Last Measure of Devotion (TCOTU, Book 5) (This Corner of the Universe) (29 page)

“Their
response, Admiral,” his assistant notified.

Yon
Nguyen’s face appeared apologetic.  “I regret to inform you that Seshafi cannot
accept those terms, Admiral.”

Wallace
waited for more from the short-statured man but no further statements came
other than the Seshafian ships moving into their formations.  He felt ire
rising deep within him.  “I expected better from a Seshafian,” he muttered and
turned to Ladd.  “Record,” he growled.

Wallace
let his sour expression shine through his normally reserved manner.  “You give
me no choice, Yon, than to press forward.”  He pointed at the recording camera
and scolded, “You chose this, Captain.  Not I.  The slaughter that I will reap falls
upon your shoulders, not mine.  Negotiations are concluded.  I will speak to
you again only when you are prepared to submit entirely to your betters.”  He
gestured a cutting motion and stomped back to the holo-tank.  “Bring our ships
into line ahead; have them make their speed point one-three-C.  Execute in
thirty seconds.”

Saden
vessels pivoted expertly in unison.  Moments later, main drives glowed at the
stern of each vessel.  The gradual acceleration to just over a tenth the speed
of light made the fleet’s movements appear deliberate and confident.

Across
the 5
lm
expanse, the Seshafian fleet turned piecemeal before deciding
upon a single heading.  Twenty seconds later, the fleet rotated yet again to a
slightly different course.

Wallace
shook his head in disgust at the composition of his foes.  “Look at that,
Damien,” he said while pointing to the Seshafian rearguard.

“A
corvette and the three freighters?”  The tactician’s face paled.  “Viscount,
they can’t possibly mean to pit that against
Courageux’s
section.”

“Why
would Nguyen insist upon this madness?” Wallace asked rhetorically.  “And why
did he place his only two line ships into the same section?”

“Isn’t
the trailing line ship Ajax?” Dunmore asked.

“It
is.”

Dunmore
smiled darkly.  “Don’t you see, Viscount?  That’s the one commanded by an
outlander.  Vernay, I believe.  Surely you remember how poorly she performed at
Sade?”

Wallace
dipped his head.  “That is an excellent point, Archduke.”  He looked back at the
holo-tank and muttered, “Nguyen is a fool for not sacking that impertinent bitch. 
Damien, reposition Pernach from the rearguard to the van.”

The
man looked at Wallace skeptically.  “Viscount, that will hardly stop the
slaughter…”

“Of
course it won’t,” Wallace acknowledged matter-of-factly.  “But if they wish this
section of space to become an abattoir, then I shall accommodate them.  Roll
all our privateers into the vanguard.  That will give us superior numbers in
both the rear and van.”

“What
of Renown, sir?  Will we permit a brig to face Ajax?”

“Our
Commander Tannault is more than a match for Ajax’s captain.  She’ll most likely
shy from decisive engagement anyway,” he prophesized.  A devious smile spread
across his face.  “Besides, their main is going to be preoccupied.”

The
first two mock-combat passes were performed without fanfare.  Nguyen elected to
avoid any corrective maneuvers inside 50
ls
of the enemy to prevent the chaos
that would be caused by forcing new orders on his sections while they prepared
for their pass.  As a result, the enemy fleets sailed within 3
ls
of each
other on nearly reciprocal courses during both passes.  The exchange of fire,
had there been any, would have lasted a full fifty-three seconds, with sixteen of
those seconds inside the knife-fighting range of GP lasers.  Given the
overwhelming superiority of Wallace’s fleet and the luxury of time to apply
that firepower, it was evident that the Sadens would have easily shattered the
Seshafians except, possibly, in the main.  It had been a grim half hour and although
only phantom shots had been fired during that period, it was clear to every spectator
that Seshafi’s van and rear would soon be occupied by ghosts.

On the
battle bridge, Commodore Cohen sank his face into his hands after witnessing
the latest, disastrous combat run.  “This isn’t going to work,” he muttered
dejectedly.

“They’re
swinging to port, Dennis,” Nguyen said over the command net.  “Help me figure
out how to get them to go starboard!”

Cohen
took his hands away from his face and stared soberly at the facts.  “Captain,
maybe we should consider their terms.  We’re going to have to accept them at
some point anyway… we should do it before you’re all dead.”

“No,”
Nguyen answered adamantly.  “I’m not giving up.”  He grimaced in frustration. 
“Now help me, Dennis.  We need the Saden fleet to go this way and they aren’t
following the plan.”

A shaky,
though confident voice carried through Cohen’s bridge.  “Reverse your course, Yon.”

Every
head on the battle bridge jerked toward the entrance.  Standing at the portal,
assisted by a man in medical scrubs, was Heskan.

“Admiral,
thank the heavens!” Cohen called out in relief.

“Was
that Admiral Heskan’s voice?” Vernay demanded over the open command channel.

Heskan
took an awkward step forward.  Shirtless though heavily bandaged, he leaned on the
doctor as they moved together across the bridge and began the torturous process
of climbing the three stairs leading to the landing around the holo-tank. 
Heskan’s left arm was bound tightly to his chest to minimize the possibility of
reopening his shoulder wound.

When
he finally reached his station, Heskan produced a brave grin.  “It’s not that
easy to get rid of me, Stacy.”  His pallid color belied the assertion.  Heskan
looked around the deathly quiet room.  Every eye was on him.  “Can someone get
me a service coat, please?  Feeling a little self-conscious here.”  He reached
out with his free hand to the console for support.  “Thanks, Doc.  I think I
can stand on my own.”

The
medical officer slowly pulled his arm away but looked grimly at the wounded
man.  “Admiral, there are enough stimulants running through you to wake the
dead but they won’t last forever.  You’re going to crash soon and when you do,
your blood pressure will drop and with the amount of blood you’ve lost, you’re
going to stroke.  You do it here, you’ll die.  You do it in my infirmary and I
might be able to save your life.”

“Garrett…”
Vernay’s concern-laden voice carried over the channel.

“I’m
going to be fine, Doctor.  My shoulder and back just feel a little stiff now,”
Heskan asserted.  He lowered his voice and asked, “How long do I have?”

The
doctor hedged briefly before answering, “The stimulants will wear off in about
half an hour, maybe a little longer.  It depends on your metabolism, really.”

Heskan
glanced at the chronometer.  “Hawk,” he ordered, “come left to
zero-eight-zero.  Negative plane five degrees, increase speed to point one-eight-C. 
Immediate execute.  All sections will follow the van.”  He flinched as someone
draped a service coat over his shoulders.  The rank on the epaulettes was that
of a lieutenant’s.  He pulled it tight near the collar with his right hand and
tried to button it.  He failed.

The next
practice pass was an unconventional mixture of speed and course by the
Seshafian fleet although the result was the same as the earlier suicidal runs. 
This time, however, the poorly positioned rearguard nearly ran through the
Saden formation.  Whether any vessels in Truesworth’s meager, four-ship section
would have exited was doubtful.  The pass, another disaster for Seshafi, pushed
the Saden fleet a farther 19
ls
out-system.

The
final mock pass was an aborted run by the system’s defenders.  Although aligned
better than in the previous run and sailing in relatively good fashion, the
outnumbered fleet seemed to lose heart during the final moments and veered
radically away from their foes.  The Saden fleet cruised victoriously through
the uncontested space before reacting to the abandoned run with a pursuing turn
to port.  The maneuver carried the fleet 14
ls
farther away from
Seshafi’s star and three degrees into the negative plane.

As
both sides reformed into their battle lines, the Seshafian fleet skidded
slightly away from the Sadens, as a skittish animal might shy from its brutal
master.

Heskan
scrutinized the holo-tank and extrapolated time and distance to determine where
the fleet would travel during their final bout of maneuvering. 
Twenty
seconds to rotate, three seconds of thrust…
“Rotate one-eighty and reduce
speed to point one-two-C.  Maintain course.” 
We’re close but I have to get them
closer still
.

“Admiral,
six minutes before zero-hour,” Cohen reminded.

“Thank
you, Dennis.”  Heskan tapped controls on the communications console with his
right hand.  Once the update had processed, he forwarded the file to the SENS officer. 
“Lieutenant De Haas, send this updated order of battle to Wallace, please.”  A quick
check of the ship’s chronometer assured him the update would reach his
counterpart just in time.

“On
the way, Admiral.”

Heskan
noticed his hand was trembling.  He took a deep, calming breath that hurt far more
than it should have. 
Glad I’m in the command ship; I’d never be able to
wear a shocksuit wrapped up like this.
  He steadied himself against his station
to hide a wobble.  Sometime during the practice runs, a junior officer had
placed a chair behind him. 
I have maybe twenty minutes to win the battle.
 
“Attention Seshafi defenders, we do it for real this time.  Each of you knows
your job.  Focus on doing it as well as you can.  Accomplish your individual
task and, together, we’ll win the whole battle.  I believe in you.”

Determined
nods played across each ship captain’s square on the screen before him.  Most of
them were far too focused to respond.  One was not.  Lieutenant Covington
promised in a resolute voice, “The van will lead the way, Admiral…”  He raised
his eyebrows in a fatal acceptance and added anxiously, “Even if we’re short by
a couple of ships.”

Heskan
noted that Wallace had shuffled his forces slightly and moved ships from his rearguard
to his van.  Covington’s pitiful van now faced
Triumph
, a brig and four
snows.  Truesworth’s rearguard was outnumbered by two snows.  Only the opposing
mains looked relatively well-matched.  “Still working on getting you help,
Clayton.  Stout hearts.”

Covington’s
jaunty reply came twenty seconds later.  “You mean iron hearts, sir.”

“Good man,” McDaniel
approved.

*  *  *

“Rotate
to port two degrees,” Wallace ordered firmly.  “Don’t let them open the range.
I want this pass to be an extermination.”

“They’re
pulling our fleet away from us, Admiral,” Ladd noted.

“Then
move the command ship closer,” Wallace spat.  “Isn’t that the obvious
solution?”  He concentrated on the evolving tactical picture and muttered, “I’ll
chase them to Hell if I have to.”

Tiny,
new holograms flared into existence in the holo-tank.  “What is their rearguard
doing?” his assistant asked.  Wallace squinted at the information.  It appeared
almost as if the freighter directly behind that section’s leading corvette was
shedding pieces.

“Are
those lifeboats?” a voice asked from across the bridge.  “Are they abandoning
ship?”

Wallace’s
assistant rocked back in comprehension.  “They’re some type of shuttles.”  His
head tilted.  “To be used in the battle?”

The Red
Admiral snorted derisively.  “Unlikely.  What would be the point?”  He looked
at the tactician and said calmly, “These aren’t the killing fields of the
Republic, Damien.”

The
shorter man continued to gape at the holographic shuttles as they expertly formed
into three groups of five.  “Do they know that?”

A
communications officer broke the brief silence that followed.  “Incoming
message, Admiral.  It’s Seshafi’s order of battle.”

“Forward
it to me at once,” Wallace commanded as he looked down at his console
expectantly.

Next
to him, Ladd announced, “Triumph has entered missile range.  She’s launching.”

Wallace
knew the next call would announce the destruction of the brig facing
Triumph
. 
He quickly opened the newly acquired order of battle and scanned the,
thankfully, properly formatted document.  The original order of battle, given
to him at Nessus, had been a mockery of corporate chivalry.  Hundreds and
hundreds of ships, shuttles, even satellites had been listed as potential
combatants.  A cursory glance at the new document was enough to tell Wallace that
a true Seshafian had compiled this accurate and concise list.

To
his amazement, the freighters in the Seshafian rearguard were, indeed, pressed
civilian ships.  Distressingly, fifteen shuttlecraft were included in the list
as well.  The doomed pilots of those helpless craft would only add to the
dishonor the battle promised to yield.  Wallace noted that Iron Brigade privateers
filled out all but the lead brig in the enemy’s van.  Those ships would be
tough nuts to crack and he felt a twinge of satisfaction that his earlier insight
had led to bolstering his own van by stripping ships from his rearguard.

The imminent
clash between the two mains would offer the closest semblance to an equal battle
in the entire skirmish.  Wallace bit lightly on his lower lip, knowing that
Formidable
and
Renown
were in for a brutal exchange.  However, his main would only
have to suffer the first pass unassisted.  After that, there would be so many gaps
in Seshafi’s line that if they dared insult him with a second offering, Wallace
would have more than enough ships to bolster his main.

The
veteran’s eyes reached the final paragraph of the document.  He reread the simple
subsection but failed to comprehend the meaning at first.  After a second
review, his eyes darted between the order of battle and the specters displayed
inside the holo-tank.  His tally came up three ships short.

(
Link
to the order of battle; there is
a return link after the chart to continue reading.)