Chapter Thirty

Maarkean felt the familiar weight of his SK-9 on his right hip. He had never been a fan of gunfights, but the weapon somehow gave him comfort. With the Cutty Sark out there being flown by someone else and Saracasi back on Kol, it was nice to have something he was comfortable with nearby.

Standing in the CIC onboard the Defiant Glory, he felt exposed. At the central tactical display, he was in the middle of everything. By design, this gave him access to every station. It also meant he was in view of every crewman. It brought home the point that they were all counting on him.

The area around him felt crowded, even though there was ample space. Beside him stood Davidus, Lohcja, and Kaars. Davidus had wanted to fly with the fighters, but for once, they had more qualified pilots than fighters. Maarkean had insisted his skills would be better served commanding the Defiant Glory.

Lohcja and Kaars were here as General Numba’s official liaisons and intelligence officers. Maarkean had suggested that Numba fly aboard the Rogue Spirit, as it would be disastrous if something were to happen to the Defiant Glory and take out both senior commanders. Numba had insisted on leaving an officer in his place. Maarkean had been lucky it was Lohcja.

Aside from his fellow officers and the Defiant Glory’s crew, marines were positioned around the room. Like his pistol, they were there mainly as a precaution. It was better to have marines standing by in case you were boarded than to get boarded and not have them.

“Thirty seconds to exit from hyperspace,” Ceno Gotit, the Defiant Glory’s Camari helmsman, called from the forward bridge section.

At the marker, Davidus gave him a slight nod and moved to his battle position at the front of the ship. He would oversee direct combat operations for the ship while Maarkean orchestrated the fleet. With luck, neither of them would have much to do.

With a slight shudder, the fleet dropped out of hyperspace. The blank tactical display in front of Maarkean came to life, showing the image of Sulas before them. Slowly, icons started appearing, representing ships and other navigational hazards. From the forward section, he heard Davidus issue orders.

“Ops, begin full sensor sweep. FlightOps, signal the other ships of our arrival. Try to make contact with our gunship squadron.”

After a moment, Tadashio, the ship’s Kowwok Operations officer replied, “Sensor contact made with all ships from the fleet. Scans of the system have picked up our gunships, right where they are supposed to be. Multiple other contacts in orbit or approaching orbit of Sulas. Identified as highly probable civilian vessels.”

As Tadashio reported, Maarkean’s tactical computer updated the sensor data. Blue icons appeared around the Defiant Glory and a set of six more blue icons were shown approaching them. Those represented the Union’s warships and troop transports.

Yellow icons appeared near the planet of Sulas. These were unidentified ships that were not judged to be hostile, but had not been confirmed. As the next few minutes went on, most of the yellow icons changed to green, indicated they had been positively identified as non-threats.

Fracsid’s voice came over the comm system as the Flight Operations officer made contact with the gunships. “Glad to see you guys. We’re all accounted for and our package has been delivered.”

“Signal the fleet,” Maarkean ordered, relieved to hear that the insertion of the marines had gone off as planned. “Begin moving into planned orbit. Have the gunships take up guard positions around the transports.”

The fleet would approach Sulas along a preplanned path. This would keep them along a vector that allowed only four planet-based defense batteries to have a chance to shoot at them. If Zeric’s marines had done their job, those batteries would not be a threat.

“Launch all fighters,” Davidus ordered. Maarkean frowned but said nothing. He would have only launched a CAP, Combat Air Patrol, until more were needed. The more fighters they had out, the harder it would be to recover all of them. But the decision was up to Davidus.

As the fleet approached closer to Sulas, Maarkean felt a growing sense of nervousness. He could not explain why. They had arrived to find no Alliance presence, just like they had expected. Their gunships had been in orbit and had delivered the marines. As far as operations went, this one appeared to be coming off without a hitch.

But that was exactly what bothered him. No plan survived contact with the enemy. There were still a lot of steps to go before Sulas was under their control. If the marines didn’t get all four batteries, it would be a bumpy ride down to the planet’s surface for the troops.

The military commanders could decide to risk launching their defensive fighters and attack them. That was their biggest risk, as their fighters would be outnumbered. But without fleet support, the ground-based fighters would face a tough fight.

Braz civilization had mostly abandoned the belief in an all-powerful personified deity. Instead, most believed in the philosophy of cosmic balance. Maarkean counted himself among them. Things couldn’t be this easy without something balancing it out.

Almost as if on cue, the universe balanced things out.

“New contacts!” Tadashio shouted. “Five, no, nine, eighteen ships just jumped out of hyperspace behind us. They are deployed in a wide net around us. Identification program is confirming them as Alliance warships!”

On Maarkean’s holo display, eighteen red icons appeared. As the identification program ran, he suddenly felt ill. Eighteen ships were more than the Alliance was supposed to have in the entire sector. They were outnumbered almost two to one.

Across the room he tried to catch Davidus’ eye. The intel he had gotten was clearly inaccurate. Either too busy, or too embarrassed, Davidus did not look back. Maarkean contented himself with casting a glare to his side where the intelligence officer, Kaars, stood.

“Looks like your information about the Alliance fleet was wrong,” Maarkean snarled at the man.

Kaars, for his part, looked embarrassed. To Maarkean’s surprise, Lohcja was the one to voice a defensive response. “Now’s not the time for accusations, General.”

Lohcja gave him an intense glare, made all the more uncomfortable by his Ronid physique. Reluctantly, Maarkean nodded an agreement. He was right, there would be time for accusations of failed intelligence later. If there was a later.

“All ships,” Maarkean said, achieving the fleet wide comm, “prepare to alter course away from Sulas. Prepare for emergency hyperspace jump. Randomize courses. Meet at rendezvous point beta.”

Acknowledgements came in from the other ships and he heard Davidus issue the orders to the Defiant Glory’s crew. Then another voice came over the fleet-wide comm. “This is General Numba. Belay that last order. All ships continue on course for Sulas, maximum speed.”

Maarkean cursed, too late realizing he had failed to keep it under his breath. Calming himself as best he could, he reactivated his comm. “General, we’ve clearly walked into an Alliance trap. We are outnumbered and outgunned. If we break off now, we can escape with minimal casualties. The deeper we go into the gravity well, the longer our escape will take.”

“I understand that, Major General,” Numba replied. “But with those defense batteries taken out, this is our best chance to get troops onto the surface. This war will be won on the ground.”

“We have not yet received the confirmation code from the marines. We don’t know if those guns are in our control. We could get trapped between the Alliance fleet and ground weapons,” Maarkean countered, hating the idea of arguing with his superior over an open communication line. But he saw no other alternative. “Even if we can get the transports down, without space superiority, they’ll be vulnerable to surface bombardment.”

“You have your orders. Take the fleet in,” Numba replied gruffly, and then severed the comm channel.

Maarkean faced a choice. If he obeyed Numba’s orders, he felt certain the fleet would be lost. The army could possibly reach the relative safety of the planet’s surface. But his warships would not survive the engagement.

If he disobeyed, the fleet would be torn apart by two commanders. Some ships would flee, others would try to land. The Alliance would then have a far easier time picking them off. It would also mean he would be betraying the Union he had just sworn to protect. Split apart, there was no chance of defeating the Alliance.

Regretting the choice, Maarkean realized he had to hope Numba was right, and that the war could be won on the ground. Because he knew it certainly would not be won up here.

“All ships, belay my last. Continue on course for Sulas,” Maarkean ordered.

A thought suddenly occurred to him and a mischievous grin crept onto his face. He was about to lose this battle, but that didn’t mean they had to lose the war. “Get me the Gallant. I want to speak directly with Captain Novastar.”

It had been a mad scramble to get the FX-21 crewed and ready for battle. Volunteers had had to be taken from among Chavatwor’s dock workers, many of whom were less than enthusiastic about the idea. But they had done it, and the ship was nearing the completion of her start-up sequence.

Fortunately, preparing the squadron of fighters had been simpler. Jerik had proven himself capable by having already had them at a state of ready alert. It had been a simple matter to get the pilots onboard and the systems checked.

Now, Saracasi stood at the center of the frigate’s bridge. Frigates were designed to operate independently, and this one was no exception. As such, she had a central command center, which naval parlance referred to as a bridge. Bigger ships would also have Combat Information Centers which were better equipped for coordinating battles with other vessels. Saracasi would have to coordinate with Jerik’s squadron from here.

Around her, the unprepared crew went about finishing the last preparations before launch. No one had formal battle stations, since the ship had no formal crew, and Saracasi spent most of her time trying to ensure every necessary role was filled. Fortunately, she knew how ships worked, and Davidus’ lessons on combat operations had been easily integrated into her memory.

She glanced at the countdown timer. In five minutes, the Alliance fleet would pass the point of no return. After that, they would be on no other course than one that would put them directly in geosynchronous orbit of the UDF shipyard. Once that happened, their three options would drop to two: fight or flee.

As Saracasi ran through her crew assignments again, she realized she had missed something. One of the things Maarkean and Davidus had stressed during training classes was the necessity of a clear chain of command. So far, she had ensured that people were manning the ship’s guns, there was an engineering team made up of the best they had, and damage control parties were on hand to respond. But she had neglected a chain of officers.

Looking up, she considered the other two on the bridge. Arzesaeth Ernebee sat at the helm, his dark red carapace looking black in the dim bridge lighting. She knew him to be a fair pilot who had participated in all the training courses Davidus had held. Sheanna Coramont, a dark-haired Terran woman, operated the engineering station. Both had been granted lieutenant’s commissions and had been slated to serve as officers aboard one of the fleet’s ships.

Saracasi knew Sheanna far better than she did Arzesaeth. As a fellow engineer, though her background in materials was only tangentially linked to starships, she spoke the same language as Saracasi. She felt more comfortable with the other woman.

Then she thought about her brother. He and Davidus almost hated each other, but they respected each other. Like with Zeric, Davidus and Maarkean did not see the world through the same lens. A good commander did not surround themselves with people who thought the same way. That meant there wouldn’t be any new ideas.

“Arz,” Saracasi said, deciding to be less formal to help ease the mood. “Turn the helm over to Saisee. I need you serving as Tactical Action Officer and XO.”

Startled, Arzesaeth turned back, his large mandibles spread wide. He considered her order for a moment, clearly uncertain how to respond. After a second, he said, “Aye, Captain.”

He stood up and moved to a position by the weapon and tactical systems. In his place, Saisee slipped into the helm seat. Saracasi knew the Camari had flown the ship during some test runs. He would do fine, she told herself.

“Sheanna,” Saracasi continued, keeping her voice light. “You’ll be 2nd officer and chief engineer. Get down to engineering. We can’t have all officers in one room during battle.”

With a nod, Sheanna left the bridge. By the time the rearranging of assignments was complete, the timer had passed zero. With a hopeful glance, Saracasi checked the feed from the satellites. The Alliance fleet had not changed course. Their time was up.