It had started here, looking back. Just over seven years ago, Jessica had first boarded the old Strike Carrier Auberon at Kismayo, taking command in prelude to The Long Raid. The first step in ending the Great War with Fribourg.
Fitting that she would return here to do something even bigger.
The First Lord’s transport had eventually docked with the dreadnaught RAN Bellerophon after the hard run to this system. The first time, Jessica had been headed on to Simeon with Denis and the new crew to see if she could break them, or forge them.
A lifetime ago. Several lifetimes.
She looked around the small office she had claimed, down and aft from the ship’s flag bridge. A standard metal desk with old dings that probably told many interesting stories. Oak sidebar for beverages that was currently empty. Two chairs lurked across from her awaiting their next victims.
She still had six minutes until her next meeting. Possibly the most complex of them all. Certainly one of the riskiest. With commensurate potential rewards.
Jessica turned her shoulders past ninety degrees to the right first, and then the left. Pretty good for forty-two years old and working at a desk so much. At least the fighting robot kept her sharp and trim, even if she wasn’t running it above Six very often. Probably needed to change that, going forward. Things were going to get sharp. She would need that killing edge honed.
She rose from the seat and turned to the port on the outer bulkhead, at her left hand. She had left the armored panel closed earlier, to reduce distraction, but she keyed it open now and stared into near space separated only by a hand span of transparent metal, and catching her own reflection in white from the glass as she did.
It took her a moment to locate them all, parked at rest in relation to one another and to Bellerophon, the whole group hiding more than a light hour away from the planet itself. Again secrecy.
Closest was Auberon. SC-006. The Star Controller for First Expeditionary Fleet. Looming like a tremendous whale more than twice Bellerophon’s size. Enormous and powerful, and already out of date, a new-born dinosaur that would eventually need to be retired to a distant, less-dangerous frontier, away from the one she must first challenge.
Needs must, and we had to balance time against secrecy. Certainly, we could have rebuilt her, or built a new one, but not without telling everyone in the galaxy what we were up to. We’ll just have to be better than them, and I’ve got Denis for that.
Below and further away, side by side like two attack dogs on a single leash, VI Ferrata and VI Victrix. Ironclad and Victorious. Robbie Aeliaes and Alber d’Maine, Command Centurions in charge of vessels that could possibly each take on a dangerous dreadnaught like Bellerophon, even though they were barely bigger than battlecruisers.
Below them, forming the point of the triangle, II Augusta. Majestic. Tamara Strnad finally given her opportunity to shine aboard history’s first Expeditionary Carrier, a cold-built variant of her sisters, the Expeditionary Cruisers. Smaller than a Fleet Carrier, but still much more than a Strike Carrier, able to walk right into the middle of battle with Buran and fight as well as any ship in the fleet.
The others were too far away to be more than points of light to the naked eye, but she had no doubt they were out there. Gone were the six destroyers that had been Auberon’s boon companions since launch. In their place, a pack of smaller vessels. Sleeker, faster. Able to achieve sailing feats that would make Tomas Kigali’s mouth water with envy, were he not here now, leading the way.
It had taken the forcible retirement of an obstinate Fourth Lord, but the Republic of Aquitaine Navy was building corvettes again. The first such craft in generations, after the long experiment with cutters and destroyers in their stead.
CA-264. Corvette/Assault. Tomas Kigali in a chariot that killed things, while still being able to easily sail for six months without stopping for food or directions.
Three CE models: 401, 402, and 403. Corvette/Escort. The backbone of the new fleet, the new war with Buran. Armed with a pair of Type-3-Tuned beams, capable of long range sniping or short range hammering, as decided by the commander before the battle began. Further protected by four Type-1-Pulse beams, the variant Moirrey had dreamed up after watching Buran shred the skin of Amsel with a similar weapon. The old Type-1, but with bigger capacitors and more generators in-line behind it. A lethal woodpecker, on defense.
CM-404. Corvette/Minehunter. She didn’t carry any mines herself, but was tuned to detect and shoot them from a very long ways off. No Imperial intelligence had suggested Buran used mines. What good would a net of explosives be, against a vessel that could make impossible leaps from inside a gravity well? But they would learn, soon enough. Moirrey had spent a year studying the logs of St. Legier. And a decade dreaming.
CS-405. Corvette/Scout. The weakest hull of them all, sacrificing both of her Type-3’s for giant sensor arrays, like those off of RAN Ballard, but intended for combat on day one, rather than as a side gig while exploring.
All of those vessels would fit into the array Jessica had built in her head. Battle plans, strategic calculus, logistics trains. Buran could jump right on top of her fleet and attack, but she and Yan would guarantee them a savage mauling in the process, especially when the two Expeditionary Cruisers carried Type-4 beams, in the hands of people who knew how to use them in battle.
No, it was her last meeting today that left Jessica…not concerned, but focused.
Ballard would be joining the mission. There was so little data available, in the way of surveyed routes, that the big Survey Cruiser would be necessary, just to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for future fleets.
But Yan hadn’t limited himself to only thinking about fleet maneuvers and warfare. He’d managed to convince Tad to fund an experiment that Yan eventually wanted to build back home. Jessica, too, perhaps.
CP-406. Corvette/Patrol. A survey carrier, or pocket strike carrier, depending on how you wanted to think about these things. A corvette that kept the forward and aft Type-3-Tuned turrets: Anna and Zebra, and the rear two Type-1-Pulse turrets: Wiley and Yalu. Up front, where Boren and Chester turrets would have resided, a trio of fighter craft perched on external launch rails. It was the smallest mothership Jessica had ever seen, not even a full 1-ring like Petron’s merchants and pirates flew, which usually carried six to eight fighters.
Jessica remembered the conversations with Yan and Nils, when the subject had first come up.
“What kind of a Command Centurion would even know what to do with something like this?” Nils had asked.
“Gimme a pirate,” had been Yan’s grinning response.
Aquitaine didn’t have pirate commanders. Petron did, but none she could recruit and train in the time available. Maybe tomorrow.
So Nils had gone to Third Lord Philips with a vague set of requirements from Yan, and the four of them had culled the resulting list down to a set of candidates.
Nils had selected a rough dozen. Yan had read the stack of files once, pulled one, and handed it to Jessica.
“Her,” was all Yan said, voice registering the sort of intransigence she rarely heard from the man. The kind where he was actually willing to argue with her in public, something he rarely did, generally happy to close the door before voices were raised.
Jessica had flipped the document open and quickly scanned the contents.
Nothing that immediately jumped out at her, but she read closer. Family: check. Education: normal. Scholarship student, but so many were. Academy notes: exceptional, but within normal range. Good ratings from commanders and subordinates both.
“Okay,” Jessica finally had said, unable to identify anything that would move Yan like it did. “Why her?”
“She’s you, ten years ago,” he had said smugly.
“You’ve only known me six,” Jessica had retorted, flipping the file open and reading again.
She quickly gave up and handed the file on to Nils. “I can’t tell. Your opinion?”
Nils had smiled frostily himself, until he started reading. Silent minutes passed before he looked up.
“What are you seeing, Bedrov?” Nils asked in a sharp tone.
“Jess is aggressiveness incarnate,” Yan had said. “That’s good, but a Half-ring Mothership like this needs to balance that with an understanding that sometimes the odds are too long, and you don’t have to win the war with one shot. Sneak up on the bastard and study him. Pounce from an odd angle if you can. Run like hell if you can’t. Our Fleet Centurion here runs just far enough to turn and ambush you, again and again. But this one will find someone, fix them, and then go get the big boys and girls to come in and hammer the guy into the mud. Pirate-think.”
And he had crossed his arms, like the decision was already made.
Ten years ago.
Jessica thought back to when she had just taken command of her first destroyer squadron from the bridge of Brightoak. Had been obliged to surf the politics, spending too much of her time answering to a dilettante Noble Lord, rather than to one of the Fighting Lords. At least until after Third Iger, when that idiot Loncar had finally decided that he had had enough and that Jessica Keller needed to be broken.
Instead, she had been forged.
Jessica had memorized the command centurion’s file that night. She called up the stats now in her head, studying the stars in the window as if looking for inspiration.
Taller than Jessica by a hand span. Considerably paler, of Anglo-European descendant with dark red hair and a stern smile, as if pausing long enough for the camera to do its job was interrupting more serious work she could be doing. Notes about not suffering fools gladly, mixed with a tart tongue that had gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion, balanced by the many people willing to go to bat for her when she did.
Driven.
Yes, that was the description. That was what Yan had seen in the file. Probably not as crazy at risk-taking as Jessica knew herself to be, but this newly-promoted Command Centurion had been marked for possible greatness and guided along the way. Not one of Nils Kasum’s disciples, but she easily could have been.
The woman might end up being one of Jessica’s, which was part of why she found this meeting so unsettling. Jessica’s team had been composed of men and women with her for a long time, colleagues and comrades. Now, she was old enough, senior enough, that she would be training a new generation of students.
Her disciples.
And, in at least one case, a pirate, to hear Yan talk.
A knock at the door.
Jessica turned, but remained by the porthole.
“Come,” she called.
The door opened to reveal Enej, looking serious, and the woman behind him.
“CP-406, Fleet Centurion,” he said simply, standing to one side as he gestured the Command Centurion to enter before he closed the door.
“Sit,” Jessica commanded in a light tone, already taking this other woman’s measure.
Marcelle would be close by, ready to make coffee if needed, but this would be formal. At least at first.
How often do you order a subordinate to “Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war…” to quote Moirrey’s favorite playwright?
Jessica suddenly understood how nervous Nils must have been that day, asking her to set the Cahllepp Frontier on fire.
Command Centurion Jennifer Glenn. The oddest of her commanders, if only compared to the other corvette commanders. On paper, a good match with Alber’ or Tomas for warrior ethos.
Jessica returned to her seat and just studied Glenn for a few moments, aware that the command centurion was returning her gaze just as intently. Like she had done to Nils in those early days.
So do we come full circle.
“We haven’t met before, at least not that I’m aware of, Command Centurion,” Jessica began. “But you come highly recommended by people privy to what I’m about to unleash. I’ve had this meeting with all of the other commanders individually, to make sure they understand my goal and their place in it. What I’m about to tell you does not go beyond these walls…”
Jessica leaned back and watched Command Centurion Glenn absorb all the ramifications. The possibilities. The risks.
The rewards.
“Questions?” Jessica asked simply.
“We’ll be at the very tip of the spear?” Glenn replied. “CP-406, that is, and not just us and Ballard?”
“Correct,” Jessica agreed. “Ballard will be out looking for all the things a Survey Cruiser does. You’ll usually be her escort.”
“And we’ll be the ones to interpose and distract, if we stir up a hornet’s nest,” Glenn completed the thought.
Jessica could see unasked questions on the woman’s face.
“Ask now,” Jessica said. “I’d rather we work all this out today. Yours is likely to be the most open-ended task, compared to everyone else.”
“Yes, it is, sir,” the Command Centurion replied with a stern face. “Why me? What was it in my file that drew the eye, rather than one of the destroyer commanders you have worked with for years?”
Jessica already knew that Jennifer Glenn was the right person for this task. The calm assurance under those words just reinforced those conclusions. She wasn’t plagued by doubt, but rather by concern that she might be missing something the Fleet Centurion expected her, needed her, to be doing.
And doing it right, the first time.
“Yan Bedrov thinks you would have made a great pirate, had you grown up in Petron, Glenn,” Jessica said. “High praise from him. An understanding of which battles to fight, and which to avoid. Or rather, how to sneak up on the bastard and then get out of the way of your ego and come get me when you need to annihilate someone, rather than trying to do it yourself.”
One sharp, curt nod. Nothing more. That sword had gotten home. One of these days, Glenn just might be sitting on this side of the desk having this conversation.
Silence stretched between them. There would be more questions, later, but those would be operational. Tactical in service of the strategic and the logistical.
Winning.
Jessica had her team. Her commanders.
Her Sword. And Moirrey’s Spear.
Now she had to take them into Imperial space. And beyond.