Last Measure of Devotion (TCOTU, Book 5) (This Corner of the Universe) (26 page)

The
words stung Heskan hard, making him dizzy. 
I’m losing Dioscuri.  I’m losing
my captaincy.
  He thought back to each of the five warships he had
commanded.  Four were cherished dreams and the fifth, he realized, helped shape
him into the person he was today.  Down a long, dark tunnel, Heskan faintly
heard Covington’s conciliating words.

“I
do not relish insisting upon this, Garrett, but I must indeed, insist.  Every
great general must, eventually, sheath his sword to manage an even greater
weapon behind the frontlines.”

“Think
back to Sade, Captain,” Nguyen urged.  “You know as well as I do that your ship
was unfairly targeted because Admiral Wallace, somehow, knew you were there. 
Think of your sailors.  I know you wouldn’t want to place them under greater
risk than necessary.”

Dammit,
they’re right
. 
Heskan exhaled slowly.  His dreams of commanding a ship slipped away with the
passing breath.  “Fine,” he accepted begrudgingly.  All his life, he had worked
slavishly to become a ship captain.  The time spent actually being one had
passed far too quickly.

Covington
and Nguyen shared a look of relief.  Heskan reflected upon the choreography the
two men had demonstrated. 
Did they discuss this in private first?  How they
would approach the issue?
  The realization that these men felt it necessary
to strategize over the best way to get him to release his grip on
Dioscuri
jolted
him
.  I’m not hard to work with.  I’m not someone who needs pampering… Am
I?  Hurricane Heskan?

“It’s
fine,” Heskan repeated with greater conviction.  “You’re both right.”  Deeper
implications struck him.  “We’ll have to alter our strategy if I’m not
commanding Dioscuri though.”  He glanced at Nguyen.  “I refuse to order you to
commit suicide.”

“That’s
what you were willing to do,” countered Nguyen.

Heskan shot him a
fierce look.  “We’re changing the plan,” he insisted.  A devious smile crept
over his face.  “We’ll make it better.”

*  *  *

“Be
careful,” Truesworth pleaded.

“You’re
the one who needs to be careful,” Selvaggio answered with a shudder.  “Did you
have to volunteer to lead the rearguard?”

“It’s
the rear, Diane,” Truesworth dismissed.  “It’ll be against their weakest ship
section.”

Selvaggio
shook her head.  “It’s still going to be a line ship, Jack, and Dash is just a
corvette!”  She turned from him and brought a hand up to her eyes.  “Why
couldn’t you let a privateer brig do this?”

“Diane,
those ships need to be in the van.  We’re going to be weak somewhere and the
rearguard is the best place.”  He smiled reassuringly and added, “Besides,
Stacy gave me Tyler Pruette and with the angle we’ll come in at, I’ll barely be
in laser range for more than a few seconds.  We just have to knock down those
missiles and you know we can do that.”

“I
still don’t like it,” Selvaggio stated.

“It’s
just one pass.  I promise.”

A
final boarding call sounded over the orbital’s public address.

“I
love you,” Truesworth declared as he hugged his fiancée.

“How
much?” Selvaggio teased playfully as she wrapped her arms around him.

“All
my heart?”

They
broke their embrace and Selvaggio smiled at him.  “That’ll do.  For now.”

She turned and
stepped close to him a final time.  She took him into another deep embrace
while whispering into his ear.  After the affection, she spun away to bound
down the corridor.  Truesworth called out over the ruckus of the departure
terminal.  “And Diane, don’t be late.”

*  *  *

Komandor
Lake looked over the system plot displayed on
Caracaras’
wall screen
with great pride.  A total of twelve ships sailed in perfect formation on their
way toward the tunnel point inside the Devera system.  It was the largest collection
of Secure Solutions ships ever assembled and
he
was commanding it.  Four
brigs, including his own, led the parade of strength like lions strutting in
front of their cubs.  Behind them, five snows filled out the martial portion of
the formation.  Bringing up the rear of the task force were two logistics
schooners and a chartered passenger liner from a Commonwealth transport
company.  The liner had been made a necessity by the sheer number of families
traveling with the military crews.

When
Task Force One had launched from Acca Larentia, Lake half-joked that with the
collection of firepower amassed by Secure Solutions, they could take control of
the Hollaran star system had they wanted.  No single privateering company had mustered
such an awesome display of might since the Corporate Consolidation Wars of 943. 
During the last week of travel, Lake had commanded the most powerful privateer force
in the galaxy.  His nine warships alone could fill the majority of two,
complete ship sections in the upcoming battle against Seshafi.  That in itself
was an impressive accomplishment but adding to the potency of the fearsome
privateer flotilla were the actual crews inside each ship.  Secure Solutions had
spared no effort to ensure the finest ship captains were made available for
Sade.  After months of difficult planning and several delays, the task force was
scheduled to reach Sade a full forty-eight hours before the assault would launch. 
While it was regrettable that the grouping would miss much of the run up to
actual combat, the Secure Solutions hierarchy had deemed it more important to
field an overwhelming force for Sade than set sail with a smaller contingent.  Secure
Solutions’ sterling reputation depended upon this battle.

Lake
ran down the list of his ship captains in his head.  Barrett, Wolfe and Tate each
held distinguished accomplishments in corporate warfare but those three names
paled in comparison to Komandor Nathan Duemth.  Nicknamed “Komandor Doom,” the
legendary buccaneer turned privateer was the only living example of a sailor
outside of the Commonwealth accepted into Secure Solutions’ ranks.  The fabled
komandor had recently come out of his five-year retirement to take part in what
he called, “the single most thrilling battle in Secure Solutions’ history.”  Fortunately
for Lake, Komandor Duemth did not press for leadership of the entire task
force, but merely bumped Komandor Porucznik Barrett from his brig,
Osprey
,
to the snow,
Brassy
.

Lake
reflected on the unprecedented events of Duemth’s return. 
No one inside The
Foster Fifteen dared to say “No” to the man.
  Lake shuddered. 
Well, I couldn’t
have told him no either if he had insisted upon command of the fleet.
  The
honor remained his though, and the list of ship captains serving under Lake was
a who’s who of privateer legends along the entire trailing sector of known
space.

A
deep sigh from the starszy bosman operating the sensor station knocked Lake from
his daydreaming.  “What is it, Casey?”

The man
faced his commander to report, “We’re going to be kicked back in the dive
queue, Komandor.  There’s a squadron of three black space ships angling in from
Devera Four and they’re going to beat us to the Vica Pota tunnel point by about
twenty minutes.”

Lake
gritted his teeth at the unwelcome news and muttered, “You’d think commanding a
twelve-ship task force would give me priority.”  He leaned back into his chair
and exhaled a cleansing breath to release the building frustration.  “No
matter, here and Vica Pota are the only likely places we’ll face a queue and we’ve
got forty-eight hours built into the schedule.  Maintain course but keep me posted.”

Lake
returned his attention to the system plot, fantasizing of the tall tales he
would tell his children about the looming event….

“Komandor.”

Lake
shook himself as he was torn from internal revelry.  A casual glance at the
chronometer told him just over thirty minutes had elapsed.  Lake looked
irritably toward his sensorman.  “Let me guess, Casey.  You got a message that
we’re delayed.”

“Not
yet but we do have a message from those other ships.  It’s a communications
request though, not a simple relay.”

Lake’s
eyebrows shot upward in surprise but an unabashed smile spread over his lips as
understanding struck him.  “No doubt the locals are impressed with our show of
force.” 
How could they not be?  My fleet is writing privateer history.
 
Lake grappled to recover his bearing and forced a stern expression on his face. 
After he was sure of his sufficiently harsh countenance, he ordered in a
booming voice, “Put it on the main wall screen.”  The corners of his mouth threatened
to turn upward as he added, “In fact, play it across the task force main
channel.  I want every ship to witness this.”

Caracaras’
main screen flickered from the
dry utilitarianism of its system plot to the arresting image of a komandor
porucznik.  Lake’s gruff demeanor morphed coquettishly at the sight of the
exquisite Hollaran officer and the tone of his voice deepened.  “Greetings,
Komandor, this is Komandor Beau Lake of Secure Solutions Task Force One.”  He
raised a playful hand up and waved a finger near his charming smile.  “No need
to be alarmed, we aren’t invading Vica Pota.”

The
Hollaran’s New Roman accent only piqued Lake’s interest further but the
contempt inside her words left him speechless.  “The entire Commonwealth
breathes easier then,
Komandor
.”  The way the woman spat out his rank was
akin to one spitting out poison.

Lake
stared at
Caracaras’
wall screen, stunned into uncertainty.

“I
am Komandor Porucznik Isabella Lombardi, commanding HCS Tikoloshe.  Your fleet
will heave to and prepare to be boarded for a routine ship’s inspection as
provided under Commonwealth naval and commercial safety regulations.”

Lake
gaped stupidly at his screen in failed understanding.

The
olive-skinned Hollaran waited impatiently before prompting, “This is where you
comply with my order,
Privateer
.”

Lake
felt his eyes drop to his chair arm console.  His gaze flickered over his
communications module. 
My God, I’m broadcasting this to the entire fleet…
to Komandor Duemth!
  He summoned up all the righteous anger he could muster
and opened fire.  “This is an outrage, Komandor!  Secure Solutions vessels
haven’t been subject to your safety inspections for decades now and I will
not
heave to like so much a rusty mineral hauler just to satisfy some perverse ego
trip.”  Lake leaned to his right and began to motion toward his sensorman to
kill the connection.

Lombardi’s
voice seemed almost disinterested.  “WEPS, prepare to fire the Issics.  Give
them one warning shot and then erase their flagship from existence.  Perhaps
Lake’s vice will be smarter than he.”

Lake
jumped from his chair.  His rage-filled voice reverberated off the walls of his
bridge.  “You would not
dare
fire upon a fellow Hollaran, Komandor!”

To his
dismay, his indignant outburst served only to provoke the Hollaran squadron
commander into fits of laughter.  The sable-haired beauty pivoted left and
asked a figure off-screen, “Kapitan Benedetti, why do Hollarans keep saying
that to me?”

The
woman’s perplexing reaction once again shocked Lake back into silence.  He
began to question whether the exchange was actually a dream.  The surreal situation
rapidly became very believable when the volatile komandor returned her malevolent
gaze to him and swore, “I will wipe your toy fleet from space and sleep well
tonight, Hollie.”  She leaned forward and grinned a madwoman’s grin.  “Test me
on this.  I dare you.”

The
animosity of her glare made Lake want to seek shelter.  The truth inside her
words chilled him to his core. 
This woman is a psychopath.
  “Navigator,”
he squeaked out, “bring the formation to a halt.”

Lombardi’s
grin became only slightly less malicious.  “
Meglio tardi, che mai.
There now, was that so
difficult, Komandor?  Prepare to be boarded.”

“Madam
Komandor,” Lake said plaintively, “please be swift with your inspection.  This
fleet is headed—”

The woman interrupted
him with a wave of her hand.  Her words seemed innocent enough but there was a primal
glee in the tone behind them.  “I know exactly where you are headed, Komandor,
and who you intend to fight.”  Brown eyes flashing, she smiled an unbalanced
grin.  “I regret to inform you, you will not make it.”

Admiral
Wallace bowed respectfully to the man who held IaCom in the palm of his hand. 
“Your Grace,” he greeted.  “To what do I owe this honor?”

Archduke
Riston Dunmore entered Wallace’s lavish office and headed for the large planning
table shunted to one side of the room.  The office was adorned with priceless
nautical antiques, including an authentic ship’s teak wheel that harkened back
to the age of sail.  Dunmore acknowledged the motive for his admiral’s
nostalgia but saw no purpose to it.  IaCom’s space fleet held a closer
similarity to her terrestrial air force than any wet navy.  “I come with
disturbing news, Oliver,” Dunmore declared, but then let a silence hang between
them.

Wallace
had learned long ago not to press for more information.  Instead, the Lord of
the Admiralty walked around his desk to meet IaCom’s CEO at the planning
table.  On its surface was a virtual representation of the upcoming battle
against AmyraCorp.  The fleet in IaCom’s order of battle stood almost thirty strong. 
Their rivals numbered only an estimated eleven warships.  That total was
uncertain given Seshafi’s frustrating response to the Saden
casus bellum
. 
It had taken several days to parse through the tome to glean all the information
hidden within it.

The
planning table displayed the battlefield next to the list of combatants.  The
location was empty space.  No asteroid belts or other remarkable features
existed within its confines that might alter the battle.  However, to Wallace’s
irritation, it was yet another annoyance inserted into Seshafi’s response.  The
battlespace was not to be at the customary seven light-minutes from the
aggressor’s arriving tunnel point but halfway across the star system, practically
on top of the tunnel point leading to Ugrit.  It was nothing more than a petty
jab by a corporation that knew its days of self-determination were coming to an
end.  Even more irritating than the inconvenience of having to trek his fleet
across the Seshafi system to the far tunnel point was the inevitable disruption
to trade that would take place.  Civilian traffic would be prohibited transit
to and from Ugrit during the battle’s duration.  Wallace staunchly believed it
was poor form to let corporate war interfere with commerce.

He
looked over the myriad of fleet maneuvers decorating the table’s screen and the
multitude of ship section compositions that he might order.  Thirty ships made
for a hearty battle line and his reserve would be a force in itself.

Dunmore
pointed at Wallace’s ship listings.  “There.  That will have to undergo
adjustment.”

Wallace
felt his left eyebrow arch upward.  “Pray tell, your Grace.”  The Red Admiral
noticed that the knuckles of the archduke’s curled fingers had begun to turn
white.

“Secure
Solutions has been delayed, most likely indefinitely.”

“What?”
Wallace exclaimed loudly.  “They represent almost half my fleet!”

“Tone,
Viscount,” Dunmore cautioned in a mildly threatening voice.  “We’ve received
word that the Commonwealth’s navy has reinstated the inspection of Secure
Solutions ships inside its territory.  Why reinstate it now, especially when a free
travel agreement between them exists…well, existed, we don’t know.  Naturally,
I have requested clarification from the Commonwealth regarding the curious timing
of its new policy but the response will come well after our battle has occurred
and be moot.”

Wallace
felt a headache rapidly approaching as he stared at the planning table.  “Half
my fleet, swept away.”

“
Our
fleet, Oliver,” Dunmore corrected.  “Those ships are paid for by IaCom.  You
are merely their custodian.”  The CEO examined Wallace from across the table. 
“Now, you can defeat Seshafi, correct?”

Wallace’s
response was a confident one.  “Of course.  We have more line ships.  We have
more total ships.  And we have my genius.”

“Genius
that triggered a most distasteful court proceeding,” Dunmore riposted.

“That
would never have happened if not for that man,” Wallace insisted.

“But
it did happen, Oliver,” Dunmore said pointedly.  “You personally promised me a
quick victory if I were to grant you free hand.  You’ve failed to deliver and
that failure has created an ugly and costly conflict that we can ill-afford to
lose.”  Dunmore placed both hands on the table’s surface and looked angrily at
his admiral.  “The Board’s confidence in you has been shaken, Oliver.  Mine as
well.”

Wallace
felt his face flush red in anger.  “Your Grace, I have delivered success after success
for the Board.”  He tapped a finger to his chest as he boasted, “My standing
among the corporate worlds... the entire spectrum of humanity, is one based
upon triumph and conquest.  This outlander threatens the impeccable reputation
I have advanced through victories—”

Dunmore
shouted angrily over his subordinate.  “Make no mistake, Viscount.  You advance
your status through the Board’s good graces.”  The executive’s scolding tone whipped
Wallace into silent submission.  “And your reputation is only as good as we determine
it to be.”

Wallace
cringed at his CEO’s outburst and cursed internally at the realization that the
booming reprimand had probably traveled past the sanctity of his office. 
Silence, once again, stretched between the men.

“I’m
sailing with you to Seshafi, Oliver,” Dunmore announced.

Wallace
started to reply but thought better of it.

“When you supply us
our victory,” Dunmore continued, “I will negotiate the final terms of amalgamation. 
It’s become clear that those stakes are above your level of understanding.”

*  *  *

“Ladies
and gentlemen, Rear Admiral Heskan,” Captain Nguyen announced inside the
conference room.  The simple proclamation brought the table of ship captains to
rigid attention.

Heskan’s
reply returned from the doorway.  “As you were, please be seated.”  He walked
the length of the long table toward his place at its head.  Once seated, he
scanned the room’s occupants.  Thirteen pairs of eyes looked back him.  “This
is it,” Heskan said simply.  “This will be our final briefing.”

Heskan
saw genuine concern in the faces of his fellow sailors.  The fortnight leading
up to the battle scheduled for tomorrow had been a whirlwind of activity.  Even
without forsaking the customary banquet, every ship captain and sailor knew
this battle would be different.  The foolish optimism that existed two weeks
ago had quickly eroded with the growing appreciation for how severely outmatched
they were.  Hollow ship sections validated each captain’s foreboding during the
spate of fleet exercises.

Of
Seshafi’s three sections, only the main held a full complement of six ships.  Under
the command of Captain Nguyen on
Dioscuri
, the main was fortified with
not only Commander Tannault’s brig,
Falcon
, but also Vernay’s fourth-rate,
Ajax
.  Before the exercises had begun, Nguyen expressed a deep
reservation about placing
Ajax
inside the main, positioned as the second
ship in the section.  To corporate eyes, the line ship’s highly unusual
assignment would be a clear indictment of that ship captain’s abilities.  Nguyen
had suggested that it might be wiser to relieve Commander Vernay than have her
suffer the humiliation of her line ship languishing ingloriously behind another
vessel.

Heskan
had dismissed Nguyen’s assertions and countered that Seshafi needed at least
one section that could win decisively on the initial pass.  It was his hope
that the main’s success would carry the entire fleet to victory.  When Nguyen doubted
Heskan’s assertion that Commander Vernay would see things his way, Heskan had
immediately called the petite ship captain to his office.  In front of both
Nguyen and the admiral, she unequivocally stated, “All I care about is
winning.”

Heskan
could have predicted such a positive response from his friend.  Since his
promotion to rear admiral and the subsequent announcement that he would command
the fleet from the C-3 ship, Vernay had become unshackled.  Upon first hearing
the news, she had uncharacteristically and quite unexpectedly thrown herself
into a firm hug around Heskan while boldly declaring that it was about time he positioned
himself where his sailors needed him most.

Since
then, her buoyant attitude had not wavered in the slightest.  Through each of
the fourteen days of rigorous exercises, Vernay had led the other ship captains
in spirit, despite her ship sailing second in the main.  When any ship captain
expressed doubt, she countered with unshakeable confidence.  If a battle pass
during an exercise ended in obliteration, as they frequently did, she remained
a steadfast and immoveable anchor of support and assurance that fed the other
captains.  Thinking back to her resolve over the last weeks, Heskan’s eyes tracked
instinctively to Vernay, seated immediately to his left.  Her blue eyes shone
back at him and a dangerous smile played over her lips.  The woman had somehow
found an inner reserve of strength that had erased her prior battle fatigue.  She
was poised to strike, eager to vanquish any obstacle that stood in her way.

Vernay
was not the only beacon of optimism, merely the brightest.  Commanding
Seshafi’s vanguard from
Hawk
, Lieutenant Clayton Covington’s limitless
faith in his fleet admiral became the cornerstone bracing his understrengthed
section.  Heskan had been sure about the composition of his main, but he had
expressed uncertainty to Nguyen about one of his best ship captains commanding
a vanguard otherwise comprised solely of privateer ships.  Would the move be
seen as a slight to Covington’s abilities?  This time, Nguyen reassured Heskan
that such worries were unwarranted and that commanding a section of privateers
held the same esteem as heading a section of natives.  The decision was a
shrewd one, Nguyen added.  Covington’s hard-charging but relatively inexperienced
leadership style would be reinforced and tempered by the Iron Brigade captains he
would be overseeing.

Although
the vanguard was composed of only four ships, Heskan hoped that the mixture of
enthusiasm and experience might carry the section against what would surely be
superior numbers.  Farther down the table from Heskan, Lieutenant Covington sat
next to the leader of the Iron Brigade, Commander Frankfort McDaniel.  The two individuals
had bonded into a strong duo during the exercises.  The crafty privateer had
taken the Seshafian under his wing and Covington was blossoming into a lethal
leader. 
Hawk
would need such a captain, Heskan knew. 
Surely, his brig
will face a ship of the line.
 Heskan felt a shudder pass through him at
the thought.

If
the vanguard was going to be outmatched by its counterpart, the rearguard seemed
destined to be eclipsed.  The Seshafian rear had exercised the entire two weeks
with a paltry three ships.  It was a brutal necessity as operational security took
priority over exercise results.  Heskan looked at Truesworth, the rearguard’s
section leader, with rueful eyes. 
His ships just have to stay alive for a
single pass,
Heskan reminded himself. 
Nothing more than that.

The
seemingly simple defensive task would require superhuman effort.  Not only
would Truesworth’s corvette square off against a line ship, the rest of the
pitiful three-ship section currently contained only the two pressed freighters
from the Ugrit system.  The freighters had been refitted over the last five
months to increase their survivability, but the modifications had been so hasty
and extensive that general purpose lasers fitted to their bows and sterns were
not operational.  The emphasis of the refit was protecting the crew and there
had simply not been enough time to install the control systems required to
operate the weaponry.  
Just survive,
Heskan repeated to himself as he
looked at Lieutenants Donovan and Carver, the two officers who had valiantly
volunteered to command the impotent ships.

Heskan
found himself clearing his throat lightly.  A sizeable lump had grown there during
his inspection of his officers, and he struggled to find the right words.

Unable
to withstand the uncomfortable silence, Nguyen started.  “What is the situation
with Lagrin?”

“Both
good and bad news,” Heskan answered.  “The third freighter will arrive tonight
and we will use it for the battle.  I’ll insert it into the rearguard to bring
Jack’s section up to four ships.”

Truesworth
nodded with great relief, as he understood the deeper meaning.

Across
the table, Commander Tannault asked, “And what about the Colossus-class snows? 
Are they coming as well?”

Heskan
grimaced.  “No.”

Every
head dropped around the conference table, some lower than others.

“Lagrin
fell behind schedule on their repairs too,” Heskan explained.  “And they’re
demanding nearly twice as much as we originally agreed to.”  This was truth. 
An unexpected bill had arrived ten days ago from Unadex’s Shipping and Repair
Company citing a lengthy list of unanticipated expenses incurred to rebuild
Ravana
,
Rindr
and
Anakim
.  The invoice was little more than a ransom
demand that Seshafi had no choice but to pay.

“Damn,”
Tannault cursed a touch too loudly.