Jay Allan - The Cost of Victory

Compton had waited and watched, the minutes passing like eons. Finally, after what seemed like hours but was actually only a few moments, the reports started coming in – the enemy was decelerating, trying to reverse course before entering laser range. Compton was relived, though he tried to maintain his usual cool, unflappable image for the crew. In the end, the two fleets were briefly in each others’ effective ranges and exchanged fire for a few minutes before the incoming ships were able to reverse course and disengage. Saratoga took significant damage, and her heavy laser cannons were knocked offline, but not before they scored another hit on the battered Prince de Conde.

The bridge of Saratoga was filled with the pungent odor of burnt electronics, and repair bots wheeled wildly around, bringing salvageable systems back online and bypassing those that had been chopped up or fried into useless junk. Compton breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in his command chair, eyes closed thinking how near they’d come to annihilation. The battle wasn’t over – far from it. But the enemy commander had made a mistake; he’d chosen the course that seemed more cautious, and with that decision he’d thrown away his best chance at victory.

With the enemy retreating out of range, Compton now ordered his ships to accelerate in the opposite direction, away from the enemy. He didn’t want the opposing commander to change his mind – there was still time to engage his force before Garret arrived – so he put a little extra distance between them.

The overall forces in the system were close to even. If Garret’s fleet had consisted of full battlegroups instead of just the capital ships, the Alliance would have had the clear edge. But even lacking escorts and support vessels, Garret still had the only ships that were fully armed and equipped. His battleships had full external missile racks and, all together, sixteen squadrons of heavy bombers. All his bomber crews were green as hell, but the enemy didn’t know that.

Before committing to another bloody fight, he decided to try an unorthodox strategy. “Attention Europan and South American naval units, this is Fleet Admiral Augustus Garret of the Alliance Navy.” Garret was sure the CAC’s allies would have been told he had been killed, so he decided to get the maximum impact he could from his sudden return from the dead. He didn’t know if they’d believe it was him, but he was sure it would give them something else to think about, and maybe sow some doubt in their minds about what their CAC allies told them. “To my knowledge, there is not yet a declared state of hostilities between our nations.”

He paused for several seconds. Let them wonder a little, he thought. “I am prepared to offer a truce. If you agree to follow a pre-agreed course out of the system, I will refrain from any hostilities against your ships.” He paused again, but only briefly. He wanted to finish before the CAC commander could intervene. “You will be allowed to depart this system and return by the most direct course to your nearest base.” They won’t want to abandon their ground forces, he thought as he was speaking. “If you accept these terms, General Holm will offer a similar truce to your forces currently engaged on the surface.” He was making big promises for Holm, but he was sure the general would back him up. “If they surrender and lay down their arms they will be repatriated as quickly as transport can be arranged.”

Garret was wildly overstepping his authority. He wasn’t even technically in command of the four battleships he’d commandeered, though no one was going to challenge the orders of the Navy’s senior field officer, even if he was still technically dead. But agreeing to truces and promising to allow enemy warships to retreat unmolested through friendly systems was far more uncertain ground. And unilaterally promising to repatriate tens of thousands of enemy troops was even more of a stretch.

Garret was still 20 light minutes away from the enemy fleet, so it took some time for his message to reach its recipients and more for any response to get back to Saratoga. While he waited, he focused on readying his green crews for the battle they might have to fight and running diagnostics on his new and untested ships, but forty minutes later he was staring at the com, waiting for a reply that might come at any time…or not at all.

The entire flag bridge staff sat tensely, waiting to see if Garret’s offer would be accepted. If it wasn’t, his people faced a serious fight, one they could very well lose. But if the Imperial and Europan contingents withdrew, they would seriously outnumber and outgun the CAC and Caliphate forces that remained. Soon they would know.

Admiral Jacques Maret sat in his command center, his helmet visor closed so no one could hear his communications. He was conferring with Fleet Admiral de Santos, his French being translated to Spanish by his AI before transmission. “Have you conferred with Admiral Dieng?” He waited while his communication traveled the four light seconds to Emperador and the response made its way back. Maret had agreed that Santos, as leader of the larger task force, should discuss the situation with the CAC commander in chief.

“I have. He is adamant that he will not conduct negotiations.” Santos’ voice was slightly electronic; the Imperial AIs weren’t as sophisticated as the Europan, and the translator didn’t replicate Santos’ voice as perfectly as Maret’s did his. “I believe he is afraid of ending up in one of Li An’s little rooms.”

The CAC’s venerable spymaster had instilled considerable fear in the Coalition’s senior officers, and she also knew what was hidden in the mountains of Carson’s World. Dieng’s orders were clear; they expressly forbade retreat. If he obeyed he might die in battle, but if he withdrew he’d likely face a far more unpleasant death at the hands of C1’s interrogators. Worse, if he was branded a traitor his family would join him in Li An’s chamber of horrors.

Santos and Maret had agreed that they would counter Garret’s truce offer with a proposal that the entire fleet, including CAC and Caliphate units, withdraw from the system. Neither admiral liked the idea of abandoning allies, even tenuous new ones, but neither was prepared to commit their forces to a fight to the death over a planet of no apparent importance. They’d been sent to participate in an ambush, not a battle of attrition, and certainly not against the legendary Admiral Garret commanding a force of superbattleships. They were prepared to try to bluff Garret into letting them all leave, but Dieng’s refusal put an end to that option.

“My choice, at least, is clear. Honor is satisfied and Dieng has chosen his own fate. I cannot expose my task force to possible annihilation, especially as Prince de Conde has already been heavily damaged. I will accept Garret’s terms.” Maret had been under secret orders to conserve his forces; Europa Federalis was already at war with the German-dominated Central European League, and they could not afford serious losses, especially in capital ships.

“Indeed, Admiral Maret, I concur.” Santos was a member of the Imperial family and as such he was well aware of the parlous financial condition of the empire. This fight had already cost him a battleship, and he knew the Imperial Navy could not afford further losses, especially not in a fringe system nowhere close to the worlds the empire sought to acquire. “I, too, will accept the admiral’s terms. I propose that we send a joint communication.” He paused briefly. “Let us extricate our forces from this mess.”

Garret shifted uncomfortably in his command chair, unsuccessfully trying to angle his body in some way that didn’t hurt. It had been almost 90 minutes since he’d sent his truce offer, and he was about to give up and start preparing for the massive fight to come.