Christopher Nuttall - Barbarians at the Gates

Part of the six-month delay in bringing war to Admiral Justinian and all of Justinian’s allies had been because Marius had wanted to ensure that his men knew what they were doing. If nothing else, war was a great teacher and many of the incompetents in the Federation Navy had been shuffled somewhere harmless—or had been killed in action.

He’d solved the problem by inviting his subordinate admiral—and all of his Commissioners, as he couldn’t avoid inviting them—his Marine Generals and a handful of other advisors to the physical meeting, while the remainder of his officers watched through the datanet. It was an innovation that had some of the traditionalists muttering darkly—standard etiquette for holographic presence was that holograms were rarely acknowledged or treated as genuine visitors—but he’d overruled them. It was his fleet. Besides, the old ways hadn’t always worked out perfectly.

He allowed himself a wink at Tiffany—the mere sight of her hologram warmed his heart—and took his seat at the front of the table.

“Gentlemen, be seated,” he ordered.

He allowed his gaze to slip around the table as the assembled officers took their seats. Admiral Mason had returned from The Hive to take command of his starfighter groups, a task that had diverted most of his formidable energy into solving the problems of operating so many starfighters at once. Vaughn, of course, would command the Marine detachment. Vice Admiral Arunika—she’d finally been promoted for good service—controlled ONI’s resources that had been attached to the mission, as well as a handful of covert assets from the Brotherhood. He carefully did not show his genuine opinion of Commissioner Walter Williams—his Political Commissioner—to show on his face. Williams, at least, was smart enough to refrain from outright interference, although it had taken Tiffany to convince him that Marius had access to more of the levers of power than a mere Political Commissioner. The other starship commanders and senior officers weren’t nearly so lucky.

“As you know by now, the mission to Bester was not successful,” he began. “Governor Hartkopf refused to accept amnesty on our terms and appears to be completely deluded about the relative balance of power between the Federation and his rebels. We may—I say may —have upset the apple cart in his vest-pocket kingdom by broadcasting details of the negotiations to his allies, but we cannot rely on it. That is all the more… inconvenient… as we are required to pass through the Bester System.”

He waited for that to sink in, then allowed himself a smile. That hadn’t been on the original operations plan.

“We are now isolated from the Federation,” he informed them. “The ICN is broken in this sector. I—and I alone—will determine what messages are important enough to be transported to an ICN hub in a destroyer.” His gaze swept the room. “We are under total information blackout. I do not want one word of our plan to leak out, not to Hartkopf and not to Admiral Justinian. If any of you, directly or indirectly, leaks the information to anyone , I will execute you under General Order Fifteen. If any of you wish to protest now, you may do so. It will be noted in my log. Any such protests may even be produced as evidence at my court martial.”

Marius wanted to smile at their astonished reaction, but he somehow kept his face calm and dispassionate. General Order Fifteen referred to mutiny and granted the fleet’s legitimate CO vast powers to investigate and punish any mutinous crewmen—or officers. It had been forced on the Navy during the early days of the Inheritance Wars. Somehow, it had never been repealed. The powers under General Order Fifteen were so vast that Marius could have had them all shot, and they knew it.

Of course, by invoking General Order Fifteen, Marius would probably face a court martial afterwards anyway, once the fleet returned to Federation space. But that wouldn’t make any difference to the dead.

“The Operations Plan we discussed when we were drawing up the orders for the fleet was a sham,” he continued. “I chose to develop it for two reasons: first, because it could easily be adapted to what I actually had in mind, and second, because I knew it would be leaked to Admiral Justinian. The warlord has already shifted his forces back to Jefferson to meet us when we advance from Marx—as planned. Therefore, we are not going to Marx. We’re going to Sphinx, and will advance from there.”

He watched their faces as they accessed their implants, working through the new concept. Marius had chosen it with extreme care, trusting that Justinian had enough faith in Hartkopf not to realize that there was a gaping hole in his defenses. If Bester fell, if the fleet passed through Hartkopf’s core systems unmolested, they could enter a new chain of Asimov Points that would allow them to enter Justinian’s forces by the back door. If…

But it didn’t take too much imagination to realize just how many things could go spectacularly wrong. Fortunately, few officers would raise questions in front of the commissioners.

“We will proceed at once to Bester,” he informed them. “I believe that our psychological operations will produce fruit. But if they don’t, we will punch our way into the system and then cross to the other Asimov Point. We will not attempt to recapture Bester at present. It would only cost us greatly, for very little in return.”

He stood up, his gaze sweeping the compartment. “I trust that you all understand exactly why I had to maintain secrecy,” he concluded. “If Justinian gets a hint of our plans before we are in his backyard, we may find ourselves in a position where we are forced to retreat and impale ourselves on Hartkopf’s forces. If we lose here, it will be years before we can rebuild the fleet—and we will all be dead, of course.”

He let that sink in for a long moment.

“ Do not attempt to leak the plan ahead of time. You have been warned.” He smiled coldly. “Now, are there any questions?”

There was a long pause. Several officers looked as though they wanted to raise issues, but the commissioners were still there.

“None, it seems,” he said, answering his own question. “The details of the operation have been forwarded to you. Consider them carefully, then contact me if you feel that we should discuss possibilities. Other than that, gentlemen…good luck to us all.”

He watched as the holograms popped out of existence. There were some details he’d been careful not to mention. The Brotherhood’s agent in the Bester System, for example, and the “secret package” Captain Garibaldi had delivered while departing the system. But they didn’t need to know all of the details.

Marius allowed himself an internal sigh as Commissioner Walters came over to him, his grey uniform matching his face. If he’d spent a day on a warship before being appointed as a political commissioner, Marius would have been astonished. The man seemed to have no concept of how a warship functioned. There were some people, even two thousand years after the birth of the Federation, who never really developed their space legs. Marius had been curious as to what Walters had been doing prior to his appointment to his ship, but the files had been carefully sealed. Even his access permissions hadn’t been able to open them.

“Admiral,” Walters said. His voice was thin, almost reedy. “The orders you presented today were not the ones my…ah…superiors forwarded to me.”

“Of course not, William,” Marius said. He was damned if he was going to call the little weasel “sir.” “I knew that the original orders would have been intercepted by the enemy.”