ships, but nothing within their sensor range."

 

"Transit. Stealth when we're through."

 

Susquehana leaped through, followed by the cruisers. The carrier Cyclops eased up. and disappeared, with Iomungundr following.

 

"Sir! Aspect change on the closer vessels. Speed increasing to 10% light speed!"

 

"Closest ships?"

 

"Two at 57 light minutes. Aspect changes on other ships. Too soon to be communications."

 

So they had developed and installed Long Range Sensors equal to our own, Runningfox thought. "Prep all fighters for attack. Send a drone through to the transports. Once they're through, I want every AFM cluster we can get out!"

 

On the sensor screen, the enemy ships were arrowing in toward them. Though they were scattered and disorganized, they were going to inflict some serious damage.

 

"Count is four at 70 light minutes and closing. Six at 65 light minutes and closing, 2 at 57 light minutes and closing."

 

Runningfox was reminded of the nightmare problem the sadistic 3rd year Tactics professor hit midshipmen with back at the Academy. Three forces, each small enough that you could easily defeat them in detail. All high speed, so some or all of them could be carriers.

 

If you kill the closest, Usually designated force A, the others close as you do so, cutting down your response time. If none of them are carriers, and you have none, force B still drops on you like a ton of bricks as the last ship in A dies. If you do have carriers, and you launch against A, the other two forces still get a free ride closer, where their carriers (If there are any in the two forces) are able to launch strikes from just outside SM range.

 

If you kill C instead, the farthest away, you might have time to launch again against A, but B will still get in too close. And A will be within standard missile range about the time your strike arrives there, suicidal for him if he has carriers, but suicidal for you considering the flight times if he did.

 

The positioning in this situation was something that same professor would have enjoyed. If Runningfox was at the center of an old clock face, A was directly between him and the main planet of this system at noon, the most likely to interfere with his mission. B was 45 degrees to port, about 10.30, where it was actually the least threatening.

 

But C was at about 5.30, and would close off the Terminus if left alone.

 

Runningfox had done relatively well in the Academy. But he’d gotten his butt kicked in the scenario. Maybe he’d do better this time. "Invincible will launch at the closest Force. Iomungundr will launch at the sextet here. Rising Sun launch at the last force." He ordered.

 

Ninety-five fighters leaped out, their hulls festooned with missiles. Nineteen at the closest ships, twenty-two at the next in range, sixty at the farthest. Behind them, the carriers and cruisers turned to protect the Terminus.

"Separation from target Group A. Fighters. No raid count yet. Separations from B and C now." At least one of each group had to be a carrier. Runningfox remembered hearing and reading about the horrors of the 3rd Interstellar War, when the Alliance had been on the receiving end of Creeper fighters for the first time, without fighters or AFMs for aid.

 

"Feed from Invincible Strike, Ruffian and Burglar."

 

Runningfox nodded.

 

"From Iomungundr Strike, Bandit, Burglar, two Privateers, Two Cutpurse."

 

He felt a kernel of hope.

 

"From Flag Strike. Ruffian, Highwayman, two Cutpurse."

 

He sighed. Well, it had been a good run while it lasted.

 

If he was correct, they were about even then. Not that it would matter without a lot of luck.

 

"Enemy fighters at sensor range. Looks like full deck launches, carrying six packs."

 

The minutes stretched like rubber as the fighters moved together, then merged in snarling blots of death. On sensors, it was very impersonal. Lights vanished, red or green, until of Invincible Strike, less than a dozen remained. Of the oncoming Six Packs, eight remained. On the right, Iomungundr Strike, reduced to only seven, continued. On that side, seven enemy fighters remained.

 

Just as Rising Sun's fighters merged with their opponents, the sensor rating howled with glee. Where Invincible Strike had merged with the enemy, the light code representing the fleet carrier there had vanished. The battlecruiser was slowing, and had begun a turn away. Only four fighters were returning.

 

"Keep the noise down, Everret."

 

"Sorry sir."

 

Iomungundr Strike went in. For long seconds, there was nothing. Then the light code of the Carrier staggered and began to turn away.

 

No one returned from that strike.

 

Of the sixty fighters that had left Rising Sun thirty continued their mission. Of the forty-eight launched by the enemy, 20 continued toward the group.

 

"Time to Terminus?"

 

"Forty-five seconds, sir."

 

"Time to first attack group?"

 

"Any second now, sir."

 

There was a flash, and something came through the Terminus.

 

"Point defense-"

 

"Sir it's Harrods!"

 

"-On manual!"

 

The freighter spun as if it were a dancer, and suddenly flares of light shot out as AFM clusters shot through the formation.

 

Behind them, A's strike was shattered, only two survived to fire. They didn't survive to escape.

 

Garone, the target of their affections, turned to unmask her batteries, point defense, her only real weapons, blasting. Rio Blanco and Boyne added their fire as the range closed. Twelve, seven, five, four, three, two, one- The last missile dropped her shields like a curtain.

 

"Damage report from Garone?"

 

"Shields down. Should be up in five minutes. All other systems operational."

 

Not soon enough. More AFM clusters launched, and B's strike died without even surviving to close.

 

Seven of C's survived to launch, but there was no carrier to return to. The assault carrier dead, battlecruiser and a destroyer damaged, The three remaining ships ran. Eleven fighters hurried back.

 

Susquehana and Iomungundr staggered from hits, but pressed on.

 

"All fighter to reload aboard Rising Sun. They are to strike the Battlecruiser and Destroyers of group C. Cruisers to close and destroy the battlecruiser of A. We can't hit B until-" He paused, eyes widening. The first Interstellar was had been destroyer sized Earth ships against Rex corvettes and pinnaces. As the old saying went, it was just crazy enough to work! "All Pinnaces to load missiles and attack force B."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

* * * * *

 

"Six years as a chauffeur for a Commodore, and now I'm demoted to a bloody Rex Kamizaze pilot." MacNamara groused. He was in the lead pinnace of the eight named Ragtag. Each carried five long ranged fighter missiles.

 

Behind them, the Rising Sun was frantically rearming the remaining 15 fighters, and scattering AFM clusters under the umbrella of the point defense of the newly arrived destroyers.

 

Invincible and Iomungundr were hot on his heels. If his flight was lucky enough to stop the carrier, they would then have to whittle away at the heavy and light cruisers, and their destroyers. With luck, the carriers would be close enough to finish the job. Otherwise, those poor fliers would have to stage from Rising Sun to Invincible like the Rex did back in IW 3.

 

On sensors, the damn thing looked huge. He noted that the heavy cruiser had moved up alongside her, the light cruisers and destroyers moving back to block his path.

 

"Range now 18 light seconds." Boatswains Mate Striker Julia Sanchez, his sensor officer and co-pilot reported.

 

"Oh we are having fun now." MacNamara sighed. "Ragtag 5, on my mark, take 6 through 8, and break below the screen. The rest of you, follow me, and break above it." He watched, not yet, just a little, "Mark!"

 

The wide chevron suddenly became gaping jaws as the small craft broke. The light cruisers and destroyers began firing, but without AFMs, they only succeeded in killing one.

 

"Sir! They've-" MacNamara watched as Ragtag #3 suddenly nose dived toward the closer cruiser.

 

"What the hell?"

 

"Sir, I’m reading Yoshimitsu radiation. They're using a tractor beam!"

 

Everyone facing these aliens seemed to keep saying 'they can't do that' when they pulled another technological rabbit from their hat. Well MacNamara wished somebody would tell them. "Number 3, he's using a tractor beam! Cut your engines, and flush your birds."

 

They watched as the pinnace was dragged closer. Suddenly missiles ripped out, gouts of atomic fire spalling the cruiser's screens. For an instant, they saw the pinnace trying to climb away, then the wave front of energy from it's own missiles smashed it like a bug against a windshield.

 

He cursed as he glared forward again. The enemy carrier looked beautiful and malignant. She was running flat out, but nothing was going to save her if he had anything to say about it.

 

The six pinnaces dived toward their target, and suddenly every alarm screamed.

 

"Fire!"

 

Missiles rippled off, and suddenly the alarms shut off at the same instant.

 

"Oh Madre de dios, the Carrier dropped her shields, and shut down her engines!"

 

The missiles hit. Unimpeded by shields or drive, one would have been enough. She blossomed like a flower, and was gone. The other ships, cruisers, destroyers, all of them, sat unprotected.

 

"Every one pick a target and cover them. But don't fire unless they fire first!" He said, then shut off the radio. "What are you trying to say?"

 

Sanchez was crying. "I think they were trying to surrender," Her cry became a wail, "and we murdered them!"

 

* * * * *

 

Susquehana closed on the enemy battlecruiser, followed by the other cruisers. Meryl Blandsley looked down at the stiff form in the command chair. "Cheer up Genji. It's not every officer that goes from being junior destroyer captain, to flag captain of a cruiser flotilla in one cruise."

 

"I just wish I could have maybe gotten the pay raise instead." Yamata replied. "Boyne is within SM range now, sir."

 

"All ships, fire SMs."

 

22 SMs howled away, closing the distance with what can only be described a suicidal malicious intent. The enemy battlecruiser tried, but her frail armor was facing the equivalent of a battleship squadron's throw weight. Ten missiles penetrated her frantic defense, and she exploded.

 

Her killers reversed course.

 

* * * * *

 

Megan Fairchild was cold and angry. Of her squadron, only she had survived. Of her entire air wing, only three others remained. They were following her, as were Rising Sun's Greenies. Maybe she shouldn't call them that. After all they'd given as good as they got, in fact, better. Ahead of them, the lone undamaged destroyer was turning to charge them.

 

Well if he wanted to die first, she'd oblige him. "Flag squadron 1, take that pathetic piece of crap out. The rest of you, follow me."

 

Four fighters broke toward the destroyer.

 

"Sir, she's dropped her shields and drives!"

 

"That means she isn't moving, you dope."

 

"No sir, I think-"

 

"Don't think you fool, kill him!"

 

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Flag 1's flight leader came on. "All Flag units, do not fire on the destroyer. I am calling for instructions."

 

Megan screamed in fury, and her fighter spun, the prop-dead destroyer in her sights. She squeezed, and two close range missiles blew the ship away.

 

"Now get in there and kill the others!" she screamed.

 

"Invincible lead, the others are prop-dead too." Randy Flag, her wingman spoke softly.

 

Suddenly she realized what she had done. Her wail of pain rocked the pilots as she punched the throttle to the firewall, and went out into space, never to be seen again.

 

* * * * *

 

Rearmed, and back in formation, the group closed on the system. Several hours had been needed to gather the crews of the surrendered enemy ships. They were packed cheek and jowl aboard the carriers and transports, their ships destroyed.

 

There were life signs on three planets. Two were domed complexes of astounding beauty and grace. One, the planet they now approached, was a skein of light strands on the surface. The shipyard/Space station orbiting it was huge, yet seemingly delicate in construction, raised no shields at their approach. Either the surrender of the warships meant they surrendered as well, or they were waiting for the right time.

 

With the squadron in cover, the pinnaces went over with the Marines. Runningfox's orders had been strict. Unless attacked, the Marines were to use no violence at all.

 

Five minutes later, Colonel of Marines (Acting) Conrad reported. "No resistance at all, sir. They don't all understand Standard English yet, but there's at least one in every score or so that understands some.

 

"We've found a weapons research lab. They have models of the standard AFM, and one of Musashi's Capital missiles that they've dismantled for study."

 

"What about prisoners?"

 

"Haven't seen any. Every time we ask, they tell us they were 'taken home, where safe'. Whatever the hell that means."

 

"Understood. Colonel, destroy the research area."

 

"Aye sir."

 

"If possible, keep collateral damage to a minimum. Once you've done that, find their communications station and disable it to. I've started transporting the prisoners back to their people. Return to the ship as soon as possible."

 

Landing the prisoners took less time than he had imagined. As the first pinnaces were unloading, the local leader; (His title translated literally as 'Father of the people of the station in space around the 2nd planet called Weroon of the star called Seronorii') requested permission to use their own cargo lighters and small craft to assist.

 

While leery of a trick, Runningfox placed marines on each one, and they joined the process. An hour later, a flash of light caused by satchel charges blew the research area to wreckage. The Marines raced aboard, and the squadron plunged away toward the next Terminus.

[machievelli]

Offensive

"To foresee a victory which the ordinary

man can foresee is not the acme of skill."

Sun Tzu 'The Ancient Art Of War'

 

Sonia Netanyahu had arrived in what had first appeared to be a madhouse. Codalus had been hard hit during IW3 by the Creepers, a colony under the dome on Codalus 3 of 80,000 people had been obliterated from orbit. The new dome, and the supporting naval base had been firm defiance of their terror. That same base had supplied a dozen ships that gutted the next attack, this one by the Calimari.

 

A pity Stanton hadn't been up to that example.

 

According to the communications records of Fleet, Vice Admiral Stanton had been frantically calling in every force in his command to defend his own base, stripping twenty systems of any worthwhile defense.

 

He had started this build-up almost three and a half years before. The dockyards that should have been turning out more ships the fleet facing the Union needed desperately, had instead been tasked with building Battlestations, and mines. Now the minefields around the Gobi Terminus were almost a light minute thick, and instead of the normal OBS4s he had built eight mammoth OBS10s, even larger than the ones on the Line.

 

He'd also amassed a sizable fleet. eight of the new super dreadnoughts, sixteen Dreadnoughts, thirty battleships, sixty battlecruisers, over 100 cruisers, over 100 carriers including eighteen precious assault carriers, and 240 destroyers. By her estimation, he had stripped at least three sectors to gather them all here. Along with 150 loaded transports of the fleet train. While her men had been slaughtered in Viracoca, and the Interior force from Al Hadji had been bled white due to lack of ships and lack of supply train, fully half of these ships had been sitting here in orbit, protecting one man.

 

* * * * *

 

Stanton snarled as the door opened. Netanyahu stepped in, followed by her Chief of staff Robert Sawyer. "Admiral Stanton?" Her voice was calm and cool, with the emotional overtones of a tax collector.

 

"Just report your ships numbers and readiness, then get back to them, Admiral." Stanton said. "I have important things to do."

 

She took the data pad, and set in on his desk. "Admiral Stanton, I am Vice Admiral Netanyahu. Your replacement."

 

He froze, then snapped to his feet. "On whose authority?"

 

"The Supreme Force Commander's, and the Prime Minister's, sir."

 

"I refuse to be relieved! We have a serious situation here, and a bungling amateur will destroy it!"

 

After the hell of Viracoca, with 50 percent of the fleet destroyed around her in hours, nothing would faze her, especially insults from some REMf like this one. "That is why I was sent to replace you. Captain Sawyer?"

 

"Yes, sir?"

 

"The admiral is distraught. Kindly escort him to his quarters so that he can pack to leave."

 

"Guards!"

 

A marine came in, looking at Netanyahu. "You called Sir?"

 

"I'll," Stanton's lips quivered. "By god I'll see you broken for this, Sergeant!"

 

"Sergeant, assist my chief of staff in escorting Admiral Stanton out please."

 

She sat as the protesting man was dragged away. "Have all Division leaders and their flag captains report here by 1100 hours."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

* * * * *

 

"Attention!" The massed officers snapped to as Sonia Netanyahu marched to the podium. This many ships meant a lot of admirals. Four vice Admirals, all senior to her theoretically, commanding Battle line, Carriers and Screen and Fortress command respectively. Seventeen rear admirals, one per division of Super dreadnoughts, Dreadnoughts, battleships and battlecruisers, 45 commodores, commanding divisions of carriers, and cruisers, and the silent officer from each Fortress. 24 captains commanding their own destroyers and a flotilla each, and the sixty-five flag captains attendant to each flag officer. She looked over that sea of faces. Her mind recorded the officers she expected, and her gaze settled on them. Her orders concerning their care and handling had been vague. Much better than she had anticipated. "Be seated."

 

In the hush that followed, a system flashed on the screen. "Gobi, one transit from here. This system has not reported in over a year now, and it is assumed by the Supreme Force Commander that hostile forces have taken it. We, gentlemen, are going to take it back."

 

There was silence. Whatever Stanton had told them it wasn't too bad yet. "According to information gathered by ONI, the enemy fleet's primary weapon is this." The screen flashed with the six-pack. "A fighter/missile carrier combination. The missiles have equivalent range to the standard ship's missile. This of course, nullifies our AFMs, except for the Capital AFMs of our larger ships.

 

"However, before Gobi was attacked, a report of this weapon was forwarded to the Supreme Force Commander by Commodore Runningfox-"

 

"That wacko?"

 

Netanyahu looked coolly at the Vice Admiral who had spoken. "You have a problem with this man, Admiral Wescott?"

 

"A traitor in everything but name."

 

"Fine. Admiral Wescott, you are relieved. Rear Admiral Conners, you have assumed command of the Super dreadnought division."

 

"On what grounds?" Wescott roared.

 

Anyone else might have screamed back at him. Netanyahu's voice was level and unemotional, and all the more cutting due to it's lack of emotion. "Admiral, you have shown a lack of fortitude that is appalling to me. While you have been sitting here, in command or the company of a thousand times the force that protected Gobi that planet was captured by the enemy. You have personally been sitting here for almost two years and have made no attempt to even reconnoiter to retake the system in that time.

 

"I would call you a coward, sir, but that is for a board of inquiry to decide. However your actions in support of a coward makes you one, or terminally stupid. You are dismissed." Her gaze moved across the assembled men as the Admiral was escorted out. "Gentlemen, in the last two years, over half of you sat here and did nothing. The rest of you have been here for over a year, and still you have done nothing. Now that I am here, this will change. If this does not please you, I will relieve every man I must, until I leave with just the enlisted crews if necessary. Is that clear?"

 

The meeting continued. Before the end of it, all three of the battle line Vice admirals, and two of the rear admirals had been relieved and sent away.

 

Still she had to wait another month for her surprise to arrive. Exactly 42 days after she had taken command, the fleet moved toward the Terminus.

 

* * * * *

 

Takwas! Multiple transits!" Moruna turned looking over the shoulder of his sensor officer. The data feed from the three fortresses at the Terminus showed thousands of transits! Flashes of fire told of interpenetrations by the hundreds, as the survivors stabilized

 

"Analysis?"

 

They appear to be similar to our attack sleds, but smaller and much faster."

 

Then sheets of missiles raced toward each of the fortresses. Not tens of missiles or hundreds, but thousands!

 

The weapons on the fortresses roared their defiance, but there were too many inbound targets. One of the fortresses was gone in minutes. Her sisters shattered unarmed ruins.

 

"All carriers launch fighters. All ships close the Terminus." Moruna was ready. He had all of First and Second Fleets, supported by almost two thirds of Third fleet. More ships than had been under any previous Takwas' command. 25 battlecruiser, 20 Very Large carriers, 50 fleet carriers, 80 heavy cruisers, 10 light carriers, 49 light cruisers, 30 escort carriers, and 100 destroyers.

 

What did they have to match that?

 

Then the first of the opponents ships came through. He had been appalled by the Giant Kitt’s Peak. . But these four dwarfed even that!

 

Undeterred, 2,460 fighters raced in.

 

* * * * *

 

Aboard the Super-dreadnought Jennifer Wu, the flagship of the 2nd fleet, Vice Admiral Netanyahu didn't even flinch at the solid wave of enemy fighters falling on her command. The force coming at her was greater than the combined weight of the entire Creeper navy in it's prime, including every base and planet.

 

But she, unlike those commanders of two centuries before, was ready for it.

 

Runningfox's report, and suggestion that Bangalores could be adapted to fire capital AFMs had been run through local R&D facilities at an inhuman pace. Along with it had been her own suggestion for an interim design of a new destroyer. She knew they didn't have time to await the arrival of the only existing Behemoths from the Outworld, and her answer was to fall back to the late 20th Century, and a design that had shocked, and electrified the world.

 

Now, as the first assault carriers began to transit, she waited to see how well her plan worked.

 

Thank heavens for those now dead men, Runningfox, Stoddard, Conklin, and that poor EM2 Tannerman! The AFM Bangalore clusters that now pushed away from her hulls would make or break this attack.

 

Against the wall coming toward them, the 216 fighters of Assault Carrier Division 1 was a reed against an avalanche. But the fighters armed for antifighter defense alone, dove in like Paladins.

 

The raging furball that erupted spanned over ten light seconds as the formations collided. The Terran fighters died, but over three to one of their enemies went with them. Almost 800 of the 'six-packs' died there.

 

The commander of the full strike waited, and a light on his board flashed. "Everyone bail!"

 

The fighters shot away in all directions except in a straight-line arc between the Super dreadnoughts and the enemy fleet. The enemy fighters straggled to reform, some dropping their missile clusters to continue the pursuit.

 

And into that boiling inferno came the AFM clusters. The fighters had diverted every eye to them long enough for the clusters to push as close as possible before adding their voice to the hellish symphony. The Super dreadnoughts had towed sixty each, the Assault carriers only forty each. But that meant that just as the enemy fighters turned to attack, 2880 missiles exploded into their formations in the first salvo.

 

And still more ships transited, their fighters, AFM clusters, missile tubes or point defense joining a battle that now spanned almost two light minutes.

 

Because of their initial tight formations, over half of the Coridanii fighters died before they even reached the range of the Capital AFMs launched from missile tubes.

 

Then they began to die even faster.

 

* * * * *

 

Moruna stared in horror as his strike returned. Almost 2500 had charged into the fray. Less than 300 returned.

 

"All ships withdraw to the Terminus." he ordered.

 

Even as he gave the order, it was too late for some.

 

* * * * *

 

The Hauk class was a shocking sight to those that understood modern naval design. Instead of the smooth sphere and spindle shape of a normal destroyer, she was merely a long cylinder, not unlike a cigarette holder with engines and point defense clusters attached. They had less than half the crew of a normal destroyer because the centerline was taken up by a single mammoth missile and it's launcher. To continue the analogy, there was a cigarette in the holder.

 

But these missiles were something Sonia Netanyahu knew very well.

 

"Flotilla 1 is at maximum range." the weapons officer reported.

 

"Pass to Weng-chi, Order Firestorm."

 

Back in the dawn of time, when computers sat in rooms and were made of vacuum tubes, and people drove vehicles that burned petroleum, navies faced a problem. Battleships, hell, even cruisers, cost more than most nations could afford. Most bought cast off ships from other more affluent countries, but how could the poorest nation afford even that?

 

One nation, the Soviet Union, also faced the fact that their fleet had no chance in a stand up fight with it's primary enemy, the United States. To help offset this, they took an idea that was almost half a century old, and developed a new twist on it. The Motor torpedo or PT boat, that had been originally designed in the late 19th century had outlived it's usefulness by 1950. What the Soviets did was redesign those small hulls to carry the primitive missiles of their time. The first actual action for one, an Osa (Wasp) class missile boat against an old destroyer named the Haifa stunned the world as a 1600 ton warship was killed with impunity by one displacing less that 200, at a range where the larger ship couldn't even defend herself.

 

When an enemy could kill something worth millions of dollars with a ship that could be bought literally with pocket change, new rules were needed.

 

By the turn of the millennia, every navy in the world had them, and even the poorest nation could afford a brace of them.

 

But now, in the modern age, where every computer on Earth in the year 2000 along with their supporting power and networking connection would have been replaced by a clump of molycircs smaller than a man, Admiral Sonia Netanyahu was going to go it one better.

 

Now, as the Battlecruiser Weng-chi signaled, ten ships of the Hauk class linked in. The data link locked on the largest possible contact, an assault carrier. Behind them, Weng-chi 's sister ships Hiei, Burgundy, and Yucatan also locked on three ships near the first target.

 

Forty Mjolnir Missiles, the massive ship killers of the Annex's arsenal lanced out. Driven not by mass drivers but by grav drivers, each was the size of a corvette, and more lethal than that small boy ever could be. By the time they reached the enemy formation, they were more energy states than missiles. The Hauk class ships, now disarmed except for point defense, turned and scuttled back toward the Terminus to await their supply ships.

 

Of the missiles targeted by Weng-chi, two died to point defense fire. seven more were clean misses, and the last hit the Assault carrier Korbormali. One instant, she was a ship, the next, a bleeding hulk as a warhead sufficient to devastate a city the size of Los Angeles gutted her shields, armor, and finally, her flesh. But her agony wasn't over.

 

The missiles that had missed turned, charging back in. Only one was able to pick out the shattered ship in the background clutter, targeting the hulk.

 

That one more was enough.

 

Weng-chi noted the target's destruction, and designated another ship nearby for her surviving missiles.

 

Ten ships died in blasts greater than the Coridanii had ever imagined, and man had only seen during the recently ended civil war.

 

The surviving enemy ships recoiled, then broke as enemy ships ran frantically for the Terminus.

 

The Third battle of Gobi was over.

 

 

 

 

The Chase

"Invincibility lies in the defense, the possibility

of victory in the attack"

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

"Sir, we have a faint sensor echo behind us."

 

Runningfox touched his screen, looking at the data feed. A single dot hung doggedly on their trail. "Analysis?"

 

"Not sure yet. Wait." Now there were two.

 

"Rate of advance?"

 

"10% of light speed."

 

The enemy was finally on their trail. A stern chase was the most boring, yet most dangerous of military maneuvers. The enemy would close, but not that swiftly, and all the while the enemy could fire everything he had at you, up the kilt as it were, and all you could return were fighters and missiles set pretty much blindly. If you turned to fight, they won at least a partial victory by stopping you from doing what you intended. If it came to a stand-up battle, it depended on the larger, stronger, and more determined force as to who would win.

 

This system they were traversing was a barren starless nexus, with 162 light minutes between Terminii. Thanks to the data base they had captured (hell, been Given) in Weroon, he knew that beyond that next Terminus was the Enemy's beating heart. It had taken his ships 38 hours, 32 minutes to cross the system at the 7% of light speed he could maintain as a body.

 

The enemy had crossed it in 27 hours.

 

Every hour, his force would advance 4 light minutes, the enemy in the same time, would advance 6. That meant they would be within fighter range in less than an hour, within his missile range in just under two hours. In their missile range in two hours fifteen minutes, and within beam range in just over two and a half hours.

 

They were only 42 minutes from the Terminus.

 

"All ships."

 

"On screen, sir." Runningfox looked at the nervous people. Since leaving Gobi he had learned to trust each and every one of them, and he regretted that they had come to this.

 

"Check the data feed, people. We have company, and their coming in fast and hot. Fall into line astern, destroyers and transports in the lead, cruisers next, carriers last.

 

"We don't have time for recon drones, or to send a single ship through first. We're going to punch right on through without reconnaissance."

 

"But what about defenses?" Meryl asked.

 

"We'll deal with them when we get there. If we wait, we'll have a battle here and one there. Hopefully, they'll be shocked enough for us to pull one more rabbit out of our hat.

 

"Good luck. I've never had a better command. Runningfox out."

 

As the ships formed, he considered. There were only 14 fighters left, three recon, 11 strike. He'd placed them all aboard Rising Sun, and had placed AFM clusters in the empty bays on all three carriers. The test they had done in Gobi B, launching the clusters from hanger bays had shown it was not only feasible but effective. Between them, the carriers could drop 104 AFM clusters in one shot, though it also meant that once they did, they were down to standard AFMs, and point defense, therefore almost defenseless. Even with almost 600 clusters remaining in store aboard the transports, there would be no chance of reloading while under fire.

 

Win or lose, their run would end in the next system.

 

* * * * *

 

Dakwas Koroli almost purred at the reports. His ships closed on the Gamester, and even that battle master could not expect to beat him. Along with the Heavy Cruisers Ronnda, Camero, Restwis, and Forneal, with the light carriers Rumec, and Zorona, and destroyers Kameral and Erened, of his original force, he had picked up the Fleet Carriers Tormal, and Keriona, the Heavy cruiser Moridishu, the light cruisers Kongona, Rackmish, Soordemeni, Kalimbatta, Wendichii, and Joshuaa. Two light carriers, the Aandarvali, and Qumalish. The escort carriers Rampanda, Coormin, and Overmerio. Finally, the destroyers Everola, Willnis, Formori, Kaskadia, and Tuvak.

 

He had emptied any transports he met of their stores to maintain his ships, and had sent two to assist the disabled transports where the Gamester had stripped then destroyed the captured ships.

 

Passing through the Weroon system, he had been apprised of the epic battle the Gamester had fought with the Frontier squadron there. A dozen ships, three carriers of greater weight, two battlecruisers, a heavy and two light cruisers, four destroyers. And he had defeated them handily.

 

The only jarring notes had been the destruction of the Fleet Carrier Boromil by missiles launched as they had surrendered. Well accidents did happen, especially in the Game. But the destroyer Hakati had been attacked and killed by a rogue pilot. The Gamester had reported the incident to the Mogiel-sordeckie-kampotakka-was of the colony, explained the circumstances, and apologized for the unnecessary losses. The city there had even set up a shrine for the destroyer, and her killer.

 

While there he had also found out what he faced and who he faced. One Very Large Carrier, though it seemed to be too slow to actually be one, two light carriers, a heavy cruiser, three light cruisers, six destroyers, and two transports. But after the epic battle he estimated they only had maybe a light carrier's load of attack sleds remaining.

 

Their commander was called, 'Fast-moving-small-clever-Predator' by the prisoners released on the space station. He had taken their compiled reports with him, and whiled away the days of pursuit reading them.

 

The three from the Seeker team at the enemy ships had given the best information, though they had stayed aboard the opponent's flagship, and he considered everything he had learned. 'Fast-moving-small-clever-Predator' was a genius at improvisation. Smooth, and cunning.

 

But those transports were going to kill him now. They were too slow for him to outrun the squadron that dogged his heels, as was his Very Large carrier. It would end here.

 

"Now at long range for our attack sleds, Dakwas."

 

"Range to the Terminus?"

 

"They will pass through in ten minutes, we will be thirty minutes behind them."

 

"Launch just the sleds from Keriona, without missile clusters. They are ordered to pursue, transit, observe the Gamester's disposition, and report."

 

"And if they are destroyed?"

 

"Than all sleds will launch and transit five minutes before we reach the Terminus. The Heavy cruisers will transit first, prepared for battle."

 

* * * * *

 

"Four squadrons of fighters closing." Sensors reported.

 

"Time to Terminus?"

 

"Three minutes."

 

"Order Invincible to drop four AFM clusters. If any enemy fighters survive, Iomungundr will drop additional clusters at that time."

 

Last in line, Invincible dropped her four clusters. For long moments, nothing happened, then sheets of fire lanced out at the oncoming fighters. When the fireballs faded, a full dozen remained. Iomungundr next in line dropped hers, and the cycle was repeated. Three fighters broke through.

 

Then they were at the Terminus, the destroyers disappearing, then the transports. Susquehana disappeared, then Rio Blanco.

 

"Why are they hanging back?" a rating asked himself.

 

"To find out what we're doing when we get out. Order Invincible to drop another cluster."

 

Then it was Iomungundr's turn.

 

* * * * *

 

Every sensor screamed as Iomungundr transited. Everywhere, from every planet, came the readings of a high tech system. This had to be the enemy home world, or one of the first settled.

 

And by every reading he could make, they were protected by-

 

-nothing.

 

"All ships, head for the 2nd planet at full speed!"

 

“Sir!” The sensor officr spun in shock. “This end is a closed Terminus!”

 

Runningfox stared at him for a long moment, unable to believe it. Some Termii were closed, invisible to any sensor. A ship had to Know where it was to use it! How had they- never mind.

 

"Sir, the destroyers and transports aren't responding."

 

Two shocks in as many minutes. This was easier to understand. "Get me Robiton!"

 

When the screen lit, Runningfox glared. "Commodore-" But the old friend cut him off.

 

"Sir, Martin, I was never a commodore. I'm a captain, and a mediocre flag captain, and we both know it." Robiton looked away, at another screen obviously. "The enemy is right behind us, and we haven't got a chance if we all just run. But if I stand here, and chop him up as he transits-"

 

"You'll die, damn it!"

 

"We're going to die anyway, sir!” Robiton turned back to the other screen. “Just finish it, sir." The screen blanked.

 

"Commodore Robiton has broken communications" The rating reported unnecessarily.

 

"Godspeed, Elliot." Runningfox whispered.

 

"Sir, Rising Sun is turning to support the destroyers. Launching fighters now."

 

Of course. Monteith could do the sum as well as any. "Understood. All cruisers and carriers, all ahead full."

 

* * * * *

 

The Wasmadani stared at the screen. Six blips were charging toward the homeworld. Nine others moved back toward the Terminus entry.

 

This had been the most excitement the people had for years. But it was over. He turned to an aide. "Tell the people we have lost. Transmit the endgame."

 

* * * * *

 

Ten hours away, thirty minutes by radio beam, The communications officer of Iomungundr stiffened. "Sir, a message in clear. From the enemy!"

 

"Put it on."

 

The first part was liquid and fluting. Then suddenly it broke into English. "The message is to be repeated. All Coridanii forces are to cease fire. This is endgame, the Great Game is over. The Humans have played well, and earned great honor." Then it repeated first in their own language, then in English again.

 

Runningfox listened, and suddenly everything clicked. The 'Great Game'.

 

"What do you think that means, sir?"

 

"I think we're the new champions."

 

"Sir?"

 

"First halt the squadron, and wait for orders."

 

* * * * *

 

Historically, one of the worst tragedies in war is that someone must be the last to die. The worst of these however, are the ones that died not even knowing that the war they fought was already over. Before the advent of widespread radio communications on Earth, hundreds died in battles that would never have happened with swifter communications.

 

The best known was January 8th 1815, when a British Landing force slated to attack and occupy New Orleans was slaughtered in the Bayou country south of the city by a scratch force of American troops, supported by cannon and gunners supplied by the pirate Jean Lafitte. This battle happened two weeks after peace had been declared by the Treaty of Tours, on December 24, 1814.

 

When man went into space, unfortunately, it began to happen again. The VilleCava raid, the last of IW 1, where the Rex attacked an outpost and destroyed it, tragically, was fought three days eighteen hours after the news arrived at their base that the Treaty of Kuan Yin that halted that war had been signed two months earlier. The commander of that raid received the news of this fact four hours later when a fast courier drone finally caught up with him. The raid by Terran ships against Khamsin, that cost 40,000 Rex lives when the destroyer Cunningham crashed into the dome in IW2, happened eight days after the Treaty of Tycho was signed.

 

* * * * *

 

The best historical comparison of a contested warp assault is the muddy fields of Flanders during the First World War. The comparison pales however when you consider that without Bangalores, artillery to continue the analogy, there is no way to soften up your opponents, and until you advance, you can't even be sure he's there.

 

If he is, it has all the beauty and elegance of a medieval melee, in pitch dark, with battleaxes at close range.

 

* * * * *

 

Seven minutes after the Coridanii surrender, the sensor officer of the Destroyer Ingram shouted, "Transits, fighters!"

 

The point defense and AFM clusters dropped by GUM and Harrods ripped into the fighters, shredding their formations like tissue. Behind them came more, a veritable flood of fighters.

 

They ran into the combined fire of the destroyers and AFM clusters launched from Rising Sun.

 

For minutes, it was too busy to even try to keep track as AFMs, Clusters, fighters, and Krupas cut through space, making it a crazy quilt of horror.

 

Just as Rising Sun reported that it was out of AFM clusters, the first heavy cruiser transited. It lived less than twenty seconds as three destroyers flushed their XO racks into it. The second died as the remaining destroyers fired their SMs. The third caught the salvo from Rising Sun, and broke in half vomiting fire and atmosphere.

 

The next two survived long enough to return fire

 

Then the battle became general as the other cruisers and destroyers transited into hell.

 

It was argued later by military historians that it was at this point that Robinton lost control, causing massive unnecessary losses among his men. However, the only one to ever ask the surviving captains of his detachment, or Runningfox, wrote down their answer, which was basically the same.

 

In a battle at eye to eye range, no one is in charge, except of himself.

 

Once he had written it down, the historian then went his own pedantic way, ignoring those that knew better.

 

All Captain Michael Smith remembered afterward was a swirl of images that he never would forget.

 

Ingram exploding when five simultaneous missile hits even as her Krupa ripped into a crippled cruiser. Considering the enemy weapons, it must have crippled the magnetic field on an antimatter warhead.

 

Harrods rolling like a demented football, two of her drive pods glowing ruins, still spewing AFM clusters.

 

Apache and a cruiser colliding head on, the resultant blast devouring her and Gort.

 

Rising Sun, engines dead, drawn into the Terminus, and torn apart before his eyes.

 

He rapped out orders like a metronome, changing targets as enemy ships staggered away crippled or dying. Of the eleven cruisers that had come through, all but two were glowing wrecks. Of the seven destroyers, only one was still moving.

 

On his side, only Ney was still operational.

 

Suddenly all weapons sensors screamed, then fell silent.

 

"Sir, all enemy ships have dropped their shields. All engines shut down."

 

He struggled to remember. He sat up, taking a deep breath he hadn't expected to take.

 

"Sir, message from the cruiser dead ahead."

 

"Put it on." He smiled. The old term about 'you should see the other guy' fit the wrecked heavy cruiser. "Maybe they want to surrender." The bridge crew chuckled at the weak joke.

 

His first view of the Aliens was shocking. He'd heard the descriptions, but they sounded so, cute. Actually, his shocked mind reported, they looked more cuddly than cute. The one facing him now looked sad, tired, and exhilarated at the same time. Beside him stood another, obviously female, and it was she that spoke. "I speak for Rudwas Moredeth, what you would call captain of the cruiser Kongona. His speaking of your language is not yet very good. Our people command, the game is over. You have won."

 

"Game?" Smith screamed. "Game?"

 

 

 

"It is a fact of nature that he who will not risk,

cannot win"

John Paul Jones

 

"It is not the critic who counts... The credit belongs to the man who is

actually in the arena, who strives violently, who errs and comes up short again and again... Who if he wins knows the triumph of high achievement, but who if he fails, fails while daring greatly"

Theodore Roosevelt

[machievelli]

VICTORY

"And as water has no constant form, there

are in war no constant conditions."

Sun Tzu 'The Ancient Art of War

 

Tamerlane Skywatch yammered as ships transited into the system from the enemy frontier.

 

The victory at 3rd Gobi had caused the enemy to retreat frantically. Instead of chasing, Vice Admiral Netanyahu had ordered the extravagant fortresses built by her predecessor be towed into Gobi. No one had ever tried towing such monsters any great distance, and never through a Terminus. But the gamble had paid off. Once the system was secure, she then had them towed across to the next Terminus, and emplaced as her fleet first checked the system for lurking commerce raiders, then transited again.

 

Each terminus had been treated as a contested transit, though the seven Battlecruisers that had tried in the first system after Gobi must have taught the enemy better. After that, the enemy was content to withdraw at a steady forty-eight light minute range as she advanced, dragging those damn fortresses after her.

 

After four transits, the enemy had gotten cute. The drones reported massed ships waiting, and she had sent through Bangalores. The ships had been ECM drones altered to transmit sensor information from a battle cruiser, so that they looked like fifty battle cruisers waiting. She noted in her log that the enemy had obviously copied the new decoys developed by Runningfox’s people.

 

They didn't do it every time, but often enough to make everyone nervous as hell when a transit came up.

 

Now they were fifteen transits in, a system with a beautiful world she might even have been willing to live on. The fleet rested as transports shuttled about, doing maintenance. She glanced out into space, then at the requisition in her hands. Thanks to the enemy trick (Now R&D would have to develop a way to defeat these damn Decoys as well.) she was using up Bangalores, not because of combat, but because of the 15% loss caused by interpenetrations. She had actually lost more to fratricide in the last three months than she had expended on the first assault.

 

She had decided to name the planet in this system Tamerlane, unknowing that Von Wirth had already catalogued it (VW15) and that Admiral Wolchensky had also named it (Cossack). She had tossed the signed requisition in her out box when the alarms whooped.

 

"Admiral, transits at the enemy Terminus."

 

* * * * *

 

"They're just sitting there." The commodore in charge of the Fortresses reported. "Their transponders read as Carriers Invincible, and Iomungundr, Heavy Cruiser Susquehana, Light cruisers Boyne, Rio Blanco, and Garone. Destroyers Ney and Taney. Fleet replenishment ship GUM."

 

Good and bad. Except for Susquehana, all were listed as part of Runningfox's 10 Peaceforce Squadron. Susquehana had been part of Wolchensky's formation. Had the enemy found a way to activate transponders after the ship had been killed? Something that R&D claimed was impossible?

 

Unable to answer any questions directly with a 22 minute time lag, she watched as the commodore stiffened. "A communication. Comm, route to the Flag at the same time!"

 

Netanyahu’s eyes widened as she saw what he had almost half an hour before. The bridge of Iomungundr, with a man that appeared to be Runningfox. He was flanked on one side by a very pregnant Captain, and on the other, by four small alien forms.

 

"This is Commodore Runningfox, commanding what is left of Peaceforce Squadron 10. To whom am I speaking?"

 

"Commodore Wainwright."

 

"Who is in command of the fleet?"

 

"Vice Admiral Sonia Netanyahu."

 

"I remember a Captain Sonia Netanyahu. But that was before the war. Could you please notify her that I have someone who wishes to meet her?"

 

"What are you talking about?"

 

"Tell her the war is over, and has been for eleven months, ever since my command captured the enemy home world. The game is over, and we've won."

 

"Game?"

 

"And tell her that Takwas Moruna," he waved toward the elder of the aliens to his side, "Wants to discuss 3rd Gobi with her. He thinks she could have done a lot better. Let me know when you receive instructions. Runningfox out."

 

Commodore Wainwright reappeared, frustrated. "What do you mean he cut communications!" He ranted as Netanyahu turned to her Chief of Staff. "Robert, have a ship standing by to take me to the Fortress line. Also, contact Commodore Wainwright, and tell him that I have requested that Commodore Runningfox, and his guests board the closest one."

 

* * * * *

 

The gymnasium of the OBS6 Called Bastogne by her crew was large enough for that antique game baseball, though even a fair hitter could hit the wall 70 meters away.

 

With Admiral Netanyahu's permission, Coridanii transports had been allowed to enter the system, and they were now busy transporting aboard their passengers, the men and women captured from Survey Squadron 1, and Wolchensky's Battlegroup 51. After the third transport, the room was packed.

 

Captain Michael Smith helped direct the newest arrivals, and checked the pad. Once this room was filled, he would have to shift them to the cargo holds. Until things could be straightened out, they would be living here.

 

Since Coridan, Smith had reconsidered a service life. He'd gone through hell out there, and he wasn't sure he could hack it. Once they were home, he intended to tender his resignation, and take up farming. Tamerlane, from what he'd seen of it, would be perfect.

 

The queue stopped, and he looked up into the eyes of a woman in a silken dress of Coridanii material. Their clothing industry had independently created the silken weave of the Incas, with cotton threads too fine to be believed, making cloth that more resembled silk. In fact, just about everyone in the Squadron had gotten themselves some clothes made there. Before the rush of Alliance orders could hit them.

 

"You're Captain Smith of Ney, aren't you?"

 

"Yes I am."

 

"Lieutenant Janet Devries, sir, late of Cyclops, Gold Squadron." She stuck out her hand, and he shook it. "They say you're going to be one hell of a gamer one day."

 

"Pardon?"

 

"The Coridanii, sir. They were following the war at home like it was the Alliance Grav-ball championships." She was bright-eyed and excited.

 

"The guards in detention found out that we were watching, and brought in holo projectors for us. They even translated for us until their Games Announcers found out. Three weeks later, we had own announcers, talking English, and doing play by play.

 

"When nothing was happening, they had retired Dakwas and Takwas discussing strategy, and how we'd have to move to beat them, then your squadron showed up! That surprised them. No one's pulled that kind of stunt on them successfully in 100 years.

 

"Here we were, the war had been over for fifteen minutes when they reported that the Terminus battle had started because you guys hadn't heard-"

 

"Wait a minute, you watched us get our butts kicked, live?" This was too much!

 

"Get you're butts kicked?" she blew a raspberry. "Six destroyers, two transports, and an empty Assault carrier taking on the equivalent of four light task forces combined? They really lambasted that Dakwas Koroli for walking into it like a green cadet." She touched him on the chest with her finger. "And you were the star, sir."

 

"I was?"

 

"Yes sir. They went back from the instant Captain Robiton turned back, and plotted every move you made, every kill you scored. You out shown the entire flotilla all by yourself!"

 

Smith shook his head. "Lieutenant, maybe you don't understand, I was too busy fighting for my life to consider style!"

 

She shook her head. "I know that, sir, and so did they. They compared you to some of their greats, and you beat out all but Takwas Boreneiis of two centuries ago, and a Rudewas Sortthes of almost 50 years ago. What was that?" She snapped her fingers, "They gave you a name before they found out what Smith means. Oh, yeah, 'The one that thinks and kills well even as he stays alive'. When they found out that 'smith' meant a metal worker, they changed it to 'One that makes of his ship excellent steel'."

 

She took his hand and shook it again. "Sir, I'm proud to know you, and loved watching you in action. If you ever get a carrier command, let me know. I'll fly off your deck."

 

"Smith was shocked and pleased. He mentally erased his letter of resignation. "What are you doing for dinner?"

 

* * * * *

 

>>>Q: This is a record going to Fleet Central, concerning the finding of Commodore Martin Runningfox, commanding Peaceforce Squadron 10, Gobi. This is Data disk seven. Inquiry officers Vice Admiral Sonia Netanyahu, and Captain Robert Sawyer.

 

Q: To continue, Commodore, you believe the Coridanii to be a manufactured race?

 

A: As far as we could tell, Admiral. They were completely open with us when we landed. The building in their major cities are huge in comparison to them. Big enough for humans easily.

 

Picture the Boston-Washington metroplex, with only say, chimpanzees living there. It's all built on a different scale, a little large for us, but they live there, and it's like five year olds in an adult world. The older buildings are even carefully preserved, and no one is allowed to alter them. Only the newer ones are built for them to live in.

 

Almost as if it were a shrine.

 

Q: You had a chance to study their history?

 

A: Yes, Captain. According to their history, about 1,000 years ago, the Progenitors made the Coridanii in their 'image'. We might think they made them look like their creators, but they took it to be raising their intelligence. To test their creation, the Progenitors set up a bewildering series of tests. In fact those same tests still stand (See attached Documents and file Alpha Zed to Gamma Lambda) and are used before they consider any of their children as adults.

 

In fact, they don't have a specific age when someone is an adult like we do. If a five year old, or their equivalent can pass the gauntlet of tests, they're an adult, with all the privileges and responsibilities.

 

I had a chance to walk through their 'Tower of Testing', and they all look like the standard behavioral test you would expect in a sentience laboratory. Standard lab animal tests with IQ and situational analysis tests thrown in.

 

The lower your test score, the lower your place in society. They start with what we might call garbage men, grunt laborers and janitors on the bottom, with the best being Administrators and military.

 

Q: Sounds like something a politician thought up.

 

A: Maybe so, but it works more smoothly than you might think. It's like you need to be fast smart and innovative, but any two of the three will still get you a better place in society than you might expect.

 

Anyway about 800 Standard years ago, the Progenitors died out-

 

Q: Just died out?

 

A: I'm not sure, sir. From what Doctor Hersch (Personal referent, Hersch, Theodore, Lieutenant Commander Medical Corp. Assigned Chief Medical officer, TANS Iomungundr) reported, it looked like an accident in a recombinant DNA lab. Whatever they were testing got loose. One minute, there were millions of them, the next, there were none. Beyond the observational data saved by the Coridanii, nothing else remains, they sealed the lab as fast as possible, and sterilized the island it was on with a nuclear warhead.

 

Q: The Coridanii did it?

 

A: Yes, sir. They understood the mechanics of aircraft, and just picked the largest warhead the Progenitors had in stock. They also discovered what the Progenitors didn't live long enough to find, a cure for the bug.

 

The Proto-Coridanii were almost exactly as they are now, but they inherited an entire technological world. Everything we have now, with the exception of Terminus mechanics. Though according to the Analects, the Progenitors knew about Terminii, they just never thought of personally going into space to check them out. They only had to alter industry to fit their smaller hands, and they were on the way

 

Q: What are these Analects?

A: The second biggest joke in this whole farce. It's their version of the Bible, the Book of Common Prayer, and Dianetics combined. The first book they ever translated into their language.

 

For 800 years, they've built and directed their society by the words of a middle school text on the scientific method.

 

Q: But where did they get the idea for warships from such a text?

 

A: The Progenitors must have felt threatened by someone, they had designed fighters up to the original Mark 1s of IW3, carriers, even normal warships up to battlecruiser size. But the Coridanii never found any mention of an enemy in any records they found. The best they were able to come up with was records of what would be the Equivalent of the Great Eastern war of the late 20th, early 21st Centuries on Earth.

 

In fact that prototype battlecruiser is still in orbit of Coridan. Big, beautiful and deadly. But never used. Like the city, she's kept in perfect repair.

 

The problem with them, sir, is that the Analects teach that an intelligent race has to be tested. But how do you gauge the intelligence rapidly? Their answer was to fight a short war with the races they meet, and judge their abilities from that. Once they have tested them to their satisfaction, win or lose, the war ends, and they get on with the business of negotiating or talking.

 

In fact, their use of the 'shield-killer' as they call it iist because while they want to test the other races, they don't want to kill any they don't have to.

 

Once they had developed their own versions of the Progenitor's ships, they began the 'Grand Test' as they call it. Their first fleet was sent down one of the six tramlines leading from their home world. (See Stellography Fiche Epsilon Pi, to Epsilon Omega)

 

After perhaps a dozen transits, they contacted another spacefaring race, the Woolimbi. They 'tested' them, beat their small fleet handily, orbited the Woolimbi homeworld, and decided. They found that the Woolimbi were peaceful and relatively intelligent, and unwilling to fight unless provoked. They made peace, allied with them, traded technology, which is what gave the Coridanii the attack sled, and the Woolimbi went on to 'test' down their own Terminii.

 

The Coridanii returned home, reported, brought ambassadors, etc, then proceeded down tramline two, which goes five transits, then dead ends.

 

When they surveyed tramline three, they fought a war with a race called the Membarri, whom they defeated, then emplaced battle stations to keep them out of space. In their minds, the Membarri are rabid lunatics, sort of like the Creepers. Then they met and fought the Rasnara, whom they beat, allied and traded with, and again, the Coridanii came home, leaving the Rasnara happily 'testing' down their tramlines.

 

For the last three hundred years, they have been testing everyone around them, and finally began surveying down the Terminus that leads to us.

 

Q: Did they tell you how they could find a closed terminus without passing through it first?

 

A: I didn’t ask them.

 

Q: What!

 

A: But one of my people did. They said it had to do with some form of quantum resonance, and told us we’d work it out if we put our minds to it.

 

Q: How many 'games' have they played so far?

 

A: Nine they initiated, though they have fought 14 more if you count allied races they assisted when that ally was attacked first. So far they have had a pretty good average with whom they met. Seventeen that are allied with them, or trading with, three they have kept out of space, the Membarri, the Karenishik, and the Rosbattin. They also found four pretechnological races, everything from stone age to the first industrial revolution. These they are watching until they can be contacted. In fact, the war they fought with us was one of three they are fighting even now.

 

Last, however, were what they called the 'Slimy Ones'. This race they contacted almost 200 years ago, down tramline 3.

 

The first contact from what I have seen must have been like the first meeting between us and the Calimari. One minute, a small colony was forming on a planet, the next, the enemy dropped a Dinosaur Killer directly on the main settlement. No contact, nothing. The Rasnara went out, fought them, then returned with data.

 

Something about them scared the every one of the then four allies. The Coridanii brushed off the nastiest weapons the Progenitors had created, and used them. Just about what you would expect, think of our arsenals, and what we did to the Calimari Deepholds. The Coridanii did everything but salting the Earth afterward.

 

The 'Slimy Ones' worried them. They couldn't communicate, or rather, even though the Coridanii were able to discover their language, the enemy wouldn't talk at all. In their view, everything that wasn't a 'Slimy One' didn't deserve to exist.

 

So they had to use more force than they wanted to, and it haunted them, just as it haunted the ones that had to carry it out with the Creepers and the Calimari.

 

Then, there is the Human race. To them, we're the big leagues.

 

Q: Big leagues?

 

A: Like the Grav-ball championships. A race on a technological par, larger, more planets, down right mean when provoked. If they beat us, they would have been proud, hell, they're proud that they gave us such a good run as it is.

 

But it was lucky for us that I was the man that led our ships here. It might have taken a while for us to understand their attitude.

 

Q: Think a lot of yourself, Commodore?

 

A: No, Captain. It's merely that because of my heritage, and the memories of my people, I could see what they were trying to do.

 

Q: I don't understand.

 

A: Sir, back in the early to mid-1800s, settlers in what is now the United States traveled to the west coast to find places to live. There they met one of my ancestor races, the Chinook.

 

The Chinook were a peaceful race. They had a way of fighting a war that was surprising, and usually cost no lives.

 

It was called Potlatch.

 

To play, or fight it, you get the opponents together beside a bonfire. One side or man takes, say a fishing net, hours of hand made work, and throws it in the fire. The enemy has to match that, something both sides will agree is of equal value goes into the fire. It ends when one side finally decided that he can't afford to lose any more.

 

>>>>>>End Data disk 7 of 9.

[machievelli]

REDEMPTION

 

"And therefore only the enlightened sovereign

and the worthy general who are able to use the most

intelligent people as agents are certain to achieve

great things. Secret operations are essential in war;

upon them the army relies to make its every move."

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

There had almost been a riot among the survivors of Peace Force Squadron ten when men from the JAG office had boarded Iomungundr and arrested Runningfox on his return to Gobi. The ‘court’ had barely been seated when more men, these from ONI, had taken Runningfox away from them for delivery to Terra, where they now sat.

 

"This Court of Inquiry into the actions of Commodore Martin Runningfox commanding Gobi Mothball fleet, and Peaceforce Squadron is now in session." Supreme Force Commander Wilderbeck said. "For the record, seated are Vice Admiral Yoshimoto, Director of the Office of Naval Intelligence, Admiral Rutger, Chief of Naval Operations, and Lech Wilderbeck, President of the Court, and Supreme Force Commander for the Terran Alliance."

 

While Yoshimoto was only half way up the Vice Admiral's list, and therefore a low ranking officer in seniority, her position as head of ONI made her the third most powerful officer in the fleet.

 

This was not just a fleet tribunal, it was the fleet tribunal.

 

The inquiry began with Von Wirth's squadron. Of the seven Captains in the ill-fated expedition, only four, Shanna Bar Joni, David O’Meara, Sigmund Meuller, and Thomas Mackinnison had survived to testify.

 

The Judge Advocate General, Commodore Henson listened quietly, then stood.

 

"Captain O’Meara, why didn't you have carrier support?"

 

"None were sent sir."

 

"Isn't it true that since IW 3, a survey squadron should have consisted of a Battlecruiser or a battleship and supporting vessels, or at least one carrier and it's supporting vessels?"

 

"Yes sir."

 

"Then why did Commodore Runningfox refuse to send even a light carrier with you?"

 

"He didn't sir. Admiral Stanton's orders set which types of ships should be sent. Those orders required two light cruisers and supporting vessels.

 

Henson took a pad, and set it before the court. "I offer exhibit one, the orders found recorded in the Gobi database, and verified by the Codalus database."

 

Rutger looked at the pad, then passed it first to Yoshimoto, then to Wilderbeck. "So noted. Enter this exhibit into the record."

 

TO, OFFICER COMMANDING GOBI

FROM CINC CODALUS SECTOR.

RE; SURVEY OF TERMINUS FOUR

1. SINCE YOU HAVE NOT REPORTED THAT THE ABOVE MENTIONED SURVEY HAS BEEN DONE, YOU ARE ORDERED TO PROCEED WITH ALL HASTE TO COMPLETE IT.

 

2. YOU ARE HEARBY AUTHORIZED TO DETACH A FORCE OF NO MORE THAN TWO LIGHT CARRIERS AND SUPPORTING VESSELS TO SURVEY TERMINUS 4.

 

3. THESE VESSELS ARE TO SURVEY 15 TRANSITS FROM GOBI, OR UNTIL SUCH TIME AS THEY FIND A SALLYPORT INTO REBEL SPACE, WHICHEVER IS GREATER

 

4. SINCE SUCH A SURVEY MUST BE COMMANDED BY A COMMODORE, YOU ARE ALLOWED TO BREVET ONE OFFICER TO THIS RANK.

 

SIGNED V ADM. STANTON, OFFICER COMMANDING CODALUS SECTOR

BY DIRECTION CINCTF WILDERBECK

 

"Sir, this is but the first order that Commodore Runningfox skewed to his own ends-"

 

"If it please the court," Yoshimoto interrupted, "I request that this matter be left for later under ONI Title A."

 

"So noted." Wilderbeck said. "Admiral Rutger?"

 

"Agreed."

 

"The matter of this order is tabled until later in this proceeding."

 

"Your Honor!"

 

"Proceed, Commodore Henson."

 

Then the Captains of Wolchensky's Battlegroup 51 were brought in. With the exception of Wolchensky's surviving staff officers, they agreed that Runningfox's condemnation of their abilities had been accurate, and that the drills that has been suggested by Runningfox had been allowed to languish at Wolchensky's command.

 

Henson stood again, picking up a pad. "Captain Richards, why was your Battlegroup sent out when they were unprepared to face combat?"

 

"Admiral Wolchensky received orders via Gobi Communications to proceed."

 

"Did you see these orders?"

 

"I did."

 

"Will you read this copy and tell me if they are the same orders?"

 

TO; OFFICER COMMANDING BG 51

FROM GOBI COMMUNICATIONS RELAY CENTER

 

1. ON ORDERS FROM CODALUS SECTOR, YOU ARE TO PROCEED IN COMMAND OF BG 51 TO RETRACE THE KNOWN ROUTE OF SURVEY SQUADRON 1.

 

2. IT IS MOST LIKELY THAT THE SALLYPORT INTO REBEL SPACE HAS BEEN DISCOVERED, CONFIDENCE IS HIGH.

 

SIGNED MARTIN RUNNINGFOX, OFFICER COMMANDING GOBI

BY ORDER OF, STANTON, CINC CODALUS SECTOR.

 

"Yes sir, they are."

 

"I would now like to offer exhibit 2, the real orders given to commodore Runningfox by Codalus Sector." He handed the pad to the court. They noted it, then had it read into the record.

 

TO; OFFICER COMMANDING GOBI

FROM CINC CODALUS SECTOR.

 

1. ON ORDERS FROM CODALUS SECTOR, YOU ARE TO PROCEED IN COMMAND OF BG 51 TO RETRACE THE KNOWN ROUTE OF SURVEY SQUADRON 1.

 

2. IT IS NOT LIKELY THAT THE SALLYPORT INTO REBEL SPACE HAS BEEN DISCOVERED. INTELLIGENCE HERE SUGGESTS THAT BREVET COMMODORE VON WIRTH'S SQUADRON WAS DESTROYED BY AN AS YET UNKNOWN RACE. CONFIDENCE IS HIGH

3. YOUR SUGGESTION THAT WOLCHENSKY BE ALLOWED TO COMMAND THIS VENTURE IS ABSURD. YOU HAVE TWENTY YEARS OF EXPERIENCE ON THE MAN.

BY ORDER OF, STANTON, CINC CODALUS SECTOR.

 

"Again we see that Commodore Runningfox changed orders on his own. This time actually-"

 

"If it please the court," Yoshimoto interrupted again, "I ask that this be held in abeyance under ONI title A."

 

"Agreed." Rutger said.

 

"So noted and agreed. Proceed, Commodore."

 

"Your honors, how am I to prove this if every bit of evidence I present is going to be sealed by the ONI?" Henson growled.

 

"The seal is only to hold the evidence for a few days." Admiral Yoshimoto replied. "ONI is collating information which will be presented, and the matters you have brought up are covered by them. Please proceed, Commodore."

 

Next were the investigators brought by Admiral Noguchi. They reported a number of faults with the Gobi Station. Slipshod maintenance, misappropriation (Again he was condemned, this time in writing, for upgrading his destroyers), and failure to carry out explicit orders from both Admiral Stanton, and Noguchi. All was allowed into the record without complaint.

 

Then came Noguchi to the stand. Henson stood, surveying his notes. "You were Officer Commanding Gobi Station on 3 July 444 AY?"

 

"I was."

 

"And what happened on that date?"

 

"The Coridanii attacked."

 

"What was your force?"

 

"Two OBS4s, one OBS2, One Dreadnought, two battleships, four battlecruiser tugs, four frigates, and two corvettes were under my direct command."

 

"So there were other ships there as well?"

 

"Yes. Two light carriers, three light cruisers, and eight destroyers were under the command of Commodore Runningfox."

 

"And where were these ships?"

 

"Except for the destroyer Sikh, they were in Gobi B, doing a survey."

 

"On who's authority?"

 

"On Runningfox's."

 

"That's a lie!" Elaine Brice leaped up. "He went to your office for orders!"

 

Noguchi glared at her. "No one calls me a liar Captain. As for the orders he claims he received from me, where are they?" He smiled. Verbal orders were rarely recorded.

 

"If it please the court," Yoshimoto interrupted again, "I ask that this be held in abeyance under ONI title A."

 

"Damn it, Admiral, with all due respect, everything pertaining to this court of inquiry is not an ONI secret!"

 

"Unfortunately, Commodore, in this case, Admiral Yoshimoto is correct.” Widerbeck replied. “Sealed under ONI title A."

 

The actual operations themselves, from the Coridanii's first attack to their surrender was verified readily. Having Coridanii records as well actually speeded up the process. Henson, however, seemed set on slanting everything against Runningfox. His destruction of the ships captured at Gobi, the Survey Squadron, and of BG 51 were cast in the light of someone trying to hide something. His actions in warning Beaufort had been suggested as treasonous.

 

By the third day of testimony, nerves were stretched tight. A Court of Inquiry usually leads to a court martial if it goes against the defendant. In this case, it was a foregone conclusion according to all of the observers.

 

Admiral Yoshimoto and the Court had however waited, until now, to drop her own bombs. "As requested by the Court, I am now ready to cover the testimony and records sealed under ONI Title A. Would Commander Weber of ONI please take the stand."

 

Boatswain's Mate 2 MacNamara stood, looked apologetically at Runningfox, then walked up to take the stand.

 

"You're name for the record?"

 

"Phillip MacNamara Weber."

 

"Your branch and your rank?"

 

"Lieutenant Commander, Office Of Naval Intelligence, field division."

 

"And your assignment?"

 

"Originally, to the camp now called Rebelville, in July of 439AY."

 

"Why were you assigned there?"

 

"To investigate rumors of brutality, torture, and murder of Alliance Citizens of the Outworlds, by or under the nose of Commander Tamara Steinbrenner."

 

"Why did you leave that assignment?"

 

"Commodore Runningfox took a dislike to my cover character's attitude. He picked me to be his Coxswain, as allowed under regulations."

 

There was a rumble of laughter at that.

 

"Considering the necessity of your assignment to the camp, why did you not notify your contact officer, and get reassigned back?"

 

"At the time, my contact officer believed that while he had been exonerated, there were legitimate concerns about Commodore Runningfox's loyalty. It was felt that an agent should be assigned to him. The fact that he had chosen me, instead of having me assigned to him by ONI, made such an assignment unnecessary, and assured that I would not be under suspicion."

 

"And did that assignment change?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"When?"

 

"August, 441AY."

 

"Why did that assignment change?"

 

"I had been spinning my wheels for over a year. By every parameter that a nervous and paranoid officer could use, except for Assembly Security's Gestapo, Runningfox was loyal. Suddenly, I was ordered to stop reporting on him. Rather, I was to record every order sent to him through Codalus Sector Headquarters, since his arrival, which meant about 4,000 hours of transmitted records."

 

"And did that assignment change yet again?"

 

"Yes, sir. When Admiral Noguchi was sent to assume command of Gobi, I was placed in command of a nine man team, scattered through Noguchi's staff and infrastructure. Our orders were to record full files of all orders given by not only Commodore Runningfox, but orders given by Noguchi or his staff, and orders passed to them from Codalus Sector Headquarters."

 

Yoshimoto held a pad. "Commodore Henson, if you would, this had been entered as exhibit 7. Would you read this then pass it to Commander Weber?"

 

Henson read it, his face paling, then returned it. Yoshimoto then passed it to Weber.

 

"Is this communication dated July 20th, 441AY, among the ones sent back to ONI by you?"

 

"Yes, sir. All files forwarded by me were in ONI Blue code, marked ONI-IW, as required by my superiors."

 

Yoshimoto slipped the data solid into the desk, and it appeared on the screens

 

TO, OFFICER COMMANDING GOBI

FROM CINC CODALUS SECTOR.

RE; SURVEY OF TERMINUS FOUR

 

1. SINCE YOU HAVE NOT REPORTED THAT THE ABOVE MENTIONED SURVEY HAS BEEN DONE, YOU ARE ORDERED TO PROCEED WITH ALL HASTE TO COMPLETE IT.

 

2. YOU ARE HEARBY AUTHORIZED TO DETACH A FORCE OF NO MORE THAN TWO LIGHT CRUISERS AND SUPPORTING VESSELS TO SURVEY TERMINUS 4.

 

3. THESE VESSELS ARE TO SURVEY UNTIL SUCH TIME AS THEY FIND A SALLYPORT INTO REBEL SPACE, OR UNTIL THEIR VESSELS ARE NO LONGER ABLE TO SAFELY CONTINUE.

 

4. SINCE SUCH A SURVEY MUST BE COMMANDED BY A COMMODORE, YOU ARE ALLOWED TO BREVET ONE OFFICER TO THIS RANK.

 

SIGNED V ADM. STANTON, OFFICER COMMANDING CODALUS SECTOR

BY DIRECTION CINCTF WILDERBECK

 

"Commodore Henson, if you would, scan the next two messages listed. They are entered as exhibits 8 and 9." The stunned commodore read them, then nodded.

 

"Commander Weber, these messages sent on 21 July, one from Gobi, the other from Codalus are also yours?"

 

Weber looked at them, and agreed that they were.

 

TO; OFFICER COMMANDING CODALUS SECTOR

FROM OFFICER COMMANDING GOBI

RE; SURVEY SQUADRON 1

 

SIR, THESE ORDERS CANNOT BE CORRECT. IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN POLICY THAT SURVEY SQUADRON BE A MINIMUM OF A BATTLESHIP OR BATTLECRUISER, AND FAILING THAT, A LIGHT CARRIER. I AM BOTHERED BY THAT OMISSION.

 

I KNOW THE STRAITS THE ALLIANCE ARE AT PRESENT IN, AND HAVE ON HAND NO LARGER VESSELS, BUT THERE ARE PRESENTLY IN GOBI FIVE LIGHT CARRIERS, TWO ASSIGNED TO ME, THREE LIGHT CARRIERS JUST FINISHING WORKING UP.

 

I HEARBY REQUEST THAT ONE OR MORE OF THE WORKED UP CARRIERS BE ATTACHED TO THE SURVEY SQUADRON. IF NECESSARY, I WILL SEND MY OWN CARRIERS WITH THEM.

 

ALSO, THE DURATION WOULD NOT ONLY BE DANGEROUS TO THE MEN, BUT WOULD BE UNNECESSARILY DESTRUCTIVE OF THE SHIPS SENT.

COMMODORE RUNNINGFOX

 

TO; OFFICER COMMANDING GOBI

FROM; CINC CODALUS SECTOR

RE; ENHANCEMENT OF PREVIOUS ORDERS

 

1. IF THE SUPREME FORCE COMMANDER DECIDED THAT CARRIERS WERE NOT NEEDED, I WILL NOT CHALLENGE HIM IN THIS REGARD.

 

2. IF THE MAN YOU SEND IS TOO COWARDLY TO ROUGH IT WITH CRUISERS AND DESTROYERS, THAN PERHAPS YOU SHOULD SEND SOMEONE WITH MORE GUTS. OBEY YOUR ORDERS.

 

3. AS TO THE DURATION, I QUOTE FROM THE ORDERS THESE VESSELS ARE TO SURVEY UNTIL SUCH TIME AS THEY FIND A SALLYPORT INTO REBEL SPACE, OR UNTIL THEIR VESSELS ARE NO LONGER ABLE TO SAFELY CONTINUE. CLOSE QUOTES.

 

4. I TRUST THAT IS CLEAR ENOUGH TO YOU.IF THAT IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU, I WOULD BE QUITE HAPPY TO ACCEPT YOUR RESIGNATION DATED IMMEDIATELY.

 

CINC CODALUS SECTOR

 

Again they went through the laborious identification process, and another signal was read into the record.

 

TO; OFFICER COMMANDING GOBI

FROM CINC CODALUS SECTOR.

 

1. ON ORDERS FROM CODALUS SECTOR, YOU ARE TO PASS THIS ORDER TO WOLCHENSKY TO PROCEED IN COMMAND OF BG 51 TO RETRACE THE KNOWN ROUTE OF SURVEY SQUADRON 1.

 

2. IT IS LIKELY THAT THE SALLYPORT INTO REBEL SPACE HAS BEEN DISCOVERED. CONFIDENCE IS HIGH.

 

3. YOUR SUGGESTION THAT SUGGESTS THAT BREVET COMMODORE VON WIRTH'S SQUADRON WAS DESTROYED BY AN AS YET UNKNOWN RACE. IS ABSURD.

BY ORDER OF, STANTON, CINC CODALUS SECTOR.

 

Weber's testimony ended with Runningfox’s ships leaving Gobi A for Gobi B.

 

Another rating was called. He had been assigned by ONI to Codalus, and after the same laborious identification process another signal was read into the record.

 

TO, CINC CODALUS SECTOR

FROM WILDERBECK CINCTF

RE; SURVEY OF TERMINUS FOUR, GOBI

 

1. SINCE YOU HAVE NOT REPORTED THAT THE ABOVE MENTIONED SURVEY HAS BEEN SENT, YOU ARE TO PASS THESE ORDERS TO OFFICER COMMANDING GOBI TO PROCEED WITH ALL HASTE TO COMPLETE IT.

 

2. HE IS HEARBY AUTHORIZED TO DETACH A FORCE OF NOT LESS THAN TWO LIGHT CARRIERS AND SUPPORTING VESSELS TO SURVEY TERMINUS 4.

 

3. THESE VESSELS ARE TO SURVEY 15 TRANSITS FROM GOBI, OR UNTIL SUCH TIME AS THEY FIND A SALLYPORT INTO REBEL SPACE, OR UNTIL 1 (ONE) STANDARD YEAR HAS PASSED, WHICHEVER IS GREATER

 

4. SINCE SUCH A SURVEY MUST BE COMMANDED BY A COMMODORE, HE IS ALLOWED TO BREVET ONE OFFICER TO THIS RANK.

SIGNED BY CINCTF WILDERBECK

 

It was the original order as sent by Supreme Force Commander Wilderbeck, with the direction that carriers be sent.

 

"Supreme Force Commander, for the record, what ships would be sent in support of two light carriers?" Yoshimoto asked.

 

"Standard procedure would be to send two heavy cruisers, two to four light cruisers, and perhaps six destroyers."

 

One by one, the three survivors of Weber's team were called, and their evidence was damning.

 

Once Noguchi had taken command of Gobi, the records had been rifled, and the damning orders had been replaced with the originals, except for Runningfox's replies, which had been edited to reflect the now false data base. Only ONI had assured that the record had not been lost.

 

Then the second team, lead by Lieutenant Huston took the stand. Huston was a short stocky woman from Fisk. She had been assigned to Noguchi's staff. She went through the same ID process, and the first signal shocked the assembled officers.

 

TO CAPTAIN STEINBRENNER

FROM ADM. NOGUCHI

PRIVATE

RE; RUNNINGFOX MATTER

 

I HAVE ORDERED RUNNINGFOX AND HIS COMMAND TO SURVEY GOBI B. THIS GIVES YOU A MINIMUM OF 21 DAYS TO PLANT THE RECORDS AS REQUIRED. SEE TO IT.

 

"Sergeant at arms, arrest Captain Tamara Steinbrenner, Rear Admiral Heidichi Noguchi, and Vice Admiral Robert Lowell Stanton." Supreme Force Commander Wilderbeck ordered.

 

* * * * *

 

"This court of inquiry is now in session. Concerning the actions of Commodore Martin Runningfox from July 441AY to April 446AY. Will Commodore Runningfox stand and face this court?"

 

Runningfox stood.

 

"As Commander Mothball Fleet 7, you have done excellent work, and your innovative methods has caused a revolution in the maintenance and rejuvenation of these aged vessels. You are to be highly commended in that regard.

 

"In the matter of the first battle of VW30, by Survey Squadron 1, the court finds that the loss of those seven vessel, and 300 officers and men in action were caused by orders altered by your superiors for reasons as yet unknown. While we will mourn them, it is this court's decision that you acted as directed by that higher command, even protesting their orders. You did everything you could to safeguard those men.

 

"It is the judgment of this court, that Commodore Von Wirth, underequipped due to illegal orders, at the end of his ship's repair abilities, could not complete his mission, when faced with a force beyond his measure, this caused that force’s destruction

 

"This is however, not a condemnation of that officer. If the force ordered by the Supreme Force Commander had been sent, the Coridanii would not have been able to inflict the losses they did without unacceptable casualties.

 

"Concerning the second battle of VW30, fought by BG 51, it is this court's judgment that several factors caused the loss of three battlecruisers, three light carriers, one heavy cruiser, three light cruisers, two destroyers, and 1100 men.

 

"First was that Wolchensky had been given orders that suggested that he was facing a human force, not an alien one with technology that would have been seriously dangerous. In simpler terms, he was lied to by his superiors.

 

"Second, that Admiral Wolchensky had never commanded a ship larger that a cruiser, had never commanded a carrier, and had never commanded an independent squadron. He was not up to the challenge, and in this action, was still trying to learn all that he needed to when the enemy attacked.

 

"Third that the men under his command, new to their ships and duties, were not up to the dangers of the mission, a condition that Admiral Wolchensky had been notified of, but did not correct.

 

"Fourth that his lack of knowledge of carrier operations caused the carriers to be used in a manner that allowed their capture.

 

"Fifth that a more experienced officer, Martin Runningfox, was left in Gobi while the Battlegroup was left in the hands of Wolchensky.

 

"Therefore it is the judgment of this court that Admiral Stanislaus Wolchensky, deceased, is to be censured.

 

"Concerning the actions of Vice Admiral Robert Lowell Stanton, commanding Codalus Sector, his actions have been called to account by this board.

 

"First, that his alteration of orders from the Supreme Force Commander to Commodore Runningfox caused that officer to send out an understrength force, with orders that could only weaken their morale and also their ability to fight their vessels.

 

"Second, that these orders were directly responsible for the loss of those seven vessel, and 750 officers and men in action

 

"Third, that when apprised of this situation, Admiral Stanton did conceal the facts from Admiral Wolchensky.

 

"Fourth, that those orders, and his refusal to replace a man that was out of his depth with a more experienced officer was the direct cause of the loss of three battlecruisers, three light carriers, one heavy cruiser, three light cruisers, two destroyers, and 1100 men.

 

"Fifth, that his actions in concealing these facts, and the reports filed by Commodore Runningfox and his men placed the officers and men of Battlegroup 19 under Rear Admiral Noguchi in peril.

 

"Sixth, that his concealment of these facts placed not only Codalus Sector, but the Alliance in danger.

 

"Admiral Robert Lowell Stanton is to be held for Court Martial.

 

"In the matter of first Gobi, the court finds the following:

 

"First, the manner in which Admiral Noguchi maintained Gobi Station and it's supporting personnel caused construction bottlenecks that stopped Captain Benjamin Stoddard, deceased, from completing their mission to protect that station.

 

"Second, that those orders stopped Captain Benjamin Stoddard, deceased, from completing the defenses already ordered.

 

"Third that his inaction caused Captain Benjamin Stoddard, deceased, to set aside the plans for the AFM clusters designed by his personnel, which would have blunted the Coridanii attack.

 

"Fourth that the orders from Admiral Noguchi to Commodore Runningfox placed Noguchi's force at extreme peril for no good reason.

 

"Fifth, that the addition of Runningfox's ships, especially the carriers, would have seriously undermined the Coridanii initiative.

 

"Sixth, that while the presence of Runningfox's ships would not have caused the battle to be won, all of Admiral Noguchi's actions up to this point caused the loss of a Dreadnought, two battleships, four battlecruisers, two OBS4s, one OBS2, One destroyer, four frigates, and two corvettes, and the loss of 4,750 men, with minimal effect on the enemy force.

 

"It is therefore the decision of this court that Rear Admiral Heidichi Noguchi be held for court martial, on the Charge of Criminal Negligence.

 

"In the actions of Captain Tamara Steinbrenner, Chief of Staff for Admiral Noguchi, her actions in attempting to conceal the facts of this matter are censured.

 

"Captain Tamara Steinbrenner is to be held for Court Martial.

 

"As to the actions directly carried out by Commodore Runningfox, while left with a serious tactical situation, he acted with forthright knowledge of his responsibilities.

 

"That he and his men first attempted to alert the Alliance to the danger, then destroyed the vessels captured in Gobi, inflicting significant damage on the enemy forces in Gobi in the process.

 

"That he attacked rather than retreating, causing widespread damage and confusion in the enemy rear, destroying several times his force's weight in enemy shipping, and ending the war that had been begun.

 

"That in his rampage, he also destroyed all captured Alliance ships except for the Heavy Cruiser Susquehana, which he recaptured and commandeered.

 

"While Commodore Runningfox did exceed his authority by offering a peace to the Coridanii without expert diplomatic guidance," Wilderbeck glanced at Henson,

 

"It is the majority verdict of this court that considering the situation, and the verified willingness of the Coridanii to negotiate without devastating attacks on their planet and fleet, that Commodore Runningfox acted with all due process to end the war. It is also believed that this alliance will allow the Alliance to expand without further hostilities between us and the Terran Union, and limits the possibility of conflict between us and the Coridanii Alliance.

 

The charges that his acts in notifying the Terran Union, a government with which we are at peace, was treason, this court finds groundless. The manner in which he did warn them, assuring that they would not discover the closed terminus he had discovered is more important than petty politics.”

 

Wilderbeck look at the others of the court. “this court can, by virtue of it’s seniority, has the authority to set aside verdicts of courts martial predating it with the approval and permission of the Defense Minister and Prime Minister. We have addressed ourselves to this issue and received that permission.

 

"It is the unanimous verdict of this court that then Rear Admiral Martin Runningfox made a moral decision in April 439 AY to not attack the then Alliance citizens of Britomart. That his actions at that time saved his ships for Alliance service in the conflict that followed, and saved untold lives both in the Alliance and the Union. The men under Runningfox’s command at that time suffered from the fury of an unrepentant fleet.

 

"It is the decision of this court, and of the court members personally, that Commodore Runningfox be reinstated to the Rank of Rear Admiral, effective March 439AY with all pay and privileges restored retroactively.

 

"That Rear Admiral Runningfox, for his exemplary service in Gobi before 3 July 444AY, be promoted to the Rank of Vice Admiral, effective 3 July 444AY, with all pay and privileges retroactively.

 

"That for his actions from 3 July 444AY to 21 August 445AY, he be awarded the Wounded Lion of Terra, and be promoted to Admiral effective 21 August 445AY, with all pay and privileges retroactively. He is hearby assigned CINC Codalus/Coridan Sector.

 

"This court is adjourned."

 

 

 

COMMAND AND RECOMPENSE

 

"If a general who heeds my strategy is employed he

is certain to win. Retain him!"

Sun Tzu, 'The Ancient Art of War'

 

"Is this seat taken, sir?"

 

Runningfox looked up from Elaine's glowing face, studying Captain Weber. "Pull up a chair, Mac. Congratulations on the promotion."

 

"Thank you, sir." The ONI agent relaxed into the chair, setting down his glass. "I was wondering if you had any staff positions open?"

 

"ONI getting boring?"

 

"No, actually I kinda liked it. But it's ONI policy. Anyone below the rank of Admiral that has to testify at a court of inquiry or court martial is like an expended bullet." He made a gun with his hand, and pretended to fire it. "Once you have, you're expended ordinance. Maybe in a couple of years I could come back into it with a desk job, but I wouldn't have half the fun I did bombing that Coridanii carrier."

 

"Who's saying it's going to be fun?" Runningfox's eyebrows rose. "The war's over, Mac."

 

"No one, sir. But you remember what you said to me when I was but your lowly coxswain?"

 

"What? That you're an ass?" Runningfox made a deprecating noise. "Forget it."

 

"No, after that. About you wanted me to see how far you’d run in a real crunch?"

 

"Oh, yes, I remember now. What of it?"

 

"Well as I said, I haven't had that much fun in years." He grinned. "Though catching a barrel of rotten apples is fun too."

 

Runningfox nodded. Though the court had not yet returned a verdict in their case, no one expected Steinbrenner, Noguchi, and Stanton to walk free and clean. Every one of their supporters had melted away when they were arrested.

 

"Hey, don't feel sorry for the bastards, sir! Six thousand humans dead, five billion credits plus in destroyed shipping, all because they hated your guts."

 

"I know that."

 

"And besides, their only real defense is that we were never really at war with the Coridanii."

 

"There they were correct. The Coridanii were just counting coup." Runningfox sighed sadly. "How many of them did I kill before we realized that?"

 

"Sir, you couldn't have known. It's not like they put up signs, you know, 'War game in progress' or something like that. Besides," Weber leaned closer. "If you had suggested out loud that the enemy we were facing was using the same non-fatal tactics that your ancestors used 700 years ago, I would have tightened the strait-jacket myself."

 

Elaine squeezed his hand. "We need a new intelligence officer."

 

"And a staff, Captain." Weber said, "Remember, I got eleven little mouths to feed now."

 

Runningfox grinned. "All right, Captain, bring your family by the office tomorrow. Once everything is settled, I have to take ship to Coridan. I want to see if they'd like to work with us in training."

 

Weber snickered. "I think Captain Smith of Ney would love the idea to give what he got to some newbies. As for the Coridanii, they'd probably be like a cat with a ball of yarn.

 

"Oh, I almost forgot, this came for you." Weber reached under the table, and set down a half a meter cube box . "Once the treaty was signed, this was sent by Moebus packet from a man named De Lancy. He wished to come with it, but his duties as Admiral TUN BG 3 precludes it."

 

"So he survived."

 

"Did he ever, Rear Admiral of the Green, Earl of Dunncannon, Baron De Lancy. He wanted to make sure you got this. In fact, his instructions were that if you had died, that it was to be laid across your grave, and left there.

 

"It passed through a dozen fleet bases, on both sides of the line, including Central and ONI. There are still those that think you're a traitor, and that box is proof as far as they are concerned. In fact, ONI has a couple of those SuperCray computers trying to break the 'code'.

 

"Admiral Yoshimoto ordered it delivered a couple of years ago, but by that time, we were off on a wild assed Banzai charge, if you remember."

 

Runningfox stared at the box. It had been opened and resealed several times, the new seal was an ONI strip with assorted bloodthirsty threats against the unauthorized. He broke it, and opened the box.

 

It was an old fashioned scroll, not unlike the ones used by the Jews, what were they called? Toga? He opened it, and read.

 

"To Martin Runningfox, By order of the Monarch, and with the agreement of the house of lords, you are hearby vested with the title as Vicount Defiant, Baron of Villon, defender of the Right, Lord Protector of the People of Britomart."

 

"What the-"

 

"It's a patent of Nobility. You're a Viscount, Baron, etc, on Britomart now. According to what ONI has discovered, you've got about 4,000 acres, with a city, two villages, and thirty or so factories, with an annual income of somewhere around half a Megacredit. A man is watching over the property for you."

 

The next five inches of hand illuminated script repeated everything except for the monetary terms that Weber had used. Baron De Lancy’s younger brother, Robert Devereaux, Knight of North Umbria was acting as suzerain until 'the return

of the Viscount or his heirs'.

 

Runningfox unrolled it farther, and stopped. After that were four columns of names, running it seemed forever. He looked to Weber in surprise.

 

"We checked. My parting shot as ONI. Those are the signatures of the people of Britomart that were there when you refused orders and turned away."

 

"How many?"

 

"Every man woman and child." Weber toasted the stunned man. "All five and a half million odd."

 

He looked into Elaine's eyes, then at the scrolls yet again. For some reason, they were blurring.

 

"Crying, my lord?"

 

"Shut up and pass the bottle, Captain."