Rebel (35 page)

The Empress had left four old battleships there. Metzburg
had risked sending an invasion fleet built around six battleships, two of them fairly new. The battle had been hard fought until the
Bavaria
blew up, taking the fight out of the Empress’s other three. Still, the
Sachsen
and
Baden
were hard hit.

So they were sent to St. Petersburg as reinforcements, thank you so very much.

When Vicky remarked upon that, Admiral von Mittleburg just laughed.

“You should see the three battleships that surrendered. They’ll be joining the Metzburg Reserve Fleet as soon as they can patch them back together. I made sure the fleet at Metzburg learned of Captain Bolesław’s little trick of targeting the same place on their opponent’s hide. I’m not sure they did as well as the
Retribution
did around Brunswick, but it was good enough. By the way, the
Cobra
just jumped back into the system, right after our new battleships.”

“Wrecks of battleships,” Vicky insisted.

“Well, I think the
Cobra
’s dispatches will cheer you up. I am to be a vice admiral, and your Captain Bolesław will raise a rear admiral’s flag on
Retribution
.”

“Good for him,” Vicky said. “Will I be rousted out of the admiral’s quarters to make way for him?” From her time in the Navy, Vicky had learned that few fair winds didn’t blow somebody ill.

“He can’t. You outrank him, Your Grace. Admiral Waller has promoted you to vice admiral, a fraction of a second ahead of me.”

For one of the rare times in her life, Vicky found herself speechless.

“Lieutenant commander to vice admiral in one long jump,” she finally stuttered.

“I’ve heard that historically, revolutions tend to leave sudden promotion openings for those who don’t lose their heads.”

“Yeah,” Vicky said, still trying to take the measure of this sudden gift.

“Face it, young lady, you have been amazingly successful in your direction and timing of this bit of political theater. You haven’t done at all bad using what few ships you had.”

“It was Captain, I mean Admiral Bolesław’s idea that won us the battle at Brunswick.”

“Yes, and you didn’t joggle his elbow but used his tactics
and victory to allow you to bring another important planet onto our side.”

“Keeping my mitts off the control stick has been my main job,” Vicky pointed out.

“Keeping your mitts off the machinery is something you have learned to do, as well as knowing just the right moment to put your nose into our business. You have done well. Admiral Waller has chosen to promote you. Enjoy it while you can.”

Vicky chose to change the subject. “Admiral Waller managed to make it out of Anholt ahead of my stepmother’s Imperial Guards?”

“Barely.” Admiral von Mittleburg got suddenly serious. “His wife was caught during her escape. The Marines escorting her out died to a man defending her. The Empress slit her throat personally and sent the video to Bayern.”

“The bitch,” hardly seemed strong enough.

“The Navy is now fully in the rebellion,” Admiral von Mittleburg said softly.

“All of the Navy?” Vicky asked.

“Sadly, no. There are those who have chosen her side. No doubt they are confident she will prevail. We have heard that she is paying very high bounties to any captain who brings his ship over to her side.”

“We must see that they do not live long enough to spend her largesse,” Vicky said, and only as she heard the words realized just how evil she could be.

“We may need a general amnesty when these troubles are over,” Admiral von Mittleburg said softly.

Vicky eyed the admiral and realized that she had likely just received the best advice she would ever hear. It made her stomach rebel, but she said. “Yes, we will. If we don’t, this war will drag us all down, and the aliens, if, no when they show up in our sky, will find that we have already made of it a wasteland.”

“The aliens had slipped my mind,” the admiral said, “but yes, they, too, argue for clemency.”

“Once you’ve seen a planet wrecked by the alien raiders, they can never be far from your waking mind because they haunt your every night.”

The admiral paused to let the station’s ventilators clear that black miasma from the air. Then he continued.

“Lieutenant Blue just reported that the Butcher is changing his habits.”

“I hadn’t heard anything for a while.”

“There was nothing to hear. However, now there is. Six attack transports under heavy guard of four battleships as well as cruisers and destroyers have withdrawn from his system.”

“Where will they go?” Vicky asked.

“I’d very much like to know, but I’ve got nothing I can risk to feed my curiosity. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Strange. He’s keeping most of his force there but sending a major part of it out.”

“If I were a betting man,” the admiral said, “I’d bet that he has been persuaded to give some of those poor damned souls shore leave.”

“God help the planet he picks,” Vicky said.

“And may the gals there have fast running shoes,” the admiral said, extending her prayer to something more practical.

“How long before we know what he’s up to?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” the admiral said.

“Well, I better call Mannie and see what he can do to get these busted-up battleships patched up quickly.”

“He’s coming up to see for himself. Why don’t you show him around?”

“Are you trying your hand at matchmaking?” Vicky asked.

“I think what I’m suggesting is high and aboveboard, but if you think the shoe fits, I would suggest you try it on.”

Vicky did meet Mannie as his shuttle came in. She stayed at his elbow as the skippers of the two pranged-up battleships and their dock bosses showed him the worst of it. Mannie had several fab managers following him around. They got specs for the damaged equipment and measurements for the bent bulkheads, strength members, and hull plates. The fab managers left immediately after their tour, but Mannie stayed for a nice dinner in Vicky’s own quarters. It was quiet and candlelit even if it was just goulash. Vicky could never chase from her mind the closeness of her bed in her night quarters next door.

Is Mannie thinking what I’m thinking?

But the table talk was of the coming battle and what might follow.

“I hope we can avoid fighting over every planet in the
Empire,” Mannie said, as Vicky served dessert from a tray that offered way too many choices. Goulash for the main course, yet this fancy dessert tray. How strange.

“I hope we don’t have to dig the security thugs out of every planet, too,” Vicky said, then told Mannie of her plan to nibble around the edges of the Empress’s holdings. “Those two dinged-up battleships were from a fight at Arkhangelsk. We captured three old battleships and blew up one. I’m told that the next system in had not one ship picketing the main planet. They took it without a fight. Bayern is launching a similar thrust.”

Mannie gave his skull a fast and hard rub with both hands. “Yes, I’d heard something, nothing as precise as what you just told me. Still, the older planets near Greenfeld have their mothballed battleships from the Iteeche War. They may only have 14- and 15-inch lasers, but there are a lot of them. If the Empress puts a crew aboard them, there will be hell to pay.”

“I know. Dad always said those old ships couldn’t get under way to sail to the breakers, but I guess if the Empress really put her mind to it . . .”

“Yeah. I’ve been losing sleep over those ships for a while,” Mannie said, forking a nice bit of cherry pie
à la mode
into his worried mouth. Vicky settled for a lemon tart and barely nibbled at it.

“Have you given any thought to how we might end this?” Vicky asked Mannie.

“One idea might be mediation.”

“My father let someone
else
decide his fate? You must be joking. Besides, I can’t think of anyone my dad would agree to for a mediator that I’d like. Come up with a better idea.”

“I think there might be one person you’d both accept,” Mannie said, and filled his mouth with pie so he could munch while Vicky mulled the unlikely. No. Impossible.

“I give up. Who?” she finally said, as Mannie’s fork reached for another piece of pie.

Mannie stopped, fork halfway to his mouth, then said, “Kris Longknife. She saved his life, and she’s your friend.”

The words said, he stuffed his mouth with pie and left Vicky to carry on the conversation. Or say nothing.

She chose nothing for a long minute.

Kris Longknife. Might it work?

Dad would never allow it. Annah would have a stroke.

Though that might not be a downside.

Would I trust that Wardhaven princess as an honest broker?

Better yet, would I be willing to bet everything that Kris could come up with something that my dad and the people who are backing me would be willing to accept?

The longer this war goes on, the higher the price in blood and treasure and the less people will want to settle for anything less than total victory.

Isn’t that an argument to get this war over quickly?

“Any idea how Kris might end this war in a way acceptable to both me and my dad, not to mention his wife and her family?” Vicky asked.

Mannie had another fork of pie almost in his mouth. He held it there as he thought for a bit. “I haven’t the foggiest. It’s a lot easier to start a war than end one, or so history seems to demonstrate.”

“Yeah,” Vicky said, and nibbled her tart.

Mannie still held the fork short of his mouth. “But I’ve known it to happen that if you put enough people in a room, and don’t let them out for dinner, they can solve impossible puzzles.”

“You would, no doubt, hate to miss dinner.”

“You bet,” Mannie said, and finally took his bite.

“So, how would this work? Should I send a flag of truce across the lines between us and suggest we get Kris Longknife here from wherever she has wandered off to?”

“Oh, God no,” Mannie said, speaking for the first time with his mouth half-full. He swallowed the rest of his bite. Something went down the wrong way, and he started choking. He reached for a glass of water, took a long swallow, then caught his breath.

“For God’s sake, Mannie, don’t die on me. At least not before you finish your last thought.”

“I thought you were going to say ‘before you got me in your bed,’” he said with a mischievous gleam in his eyes

“Well, that, too, but you’ve got my curiosity up. I know I’ve been more concerned with winning this next battle than ending this war.”

“I hear it got you an admiral’s flag. Why aren’t you wearing all the extra gold braid?”

“I could say I’ve been too busy to have my blues sent out to the tailor.”

“You’re wearing whites. All you have to do is change the shoulder boards.”

“Suddenly you’re all Navy.”

“Maybe I want to know more about the world you live in.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Mannie paused. “Watching you bloody, but not bowed. Delivering that fighting speech, then consoling that poor man. You were wonderful. You were courageous. I wanted to take you in my arms and tell you I loved you, and I will to the end of my days.”

Vicky gulped. This was what she wanted to hear, but hearing it was terrifying.

Mannie went on. “Then, when you were stumbling out of there, leaning on my arm, then my shoulder, I did pick you up and hug you to myself.”

“That was wonderful,” Vicky managed to get out. “I mean, I was hurting and at the end of my rope, but your picking me up and carrying me. That was so special.”

“I know,” Mannie said.

They paused at that, staring into each other’s eyes. Vicky found herself thinking lustful thoughts of that oh-so-very-near bed.

Maybe Mannie was, too, because he changed the topic. “Now about this crazy idea of getting Kris Longknife as a mediator.”

“Yes, about it,” Vicky said, following where Mannie led even if it wasn’t to her bed.

“I do still have some contacts in the capital. Maybe still in the palace. People who might help your dad think the idea of getting Kris Longknife out here was his idea.”

“I don’t much care for your plan,” Vicky said curtly

“What problem do you see?”

“I’ve about had enough of this advisor or that good lay getting the Emperor’s ear or other body part and twisting him around their little finger.”

“How would you do it?” Mannie asked, cautiously.

“The way it should be done in an Empire. Up front. My dad and I making the call. None of this greasy, under-the-table stuff. And none of this almost democracy stuff. We will not
turn Greenfeld into some sort of Longknife votearama. It’s bad enough that we’re talking about hauling in Kris Longknife from wherever she’s hiding. We’ve got to do this our way.”

“Ah, when would you try to do it your way?”

“After this next battle. If we win it, that would give us the right to say ‘you’ve got to listen to us’ to the Emperor.”

“We could lose the next battle,” Mannie pointed out.

“Yeah, I know. If that battle is here in the St. Petersburg system, we could likely lose the war as well.”

“I’d hate to lose you,” Mannie said.

“I’d hate to lose you, and me,” Vicky added, with a gulp.

“There are some times when you really scare me, Your Grace,” Mannie said.

Vicky nodded. “There are some times when I scare myself. Do we have time for after-dinner drinks?” Vicky asked, changing the subject.

Dolefully, Mannie shook his head. “If I stay for one drink, I’ll stay for a second, and maybe a third for the road. Then I’m likely to just stay, and we both know we can’t do that. At least not yet.”

“Not yet?” Vicky said, arching her eyebrows.

“What I’m doing may be the most stupid thing of my entire life, and I may live to regret it, but I will not risk our future for a few moments today. And if I lose out because I do this right thing,” he said, ruefully shaking his head, “it will just prove to my
grandmadre
that the rest of her grandchildren got all the smarts there were to be had in this generation.”