Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Might

“I think you should get a good night’s sleep,” she said. There was an old joke about a personal aide being nothing more than a nursemaid. But being a nursemaid was better than being a whore. “I’ll alert you if something changes…”

Alarms sounded, echoing through the giant starship. “You and your big mouth,” Wachter said. He reached under the sofa and removed an injector, which he pressed against his arm and triggered. The alcohol would be swept from his system within seconds. “Go to the CIC. I’ll join you in a moment.”

Penny nodded and left the room. The CIC was right next to the Admiral’s quarters, allowing her to enter the compartment within seconds. A couple of officers gave her odd glances and she felt her cheeks heat — they’d probably assumed that she was the Admiral’s lover as well as his assistant — but she ignored them, choosing instead to concentrate on the display. A number of red icons had appeared, alarmingly close to the planet.

“Defence network powering up now,” the tactical officer reported. “All starships are reporting their status…”

“No need to panic,” Wachter’s voice said, from behind her. “We saw them off once and we can do it again.”

Penny turned to smile at him, then shook her head in amazement. Wachter had changed his jacket, shaved his chin and donned his cap, within barely five minutes. He looked an Admiral now, she decided, as he moved up to stand beside her. She flushed as he winked at her, then studied the display. The enemy fleet was building up speed.

“The report from the spy was clearly in error,” Wachter said. “Unless, of course, half of those superdreadnaughts are drones.”

He quirked his eyebrows at Penny, inviting her to comment. “They’re… they’re not having any problems keeping up,” Penny said. “So they’re either real superdreadnaughts or smaller starships pretending to be superdreadnaughts.”

“Very good, Captain,” Wachter said. He looked over at the tactical officer. “Launch an extra spread of drones. I want to see the letters on their hull.”

Penny nodded in understanding. Drones and smaller ships could use ECM to pretend to be something they weren’t, but they’d never be able to fool visual observation. The only question was if the drones would survive long enough to get close enough to use optical sensors. But then, the way the rebel fleet was just charging at the planet, it seemed they’d definitely have their chance.

“Concentrate our own fleet in blocking position, but keep us within the orbital defence network’s envelope,” Wachter ordered. There were no fancy tricks this time. The rebels would have to engage the loyalists within the gravity shadow or try to lay siege to the planet. “And then prepare to engage the enemy.”

Colin watched, as dispassionately as he could, as the enemy ships launched their first set of recon drones. After what he’d done at Tabard, he wasn’t too surprised that the enemy was trying to make sure the squadrons of superdreadnaughts bearing down on him were actually real . They’d also have to wonder just how much of what the spy had sent them was true. It should keep them busy for a while, Anderson had said, but Colin had his doubts. At worst, they could simply draw the right conclusions through analysing the previous battle.

“Engage the drones with point defence,” he ordered. The Morrison fleet was clenching up, like a man trying desperately to hide something in his fist. The enemy was disdaining tactical flexibility, daring him to come after them and enter the gravity shadow. If they knew about Wolf 359, and they probably did, they’d be leery of taking any losses. “Make them work to get a look at us.”

He studied the reports from his own drones and scowled. Most of the enemy ships seemed to have been repaired, although it was difficult to be sure. They’d played games with IFF signals, just like the rebels. He looked up at the main display, silently calculating the odds in his head. If the new weapons worked, they might just have a chance to do real damage to the Empire’s fleet without taking heavy losses of their own.

And if they don’t work as advertised , Colin thought, we will still have a chance .

“Open hailing frequencies,” he ordered.

“Channel open, sir,” the communications officer said.

“Admiral Wachter, this is Colin Walker,” Colin said. “You are outnumbered and outgunned — and you are loyal to the Empire. Surrender now and help us rebuild the edifice into something we can all be proud of. We guarantee good treatment of your officers and men, even the ones who don’t want to join us.”

He allowed his voice to darken. “But if you don’t surrender,” he added, “we will have no alternative, but take the system by force.”

It wouldn’t have worked, Colin suspected, on any other officer. But Admiral Wachter genuinely cared for his men. Perhaps, just perhaps, he’d see reason.

Penny cursed inwardly the moment she heard the damned message. Admiral Wachter had enemies, men and women who suspected the worst of anyone who was actually competent . If they heard the rebel message, one of them might decide to try to remove Wachter now, before it was too late. And yet, if the Morrison Fleet lost its commander in the midst of a battle, the rebels would almost certainly win.

“No response,” Wachter ordered, tiredly. “Launch gunboats. I want every one of those ships locked down.”

“Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

“Those superdreadnaughts look real,” Wachter commented. Penny looked down at the reports from the drones, then nodded in agreement. “Which means that the information we were sent is probably all lies intended to mislead us.”

He smirked. “Good thing we were told not to launch any offences, right?”

Penny had to chuckle. If they’d taken everything in the spy’s message at face value, it would have seemed the perfect time to launch a counteroffensive, which would have left Morrison weakened when the rebels returned to the system. As it was, aristocratic indecision and bureaucratic stonewalling had worked in their favour. It would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so lucky.

Wachter turned his attention back to the tactical display. “General orders; target the superdreadnaughts — and only the superdreadnaughts. Everything else can wait.”

“Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

“The rebels are locking weapons on our ships,” the sensor officer snapped. Red lights flared across the display as the rebels locked on. “They’re preparing to fire!”

Wachter and Penny exchanged glances. “Interesting,” Wachter mused. “They’re out of range. And they can’t flicker into range, not within the gravity shadow. I wonder what they have in mind.”

He turned back to the tactical officer. “Bring our point defence to full alert,” he ordered. “If they have extended their missile ranges, I want to be ready.”

Penny wasn’t sure she believed it. The problem with extended missile ranges was the same as firing missiles from standard extreme range. Enemy point defence systems had longer to track the missiles and plan out their interceptions while the missiles were on their way. It was odd for the rebels to do something stupid … and firing missiles from extreme range would be stupid. Unless, of course, they had boosted their missile swarms by an order of magnitude. A few hundred thousand missiles would seriously damage the fleet, no matter when and where they were fired.

“True,” Wachter said, when she said it out loud. “And the rebels have never been stupid. And that means they have something up their sleeves.”