The Shadow of Cincinnatus Page 12
He stood outside the hatch leading into the CIC and tried to keep himself from dozing off. Guard duty was the worst, in his opinion; he still recalled the Drill Instructors yelling at him and his fellow recruits when they’d fallen asleep on duty. If the insurgents had discovered them, the instructors had bellowed, they would have had their throats cut before they had a chance to wake up and defend themselves. It wasn’t one of his finest memories from Boot Camp. But it was hard to remain alert when the station crew seemed completely harmless.
The hatch opened, revealing a pair of officers in the bright red uniforms of the local system defense force. It made them looked ghastly, in Mark’s opinion, but he kept that thought to himself. Besides, the form-fitting uniforms worn by female officers were keepers, even if they did prove that the system defense force didn’t plan on doing any actual fighting. It was the little miniskirts some of the juniors wore that made him certain of it.
“Still on duty, Marine?” One of the officers asked. “Isn’t it boring out here?”
“It has its moments,” Mark said. They were meant to be friendly, after all. “And it could be worse.”
“Very true,” the officer agreed. “Good luck.”
They strode off down the corridor, chatting about nothing in particular. Mark eyed their backs, then forced himself back into guard position. It was boring, without even the prospect of boredom being suddenly transformed into screaming terror. He heard the sound of someone else entering the corridor and tilted his head, then smiled as he caught sight of Yolanda Flanna. She was a young girl, barely out of her teens, wearing a miniskirt so short that he could see the bottom of her ass. It said a great deal about the former CO, the Marines had quietly agreed, that he’d brought Yolanda onto the station in the first place...and that she’d stayed on the station when he’d been relieved of duty and sent elsewhere. Playing at being a maid, and carrying mugs of coffee from one duty station to another, was better than staying with her former superior. Mark didn’t blame her in the slightest.
“Hi,” he said.
He’d tried to court her – all of the Marines and most of the station staff had tried to court her – but she’d been unreceptive. Maybe it was hard to blame her for that too. He was fresh out of Boot Camp, yet some of the tales told by the old sweats had chilled him to the bone. A Drill Sergeant Nasty type, ready to threaten extreme punishment for even the slightest mistake, was preferable to some of the bluebloods who occupied high command positions in the Federation Navy, the ones who took advantage of their subordinates for their own sick pleasure. Thankfully, the war had gotten rid of most of those.
“Hi,” Yolanda said. She held up her tray, holding a dozen steaming mugs of coffee. “Would you like one of these?”
“I’m on duty,” Mark said, reluctantly. Coffee sounded very nice right now. He was having quite enough trouble keeping his eyes open without it. “How strong is it?”
“Military-grade,” Yolanda said. She waggled the tray invitingly. “I made an extra one for you.”
Mark hesitated, then took one of the mugs. The coffee was black, no sugar, just as he’d been taught to like it in Boot Camp. Yolanda gave him a smile as he sipped the coffee – it tasted suitably foul – then stepped up to the hatch, which hissed open. Mark watched her go – she was worth watching – then sighed inwardly as the hatch hissed closed. He turned back to his post, drinking the coffee quickly before the lieutenant could arrive...
And then a sudden wave of tiredness overcame him. Before he could catch himself, before he could do anything, even trigger the emergency alert, he collapsed. He was asleep before his body hit the floor.
* * *
It had taken months to get herself assigned to the crew, Yolanda recalled, as the CIC staff collapsed at their consoles. The former CO had been a man of very few charms and a passionate liking for sexual activities that might not have been technically illegal, but would still cause problems for him if they ever became public. Getting him to take her on as his stewardess – a thinly-disguised term for mistress – had been simple enough. Enduring his company long enough for her superiors to finally come take the system had been much harder. There had been quite enough days when she’d seriously considered arranging an accident for the bastard. It would have been easy. He’d never thought of her as anything beyond a pair of tits on legs.
And then he’d been removed from command. She’d almost found herself crying and laughing when she’d heard the news. He hadn’t been relieved for perversions, particularly perversions that would have made him a suitable candidate for blackmail, but for gross incompetence. To be fair, he was grossly incompetent. But it had come far too close to ruining all her work. Thankfully, no one had questioned why she’d wanted to remain on the battlestation. They’d been so grateful for her quiet assistance that no one had bothered to insist she leave.
She sat down in front of the tactical station and started to type commands into the system. It should have been inaccessible without the proper command codes, but – thanks to the former commander’s carelessness – she had access to all areas, without needing a hacking chip that might have been detected by the Marines. He’d definitely never taken her seriously. Piece by piece, she locked down the system and then started to purge the databanks. It would take weeks of effort to undo what she’d done, even if the crew realized the scale of the disaster at once. By then, the battle for Athena would have been won or lost.
Smiling to herself, she linked the battlestation into the overall planetary command net and started to upload chaos software. It had been six years since Admiral Justinian had used a similar tactic, she knew, and the results were unlikely to be wholly effective. But it would provide a distraction, even if it didn’t knock out the entire system. And that was what she needed to do.
* * *
“Commodore, this is Palter. We just picked up a FLASH alert from Asimov Point One.”
Roman swore, then pushed the datapad aside. “What level of alert?”
“Priority Two,” Palter said. “Someone infected the battlestation command network with chaos software. There are additional reports of shootings and uprisings on other battlestations and at least one of them has dropped out of the network completely.”
“Understood,” Roman said. He thought, rapidly. The Asimov Point was two light-hours from the planet itself. By now, the situation might have resolved itself – or blossomed rapidly out of control. And no one would reveal their assets on the battlestations without being sure it would be worthwhile. “Bring the fleet to full alert, then launch a spread of drones. I want this region of space quartered until we know it’s clear.”
“Aye, sir,” Palter said.
“And dispatch a squadron of fast battlecruisers to the Asimov Point,” Roman added. The modern battlecruisers were the fastest ships in his fleet, capable of even outrunning destroyers when their wind was up. “I want a comprehensive report of what the fuck is going on.”
He grabbed his jacket, then walked down the corridor into the CIC. There were no red icons on the display, but several yellow icons had flickered into existence over a handful of battlestations. Thankfully, Admiral Justinian’s attack on Earth had spurred the development of new defenses against chaos software, but it would still be a major headache. He would bet half his salary that Governor Barany hadn’t bothered to make spreading the new techniques a priority.
Fifth Fleet should be immune, he thought. But the local defenses might be in real trouble.
“Crash the planetary defense network,” he ordered. “We can route command authority through us.”
Palter stared at him. “Sir?”
“Just do it,” Roman snapped. He took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. “The planetary defense network isn’t safe. If they’re using chaos software, it will spread into the battlestations and starships, shutting them both down. We have to stop them before it’s too late.”
“Aye, sir,” Palter said.
He paused. “Sir, we’re pickin
g up reports of attacks on the planet’s surface. And shooting on several of the orbital stations.”
Roman nodded, unsurprised. “Once the fleet is at full alert, move us away from the planet,” he ordered. It was crucial that he avoided being trapped against the planet, all the more so if the orbital defenders were untrustworthy. The odds rather favored the mystery attackers having assets on the battlestations too. “And keep a direct link to the Marines on the surface.”
He cursed under his breath as he sat down. Emperor Marius – he’d been Admiral Drake at the time – had told him that there would be times when all he could do was watch and wait for the situation to become clear. As a lowly captain, Roman hadn’t understood what he’d been told. Now, he understood all too well. The planet was under attack, the fleet was in danger and he wasn’t even sure who he was fighting.
But he was sure it was part of a larger plan.
“Send a signal to Asimov Points One and Two,” he ordered. “They are to dispatch drones through the Asimov Points at once. The Federation must be warned.”
“Aye, sir,” Palter said.
* * *
Lieutenant Chas Parker disliked Athena intensely. It was rich enough to be settled, yet poor enough – and isolated enough – to dislike the thought of being part of the Federation. The locals hadn’t started hurling things at the Marines yet, thankfully, but they didn’t seem obliged to make them feel welcome. Indeed, Chas had the feeling that the locals were only biding their time before they turned on the Marines. It was why he had placed an entire platoon on guard duty and kept another platoon, under his personal command, in reserve.
He gritted his teeth as the hot air drifted over the warehouse complex they’d converted into a makeshift barracks for the company, ever since they’d been told there were no more suitable barracks available. The Marines had suspected that they had been deliberately placed on the edge of Athena City, far too close to the poorest and most discontented citizens on the planet. What they hadn’t been able to decide was if they had been left there as a show of contempt, or if they’d been put there as a firebreak against an uprising from the poor. The poor had nothing to lose, after all, and what remained of the planet’s government might think that having the Marines put down the riot would allow them to blame any excesses on the Marines, rather than the local security forces.
The sound of a lorry reached his ears as the vehicle lumbered into view. It was typical, a heavy-lifter designed for more primitive worlds; easy to drive, easy to repair and easy to cannibalize, if it happened to be broken completely. But it was far too close to the gate to be allowed any closer. He reached for his communicator, intending to tell the guards to fire warning shots, then the world turned brilliant white. Chas found himself on the other side of the room, stunned. What had happened?
He pulled himself to his feet, then swore as he peered out of the window. The guardpost was gone, along with the lorry. There was a smoking crater where the latter had been while – behind it – armed men were charging right at the Marine complex, firing as they came. Chas cursed – half the company was out on patrol duties, while two platoons had been meant to be getting some downtime in the barracks – then grabbed his rifle and ran out of the office. His ready platoon would have to form a line to hold the enemy back while the sleepers grabbed weapons and armored up.
“Form a line,” he bawled, cursing the planetary defenders under his breath. A proper Forward Operating Base would have armor everywhere, giving the Marines plenty of room to defend themselves if necessary. Here, there was hardly any real protection at all. “And get the...”
Another explosion, far larger, cut off his words. He looked up, in time to see a second heavy-lifter drive into the compound and head straight for the makeshift barracks. The Marines on the ground opened fire, but the vehicle was rigged with heavy armor. Someone had spent quite some time planning the assault, he realized grimly, as he bellowed orders. The sleepers – they wouldn’t be sleeping any longer – would have to run. No doubt the intended target had been the local defenders, with the Marines moved to the top of the target list when they arrived.
“Get down,” he shouted. “I...”
The heavy-lifter exploded. Chas hit the ground, gritting his teeth in pain as the compound started to collapse around the remaining Marines. It was hopeless. They’d been caught badly out of place, without anything like enough protection to save their lives, and at least forty Marines were dead. He tongued his voder, but there was no response. By now, the fleet had to know the planet was under attack...unless the fleet was under attack too. The rebellion couldn’t hope to succeed if the fleet remained intact and untouched.
He lifted his rifle as running footsteps came into his hearing, then opened fire as he saw two men in black uniforms. One of them fell; the other jumped backwards with commendable speed, then hurled in a grenade. Chas reached for it, but he was far too slow...
Darkness.
* * *
“Roman, we have reports coming in from all over the planet,” Elf said, through the command network. “Both us and the locals are under heavy attack.”
Roman swore as more red icons blinked into life. He’d never liked spreading his forces so thin, but he hadn’t thought there was a choice. Now, his people were paying the price for his mistake. He could deal with an uprising on the planet’s surface – if worst came to worst, he could hammer the planet into submission from orbit –but he couldn’t do that if the system itself was under attack from an outside force. And it had to be, because there was no way the rebels could make any permanent gains without it.
“Recall as many of our people as possible,” he ordered. Two icons winked out completely, representing an outpost that had been overrun. It was possible the Marines had managed to make it out and scatter into the streets, but he knew it was unlikely. Strangers would be noticed and they would be hunted down. “And ready the fleet for action.”
Elf didn’t argue, somewhat to his surprise. There were her people down on the planet, after all. But she knew the likelihood that this was all part of a greater operation as well as he did.
“And prepare the reserves,” he ordered. “We may need to try to seize the battlestations...”
“Commodore,” Palter said, sharply. “I’m picking up an emergency alert from Asimov Point One. The enemy fleet has been detected.”
Roman cursed under his breath. So far, the enemy had played the game perfectly. By the time his fleet reached the Asimov Point, the battle for control of the point would have been decided. He would then have to assault the point himself...and he didn’t know for sure what had happened on the other side. If the enemy had been planning their attack for years, they might have attacked the defenses on both sides...
“Order the fleet to prepare to set course for the Asimov Point,” he ordered. Right now, it was the most important location in the system. “And prepare to fire on the planet’s industries as we depart.”
“Aye, sir,” Palter said.
Roman gritted his teeth against an unexpected surge of guilt. The planetary industries supported millions – but they would be a weapon against the Federation, if they fell into enemy hands. There was no point in trying to deceive himself. The unknowns wouldn’t have launched their attack against the fleet unless they were reasonably confident of victory. Fifth Fleet needed to see its enemies, needed to know who the hell they were fighting, but they also needed to remain intact. His fleet was the largest in the sector.
“Take us out of orbit,” he ordered. “And open fire.”
Chapter Thirteen
Battles are generally won by who gets there first with the most. When the warzones are measured in light years, that takes on a new and terrifying meaning.
-The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199
Athena, 4098
“The troops have boarded the remaining stations,” Lieutenant Juneau reported. “No major problems, sir.”
Charlie smiled, relieved. Getting their own people on
to the stations had been a gamble; if they’d been discovered, even a man as short-sighted as Governor Barany would have smelt a rat. But it had paid off, handsomely. There had been no message through the Asimov Point, warning of a new war, before the fleet had arrived and quashed all resistance. The remaining defenders, outgunned and completely alone, had surrendered after a brief exchange of fire.
“Have the prisoners transferred to the supply ships,” he ordered. Some of the local defenders would probably want to switch sides, but the Outsiders would have to be careful. Those who refused to switch sides would be transferred to camps on Athena. They could be held there until the end of the war. “And purge the command datacores of the chaos software, then take control.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Juneau said.
She bent her head to her console, while Charlie rapidly reviewed the situation. They held the Asimov Point – both vital Asimov Points. What was his opponent thinking? Would he come after the fleet on the point, knowing it was the shortest route into the Federation, or would he seek to escape through continuous displacement drive? It had worked before, during Operation Retribution. And Charlie knew that Commodore Garibaldi had served during the failed campaign.
“Launch a second spread of drones,” he ordered. “And then bring the fleet around. We will prepare ourselves to advance on the planet.”
* * *
“That’s at least six squadrons of superdreadnaughts, unknown design,” the sensor officer said. “And over two hundred smaller ships.”
Captain Antony Brooks nodded, bitterly. His squadron of battlecruisers had raced to the Asimov Point, only to discover that they were too late. Far too late. The point was surrounded by heavily-armed ships, while the battlestations had either fallen or had been subverted. It hardly mattered, in the end. All that mattered was that the fleet was trapped in the Athena System, unless it wanted to make an escape through stardrive.