Eagle (Jacob Hull) (21 page)

Jacob closed his eyes and tried not to think of all the people who would die along with the craft. The refugee ship was likely packed full of civilians, straining the life support to fit as many people as possible. There could be as many as ten thousand casualties aboard that one craft—men, women, children. All of them murdered just to prove a point.

Then he heard a gasp from one of the other officers, and Jacob’s eyes snapped open. Tsokashi’s freighter had changed course, coming around in a much tighter turn that had to be straining the structure of the craft. The projected course of the freighter curved in a much smaller arc, and Jacob’s jaw dropped open as he realized where it was headed. “No.”

Tsokashi’s ship continued its turn and rotated as well, deliberately placing the broad hull of the craft between the refugees and the missiles. Its heat signature flared, as if the Oathbound aboard her were disabling her heat sinks to draw the targeting computers of the missiles toward them. The gamble worked. First one, then two, then all of the projectiles changed course slightly, tracking the Oathbound craft. A few twitched
as if operators onboard the San Marcos ships were trying to correct the mistake, but there was too little time.

A transmission came in, and Jacob acknowledged it without taking his eyes from the image. He heard Tsokashi’s voice, calm and without regret. It was a sharp contrast to the missile warning alerts pulsing in the background.
“Tsokashi to High Admiral Hull. Tell my son how I lived. Tell him what I gave my life for.” The Ship Handler paused, and he raised his voice, as if addressing the rest of the universe. “We kept the Oath. Our guns lay silent. To the end!”

The first missile bored in from above the freighter. It exploded at ideal range, spraying the entire craft with fragments that chewed the light armor of the ship to tattered shreds. The impact alone was enough to kill everyone aboard; atmosphere and fire leaked from a dozen breaches, and no merchant craft had the kind of damage control a warship would need to survive a similar hit. Unless someone had managed to reach an escape pod or shuttle, they would all be dead or dying. Still, some part of Jacob grasped at the hope he might see a pod launch, or someone, anyone might still cling to life amid the ruined corridors of the ship. That somehow, someone might survive to be rescued by the
destroyers  were just barely out of reach.

Then a second missile arrived and obliterated that hope. It struck directly amidships from much closer in, and the explosion ripped a terrible hole through the craft. Plasma from the ship’s fusion reactor fountained out in a stream of light. Two more missiles hit a heartbeat later, breaking the ship into a spreading wave of wreckage and fire. What had once been a vessel full of people, a ship that had carried them through the stars and brought them to a new, safe home in the Celostian Union, became a cloud of debris engulfed the remaining missiles. None of the projectiles survived the chaotic barrier, and their blasts only fed the flames for a few more moments before the atmosphere was finally spent.

Jacob didn’t know how long he stared at those flickering, dying fires. The entire command center was utterly silent, with most of the officers staring at the tactical display. One or two of them turned away in horror; Jacob could see at least one older officer with tears running down his face. Then a young lieutenant whispered into the silence, half to herself. “Why? Why the hell would they do that?”

Then the speakers crackled as the destroyers reported in. “This is the
Bulldog
, we are now in position to screen the refugees. Reading no survivors, repeat, no survivors from
Fresh Hope
. Beginning holding pattern.” On the display, a second burst of missiles streamed out and were met by countermeasures from the Celostian warships. Flechettes sped to intercept missiles as they curved; flares and jamming befuddled their sensors.

Jacob’s shock finally faded, and in its place he felt an anger that filled him with an ice like he’d never known. His voice was cold when he spoke.
“High Admiral to
Bulldog
. Negative. Engage the enemy and destroy them before they riftjump out of the system.”

“Sir?
We’re to engage?”

There was another silence, but this time the officers turned to stare at Jacob. He could see the disbelief in some of their expressions, but others looked as if they were coming out of the shock and discovering the same, feral need to fight. His eyes went back to where Tsokashi had died, and his voice was firm.
“Confirmed,
Bulldog
. Engage and destroy.”

The destroyers swept in at the modified freighters, who unleashed a third volley of missiles. Again, the destroyers wiped them out, and then the Celostian warships’ course must have registered with the San Marcos ships. A frantic transmission reached
Eagle
, not from Carmichael this time, and Jacob heard fear in the separatist officer’s voice “This is the
SMS Griffon
to Celostian destroyers. Do not approach any closer or we’ll fire! Repeat, do not approach.”

Jacob touched a control, waiting until just before the destroyers reached the range where their railguns could go to work. He let every bit of his anger bleed into each word. “The Celostian Navy does not take orders from murderers. Surrender your ships, or die.”

Then Jacob sat back, enjoying a vicious sense of satisfaction as both sides opened fire with railguns, missiles, torpedoes, and plasma lances. Yet even as he watched the San Marcos raiders lurch and fall back, their thin hulls torn and their weapons broken, Jacob felt heaviness fall across him. Whatever the outcome of the skirmish, and however justified, he’d just started another war, and one his nation could ill-afford. Yet he’d made his decision.

Time would tell if he would live long enough to regret it.

Chapter Twenty

“From what we are able to tell, the Collective sent these people out to die.” Paz Banks’ image flickered, as if the transmitter she was using to communicate with the
Eagle
was having a hard time maintaining the signal. Given the state of the rest of the equipment on the newly arrived San Marcos refugee ships, Jacob had no trouble suspecting their communication center was on the edge of complete failure.

“The supplies onboard these ships are completely unsuitable for any long journey, and they don’t have half of what they would need to set up an orbital habitat somewhere. By our best estimates they would have been running out of both food and fuel after just two days. They barely made it here as it was.”

Jacob fought to contain a flicker of anger at the report. The spacer in him found it all too easy to picture what it would have been like, trying to find some refuge while the food ran out and the reactor went cold, alone out in the dark. “Have we confirmed they are all political dissidents from San Marcos, then? I can’t imagine any of them left voluntarily on a one way trip.”

Paz nodded. “That is correct, High Admiral. All the people I’ve spoken to were forced onboard these vessels. They were given no chance to collect their own supplies, to gather personal belongings, or to say goodbye to anyone left on San Marcos. The Collective was not careful to keep families together either; we are still trying to reunite several parents with their children, and there are many family members still missing. They might have been kept on San Marcos, either placed in internment camps or otherwise kept in captivity.”

Suppressing another spike of hatred for Carmichael and his band of thugs, Jacob forced his voice to stay level. “Is there any chance more refugees are on the way, or are we looking at all of them here?”

“I believe this was the first and final wave, High Admiral.” Paz’s expression grew hard. “After what happened here, I doubt the Collective will want to repeat the gesture.”

“You’re probably right.” At least, Jacob hoped that was the case. The armed merchantmen hadn’t fared very well against the Celostian destroyers. While the
SMS Griffon
had managed to riftjump out of the system—frustratingly taking the vaunted Governor of San Marcos with it—several other modified freighters had not been so lucky. All in all, nearly a dozen of the Collective ships had been destroyed outright, and most of those that had managed to riftjump away had been heavily damaged.

Even if it hadn’t been an overwhelming victory for the Navy, the actions of the Oathbound during the fight had made the situation that much worse for the separatists. The former Odurans formed a barrier of sorts with their ships, guarding the slower, less capable ships of the San Marcos refugees from their former brethren. It would have been brave enough to do with armed vessels, but the Oathbound had no weapons and no real defenses. The only thing they could hope to do to protect the inbound refugees was offer themselves up as targets, and Jacob still felt his blood run cold as he remembered their determination to do just that if necessary.

As a result, people throughout the Union were embracing the former Odurans as true examples of courage, and Ship Handler Tsokashi had been elevated to the level of a national hero. At the same time, sympathy for the tyrants in San Marcos had all but vanished, leaving the separatists almost completely isolated from the rest of the Union. Descriptions of the desperate state of the refugees they had cast out would only worsen the problem, and Jacob had no doubt Carmichael was now cursing his reversal of fortune.

Not that Jacob was anywhere near satisfied. Carmichael would have to be brought to justice before Jacob would be truly happy with the day’s events, and he knew it would take a lot more fighting and a lot more casualties before that would happen.

All the same, Paz Banks and the rest of the Oathbound had definitely proved their worth to the Union. Suddenly aware he had been quiet in thought for too long, Jacob returned his attention to the image of the Oduran leader. “Please let me know if there are any issues in transporting them to the surface, or any supplies you need. We will try to help out as best we can.”

“Thank you.” Paz hesitated, her expression uncertain and uncomfortable. “The provisions here will be enough for the time being, but we may soon be facing some shortages. I…dislike asking for more assistance, especially when the Union has already been so generous toward us, but…”

“I understand.” Jacob glanced at the clock set into his desk, then turned his attention back to her. “The next message drone I send will be to the High Seat. Send whatever you need to me, and I will pass it on to Celostia.”

“Thank you, High Admiral. May you be watched over in your
trials.” With that final pronouncement, the leader of the Oathbound turned off the transmitter. Jacob stepped back and made a note to send an update to Celostia the first chance he had. For now, there were other problems that demanded his attention.

“The
Bulldog
sustained some minor damage from railgun fire, but not nearly as bad as the
Retriever
.” Captain Gregor paused, and he carried some amount of the weariness in his expression. “Casualties appear to have been light. We’ve given the new armor concept another good workout again.”

“Something to not make a habit of, Captain.”
Jacob lessened the rebuke with a small smile. “All the same, your squadron performed admirably. I will make sure the Board receives a good report on your action today.”

Gregor saluted, and Jacob returned the gesture before ending the call.

Shaking himself out of his grim mood, Jacob turned to the next report on his agenda. It seemed like there was a never-ending flood of paperwork to deal with, each with some inflated level of priority. Somehow he’d never imagined the responsibility of the highest commander in the Navy involved so much desk-work, but he supposed someone had to do it.

A knock on the doorframe dragged Jacob’s attention off of his console. He looked up and saw Al-shira stepping through the hatch and saluting.
“Captain Naomi Al-shira, reporting for duty, Sir.”

Jacob was lost just looking at her, and it took a moment for her words to register. He stood up and returned her salute, then motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Reporting for duty? I was under the impression you saw your duty elsewhere, Captain.”

“Circumstances changed.” Al-shira gave him a tight smile, crossed the room, and took a seat. “Admiral Borgens ran into me on Celostia and decided I would make an ideal courier. I’ve brought you the code alterations the Admiralty Board discussed at your last meeting.” She handed him her personal reader.

“Oh. Good.” Jacob took the reader and hooked it into his console. Then he looked up. “Did you have any success with the records?”

Al-shira shook her head, “No. Yeseti—or her friends—managed to clean them out. Both Admiral Borgens and I felt I could be of more use here, directing the Intelligence efforts against the Collective.”

Jacob grunted. “Yeah, we could use the help.” He gestured to his reports. “We’re more or less already at open war with the Collective, though I wouldn’t feel comfortable attacking the system directly yet. All the same, I wonder how long it will be before we see an official alliance with the Odurans.”

She frowned. “At this point, would that be such a bad thing?”

He stared at Al-shira. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Remember the plan we had set up before Yeseti’s ambush?” Al-shira grinned broadly. “How much better would it be to catch both the Odurans and the separatists in the same trap together?”

“So you think we can still trap them, even with Yeseti telling them about the trap?” Jacob felt a flicker of hope.

“We can if we make the intelligence look compelling enough.” Al-shira gestured to the star map that showed Tiredel. “We likely have a bunch of San Marcos operatives ripe for the disinformation here. All we have to do is set up a scenario where they think Tiredel is much more vulnerable than the other areas they could hit.”

Something inside Jacob felt terrible at using Tiredel as the bait. It was clear the Oathbound had already suffered so much, and now they had the extra burden of the new refugees to carry. How much more could the Union ask of them?

He hesitated. “Does it have to be Tiredel? Can’t we try to lure them elsewhere?”

Al-shira frowned. “The only other options are Erad or New Manassas. The people of Erad have already suffered through quite a lot, and as inviting a weak spot as it may be, Admirals Borgens and Siddiqui have been making quite a lot of effort to build up the
defenses in as obvious a way as possible. New Manassas would be an excellent place, but it was also where you were planning the original ambush. Yeseti will be extremely skeptical of anything that comes to her from that area.”

“Out of all our options, Tiredel would be the most advantageous to them in terms of symbolism. Sessors would be able to claim she had avenged Gates and his task-force, Carmichael will want to chase down his dissidents and finish them. Both of them would be able to wipe out the Oathbound, who they see as a threat.” Al-shira paused. “And, of course, if they attack Tiredel soon, it would give them both the chance to kill you.”

He smiled broadly. “I’ve done something to upset them, have I?”

She rolled her eyes.
“One of your greatest talents, Ironsides. If I had a dust ball for every person you’ve managed to enrage, I could form a planet.” Then she grew more serious. “I don’t especially like it either, Jacob. The refugees here deserve more than a chance to be used as bait, but this is our best chance to end the war. If we manage to pull this off, they won’t have to worry about an Oduran fleet appearing in their sky to bombard their world, or a separatist fleet attacking their ships. Peace would make the risk worth it.”

For another moment, Jacob fought her reasoning. Then he forced his own feelings aside. War did not offer him the luxury of only doing things he could be completely comfortable with—and it would hardly be the first time he’d had to send someone he cared about into a dangerous situation. “I would still prefer to prevent the alliance beforehand. Are there already indications he’s started working with the Odurans more closely?”

Al-shira nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely. Right after the battle here, Carmichael started sending message drones out to every Union system nearby. In his broadcasts, he was careful to claim Navy abuses lead to the battles in Kryshaen and Tiredel. The man even accused the Navy of attacking peaceful envoys of the Oduran League in an attempt to stir up conflict and justify our control of the Union.”

Jacob snorted in disgust. “Not something anyone in the Union would easily believe, but definitely something the Odurans would want a friend to say. He’s making them out to be the victims of our aggression so he can sell an alliance to his people and any potential allies in the Union.”

“Exactly.” Al-shira shrugged. “I’d say they’ve already made an alliance, but they are still keeping it quiet. Sessors has probably already gathered a task force of some kind to send against us, if only to reassure her new friends, and it will be underway sooner rather than later. We’ll be hearing all sorts of ‘joint operations in the interest of self-defense’ nonsense from both of them right around the time it shows up, and then they’ll kick off a new round of assaults from San Marcos.”

Jacob exhaled slowly. “So the Odurans get a forward base, just like they’ve always wanted, and the people of San Marcos get to leave the Union behind for the League.” He forced a smile. “At least we know where they will show up first.”

“The question is if we can convince them to come here once they arrive. If we can do that, then we can trap the lot of them at once.” Al-shira gave him a grim smile. “So what do you think?”

“It’s the best plan I’ve heard.” Jacob gave her a knowing look. “I’m assuming you already have a plan to start things off?”

Al-shira chuckled. “You know me too well, Jacob.” She held out a hand for her reader, and he handed it over to her. “I think we should start by trying to identify which agents have infiltrated Tiredel. They may not have come in with the refugees like we originally thought, but Carmichael and Yeseti have definitely put people in place. From what I’ve heard, they’re already beginning to cause trouble down there.”

Jacob blinked. “I thought we had a pretty good handle on the situation. All the military stations on Tiredel were warned about the possibility. How are they getting to our facilities if our forces already knew they were coming?”

“They aren’t going after our facilities, Jacob.” Al-shira gestured at the bulkhead, frustrated. “They’re hitting water filtration sites, heating stations, power grid junctions, food distribution centers…” She trailed off and grimaced, as if she had tasted something sour and disagreeable. “We were prepared for attacks on our military facilities down there. There aren’t many of those, and the networks they’ve set up aren’t concentrated enough to overcome our security. What we weren’t expecting was for the bastards to spend their time making life on the planet generally miserable for the civilians—especially the Oathbound and the newcomers. Anything supporting the civilians is a prime target for them.”

Suddenly, Jacob could understand her expression. “So they aren’t trying to gain anything militarily. They’re just causing chaos and suffering wherever they can.” The sheer hatred of those agents was incredible. How could they justify something like this? “Can you put a stop to them? Get rid of the whole lot?”