The Oncoming Storm

Chapter Thirty-Six<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

Bristol Deep was an odd system. A freakish chance had prevented a massive gas giant, larger than King Jupiter himself, from collapsing, igniting and becoming a star. The twisting gravity field within the system had prevented the formation of any planets, allowing thousands of asteroids to orbit the sun in splendid isolation. Bristol Deep might have been useless for those seeking a life-bearing world to serve as a home, but the corporations had found it a great investment. And, given enough time, it might support a population in the billions. It was far from the only star system with no habitable world.

“Captain,” Roach said, “I’m picking up a squadron of battleships and escorts – IFF signals mark them as friendly.”

Kat allowed herself a brief moment of relief, and then she tensed again. It had taken two days – two entire days – to reach Bristol Deep, two days when Greg Bone and his Marines were trapped on Cadiz. They could have been captured, or killed, or...her imagination supplied any number of possible scenarios, each one worse than the last. The uncertainty was worse than the knowledge that her lover – her former lover, she told herself sternly – was dead. At least she’d know...

“Send a burst transmission; Code Red,” she ordered. There was a good chance that the squadron at Bristol Deep didn't know that the war had begun, giving the Theocracy a chance to take them out before they were ready to repel an invasion. The StarCom link to Cadiz had been broken – would they assume the worst? “And then get a direct link through the StarCom – we need to flash a message to Avalon.”

There was a long chilling pause, seemingly lasting for hours, before they got a response. “Commodore Christian’s squadron sends its compliments and an acknowledgement of a Code Red,” Roach reported. “The StarCom has prioritised our message to Avalon.”

Kat sensed, more than felt, the XO shifting beside her. “Commodore Christian is a good officer,” he said, on their private channel. The remainder of the crew wouldn’t hear his words. “Very stiff, very formal, but always the first one into a fight. His crews always respected him more than loved him, yet they knew that he would never let them down.”

Very different from Admiral Williams, Kat thought. “Send the Code Red, then dump every sensor record we took from their staging post and Cadiz into the link,” she ordered, sharply. The Theocracy might be listening in, but they already knew that Lightning had spied on their fleet. A brief flash of guilt crossed her mind as she wondered if she bore personal responsibility for the war. It faded almost as soon as it had formed as she remembered that the enemy fleet had been preparing to depart. The chances were good that they’d only brought the attack forward by a few days or even hours. “And then inform them that Cadiz has almost certainly fallen.”

She’d had plenty of time, in the privacy of her cabin, to endlessly play and replay the battle out in her mind. It took no simulators to know that 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet had been badly outmatched, even without its criminal lack of training and preparation for war. The Admiral had crippled the entire fleet, and without it, Cadiz would have fallen like an overripe plum. Another flash of guilt tore at her heart – she’d abandoned her lover to his near-certain death – but she pushed it away ruthlessly. She had to be hard now – and forever. There were many terrible days to come.

“Message transmitted,” Roach reported. The message would have reached Avalon almost before he’d finished speaking, slipped instantly through the entangled singularities that made up the StarCom network. They’d know, for all the good it would do. The existence of a small squadron at Bristol Deep wouldn't change the balance of power, although she was sure that fingers would be pointed at Naval HQ. Why hadn't they deployed the squadron to Cadiz, they’d be asked; why hadn't they concentrated their force in orbit around the most important world in the sector?

Her lips twitched. Victory had a thousand fathers, one of her tutors had said, but defeat was an orphan. The King, the Assembly, the media...and even Naval HQ itself would be looking for scapegoats. Who was in command? Admiral Williams. Why was he in command? Who put him in command? All of his supporters would desperately try to paint themselves as innocent, trying to pass the buck upwards to the Naval Promotions Board or the King himself. They’d signed off on the decision to send Admiral Williams to Cadiz. She knew enough, just from living far too near to the true corridors of power, just how badly the political infighting could become. It might make any coordinated response to the invasion impossible.

“Captain,” Roach said, “I’ve picked up a message from Commodore Christian. You are ordered to report to him onboard the Bombardment in one hour.”

Kat nodded. “Link us into the system defence network,” she ordered. Apart from the gas giant mining stations and the Navy base, the remainder of the system was spread out over a wide area. It would be nearly impossible to defend the asteroid mining stations, something that would no doubt have occurred to those charged with protecting the system. Indeed, the automated defence platforms orbiting the small moon that housed the main facilities in the system had already come to full alert, sweeping space for hostile signatures. The contrast to Cadiz was staggering. If only they had the firepower to stand off a determined assault.

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said. “They’re assigning us to an outer patrol position, at least for the moment. No further orders, but they’re requesting a full data dump themselves.”

“Give it to them,” Kat said, firmly. There was no time for her own lingering doubts and uncertainties, not when they were at war. “Have we picked up any message from Avalon?”

“None, Captain,” Roach said. “They acknowledged the Code Red, and then said nothing.”

“We wouldn't expect a response from them so quickly,” the XO commented, through their private link. “I’d expect there to be a great deal more panicking and rushing around in circles before they actually get back to us, let alone alert the Assembly that we’re at war.”

“Let me know the moment they respond,” Kat ordered. She stood up. “Have my shuttle prepared for transfer to the bombardment. Mr. XO, you have the bridge.”

***​

Bombardment was brutally impressive, lacking the sleek lines that had been built into Lightning’s powerful form. Rumour had it that the Admiral Ransom-class of battleships had been designated, privately, as the Blunt Instrument-class and Kat had no difficulty believing the tale. It – it was hard to think of a battleship as feminine – was a blocky mass, bristling with guns, missile tubes and drive nodes. Bombardment was designed for service right in the midst of battle, both giving and receiving horrific punishment that would break the back of a cruiser like Lightning. Kat knew some of her former friends at Piker’s Peak who had felt more comfortable with a few million tons of battleship wrapped around them, but she’d never agreed. Besides, it was easier to make one’s mark on a smaller ship.

An alarm shrilled as new hyperspace vortexes began to flare into existence within the Bristol Deep System. Kat felt her blood run cold as she lived every CO’s worst nightmare; being trapped between ships with an enemy fleet bearing down on her position. A moment later, she relaxed as IFF codes were exchanged and the newcomers were confirmed as friendly. 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet – or what was left of it – had arrived at Bristol Deep. Kat ran a quick count and swallowed a curse as she saw how few ships had survived without damage, or had survived at all. Sixty-seven ships, led by thirteen battleships...had the remainder been destroyed, or lost somewhere within hyperspace? There was no way to know.

“Get us down as quickly as you can,” she instructed the pilot. There was no time to spend woolgathering when the system might be attacked at any moment. “Hurry.”

Bombardment swelled in the porthole as the pilot took them directly towards the shuttlebay, then served as Bombardment’s small boats operator directed them to an airlock. Point defence weapons swivelled to track them as they slipped up to the massive starship and docked at the hull, a warning that the fleet was at battlestations and there would be little time to separate friend from foe. If the IFF failed...but it didn't fail; the shuttle quivered as it docked with the battleship. The hatch opened automatically and a pair of armed Marines, wearing light combat armour, beckoned for her to come out. They looked on edge; Kat was careful to keep her hands in view at all times. The last thing she needed was to be accidentally gunned down by her own side.

They checked Kat’s identification, searched her quickly and efficiently, and then escorted her down a long passageway, illuminated by the flickering red lights of Condition One. Bombardment was at battlestations, with every man at his post; armed Marines guarded hatches with live weapons, ready to kill. Commodore Christian and his subordinates ran a tight ship, Kat decided, something she would commend if she ever had the chance. A hatch opened and there was a second check of her identity, and then she was pushed into the Commodore’s office. He had a larger office, part of her mind noted irrelevantly, than her suite on Lightning.

She stood to attention and saluted as Commodore Christian rose from his desk. He was a tall man, with short grey hair, penetrating grey eyes and a pinched face, as if he’d deliberately starved himself of human emotion. There was no mistaking the power in his body, or the assumption of authority that surrounded him like a uniform; there was no doubt in his mind that he was in charge. Kat shook his hand firmly and winced inwardly as he studied her, with cold eyes that were somehow much worse than the lusty looks she'd endured as a teenage girl within High Society. This man cared nothing for her body, only the steel within her...and he had clearly found it wanting.

“Welcome onboard,” he said, in a voice that betrayed nothing of its origins. It was almost too perfectly Avalon to be from Avalon, suggesting that Commodore Christian hadn't been born on Kat’s homeworld. That actually fitted with his slow rise through the ranks, compared with Admiral Williams; Avalon-native officers, the ones known by High Society, tended to receive the plum assignments. “I have orders from the King and Naval HQ to assume command of the remains of 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet. I assume that you have no problems accepting my authority?”

There was a bluntness in his speech that indicated that he, at least, knew that Kat had tried to blow the whistle on Admiral Williams. “Yes, sir,” Kat said. “Lightning was attached to 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet.”

“And you’ve been a busy bee over the last week or so,” the Commodore said. There was no trace of approval or disapproval in his voice. “I have read your report, the one you forwarded to me. You have served in the best tradition of the service.”

Kat felt herself wince again. She didn't feel as if she’d served in the best tradition of the Royal Avalon Navy. Lightning had fled Cadiz, leaving her Marines – and 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet – behind to fight and die against overwhelming force. And even though cold logic told her differently, part of her would always wonder if she could have made a difference.

“Of course you could have made a difference,” Commodore Christian said. “You could have added another destroyed ship and lost crew to the death toll.”

His voice had no room for doubt, or self-pity. “I have summoned the remaining senior officers from 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet to Bombardment,” he added. “I have deployed scouts in hyperspace. We will have enough warning of an enemy advance to be prepared to meet it, or to retreat.”

“Yes, sir,” Kat agreed. Admiral Williams had relied on the watch posts – and they’d clearly failed. Or they’d simply been taken out by the Theocracy’s agents before they’d detected the incoming fleet. She didn't want to ask the question, but there was really no other choice. “Commodore...can we retake Cadiz?”

The Commodore considered the question seriously. “Maybe,” he said, finally. “I think that we will know more after the briefing.”

***​

6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet’s command structure had been shattered, Kat realised, as the surviving senior officers took their places in the briefing compartment. The senior surviving officers were Commanders, with a handful of Lieutenant-Commanders and Lieutenants among them. One light cruiser had been hit so badly – a fluke hit with a bomb-pumped laser – that her senior surviving officer was an Ensign, twelfth in the chain of command. Kat had never even commanded a watch while a junior Ensign!

“Attention on deck,” the Commodore said. He’d sent Kat to the briefing compartment and then vanished, presumably to commune with Naval HQ over the StarCom. “Be seated. We don’t have much time to waste with formalities.”

His cold gaze swept the compartment. “As you are aware, we are at war with the Theocracy,” he said. “Cadiz must be assumed lost. As yet, we have no contact with mining stations, outposts and stage-one colonies along the borderline, but we must assume that in the absence of evidence against it that they too have fallen. I have dispatched a squadron of destroyers to scout the sector, however we lack StarCom links to any of those worlds. Our information will be out of date.

“I have spoke with Naval HQ. They have confirmed me as a brevet Admiral and CO of 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet,” he continued. “My staff have barely begun to consider moving officers around to fill in holes, so with the exception of a few starships I think you may as well assume that you will be holding your commands for the foreseeable future. Don’t get too comfortable. We’ve got a major problem on our hands and we may die delaying the juggernaut from crunching its way into the heart of the Commonwealth.”

There was a long pause. “The Navy base here is capable of handling repairs for a handful of starships, so we will start doing what work we can right now, but any ship that is too badly damaged to be repaired within the next few days will be returned to the Commonwealth for repair at one of the major shipyards. We must assume that the Theocracy is aware of the existence of this base – they will certainly be able to track the StarCom – and that their fleet will come looking for us. I do not intend to face their juggernaut here. If need be, I will abandon this system and carry out a mobile war of attrition against the enemy. Preserving the remains of this fleet is far more important than protecting and holding this system.”

For a moment, his cold eyes met Kat’s – and then moved away. “I want to be very clear on this point,” he concluded. “We have taken a heavy blow and our morale is in the crapper. Too many fine ships and crew have been lost at Cadiz. We’re hiding here, aware that the enemy may come down on our heads at any moment. The war seems to be lost before it had even fairly begun...”

He smiled. “It isn't lost,” he said. There was an edge in his voice, a confidence that made his words seem louder, even though he spoke quietly. “The Commonwealth is vast. We will hold the line, build up our forces, and then take the offensive. We will drive the Theocracy out of our space and we will press forward, hammering away at them until our ships appear in the skies of Abdullah herself. And if they refuse to surrender, if they believe that their God will protect them, we will create a desert of their world and call it peace.

“This is not the end of the war. The war has only just begun. It will last for years, with millions of deaths on both sides, but we will emerge victorious. The Theocracy and all its evil will be stricken from history.”

There was a long pause. “Good,” the Commodore – the Admiral – said, finally. “Now; specific assignments...”

Kat watched from her seat as he issued orders, sometimes directing a reluctant commander to take their starship back to the Commonwealth – after off-loading most of the ship’s crew. Experienced officers were in short supply, as were Marines; the battleships hadn’t been sent out with a separate Marine component. Units were mixed and matched, crews spliced together and forced to train desperately, for who knew when the enemy would invade Bristol Deep? The new Admiral had a zest, a drive, that she admired, even as she found herself wondering where his ambition would take him, after the war. He would hardly be the first RAN officer to seek power in the Assembly...

She shook her head, dismissing the absurd thought. The Admiral might not survive the war...and who knew what would happen, in the future? Despite his words, Kat worried; worried that everything the Commonwealth had built over the years would be destroyed. Her father’s commercial empire, the mighty corporations that exerted invisible power over the government, the RAN itself...it all might be destroyed by war, or forever changed by the inevitable tide of years. She found herself so wrapped in her thoughts that she found herself surprised when the Admiral cleared his throat.

“I have a specific task for you,” he said. “Someone needs to report to me on what is happening at Cadiz.”

Kat leaned forward. “So we can retake the system?”

The Admiral frowned. “So we can decide what to do with whatever opportunities open up in front of us,” he said. “The Theocracy has us knocked off-balance.”

His gaze sharpened, suggesting an implacable will. Kat realised, for the first time, why her XO had commented that the Admiral’s crews respected rather than loved him. This was a man who would send his fleets into a meatgrinder if he believed that it would accomplish his objections. And perhaps, she realised, he was exactly what they needed. She barely heard his next words.

“I intend to return the favour.”

 

Chapter Thirty-Seven<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“I apologise for dragging you out of bed,” the Caliph said. “I’m afraid it is quite urgent.”

Ambassador Gavin Hastings rubbed his eyes. In his experience, summons that arrived at the dead of night – as if someone had planned the timing with malice aforethought – were always bad news. Good news could wait; bad news had to be faced at once. The booster he’d taken when his staff had woken him roared through his body, flushing out the tiredness that threatened to send him yawning in front of the Caliph, yet he still felt on edge. Everyone knew that the drugs had side effects – and they could be very dangerous.

“I am at your service,” he said, finally. “What do you wish of me?”

“I am afraid that matters between our two governments have reached an impossible position,” the Caliph said. His voice was even, but Gavin – an experienced diplomat – detected a hint of something behind his voice. Anticipation, perhaps, or amusement? “If holding my sister prisoner was not bad enough, there was a second…incident. One of your starships was caught trespassing in my space. It is an insult that I cannot let go unanswered.”

Gavin thought rapidly. He knew nothing about any official spy mission – but he would not have been informed anyway, just in case the message was intercepted or one of the embassy’s personnel was compromised. Besides, he had the odd feeling that the Caliph was speaking by rote, playing reluctant when he was eager to move ahead.

“I know nothing about any starship in your space,” he said, finally. “If I can consult with my government…”

“We are forced to respond to this, the latest provocation from the Commonwealth,” the Caliph said. There was no mistaking his amusement now. “It is my sad duty to inform you that a state of war exists between your government and mine.”

“Your Supremacy,” Gavin said, carefully. It took all of his diplomatic experience to keep the shock from his face. “I do not know what has happened in your space, but there are ways to find a diplomatic solution…”

“We have stated our legitimate demands and they have been rejected,” the Caliph said, enjoying himself. “You have refused to return my sister. You have refused to respect our space. We now move ahead to determine the issue by war.”

Gavin held himself under tight control. “In that case, I must communicate with my government…”

“Of course,” the Caliph said. “The legalities must be observed.” His face twisted into a smile and Gavin knew the truth. By the time he returned to the embassy and contacted his government – if he was allowed to use the orbiting StarCom – the Caliph’s attack fleets would already have savaged their targets. “But I asked you here to pass on another message.”

He leaned forward. “I wish you to inform your government of my terms for their surrender,” he said. “They are to disband their military forces and cede <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> and the adjourning sectors to us. If they make that concession, I will grant them peace.”

Until it pleases you to break it, Gavin thought, coldly. A Commonwealth without the RAN would be an exposed target for the Theocracy, when it had finished digesting its conquests.

“I will pass on your message,” he said, rising. “If there is nothing else…?”

“You will receive safe conduct to return to the Commonwealth,” the Caliph said. “I trust that your government will do the same for my Ambassador.

***​

By long tradition, the Assembly was never summoned at night. It had always been opened in the late morning and closed by twilight. Prime Minster Bruno Lombardi could not help, but feel a twinge of unease at the message that had brought him from his bed and summoned him to the Assembly Hall, an elegant building on the other side of Camelot from the palace. The King himself had called the Assembly – and that boded ill. He was only entitled to call the Assembly in a state of planetary or interstellar emergency.

There were armed guards on the gates, he realised, as he strode across the courtyard and up to the fence isolating the Assembly Hall from the remainder of the city. The ceremonial guards were gone, replaced by grim-faced Marines carrying live weaponry and wearing light combat armour. A set of men wearing heavy combat armour – enough firepower to devastate a city – were positioned just out of view from the street, watching from behind their masks as the Assemblymen headed to the Assembly. Everyone’s ID was checked, even the Prime Minister’s. Something had gone very badly wrong. He glanced up into the air and saw nothing; no cars flying through the sky, or media drones looking for politicians to watch from a distance. Every year, the Assemblymen swore that they would outlaw that practice, but they never did. No one could resist the thought of so large an audience.

The air of tension only grew stronger as he walked into the Assembly Hall itself and headed towards his seat. The room was rectangular, with two rows of seats facing the central dais, with seats allocated by constituency. An observer who was unaware of political realities might assume that there were no party blocs, or that the Assemblymen spoke only for their constituents, but Bruno knew better. The real business was done elsewhere, behind closed doors, where politicians would hammer out compromises that would be presented before the Assembly for a final vote. He listened, keeping his expression blank, as nervous Assemblymen filled the air with chatter. No one seemed to know what was going on, but speculation raged from a Theocratic invasion to a coup. The absence of air traffic over Camelot certainly seemed to suggest that someone was taking precautions to secure the city.

He swallowed a hint of irritation before it had a chance to blossom into life. As a member of the King’s Privy Cabinet, he should have been informed before the Assembly was summoned by the King. Instead, he’d been summoned like any other representative and it galled him, even though he understood the King’s reasoning. He couldn’t show overt favour, even to the Royalist faction at Court. In some ways, he lacked the devious mind of his father, but in others he was definitely his father’s son.

The big doors that allowed the Assemblymen to enter the Hall slammed closed. His implants detected privacy shields flickering into existence, ensuring that no one could eavesdrop on the Assembly, not even the media. If there were any Assemblymen who had been delayed, or had chosen to ignore the summons, they would not be able to gain entry. The summons had been quite urgent and very specific; if you were on your deathbed, bring your deathbed with you.

On cue, the Speaker stepped forward. He was an old man, over one hundred years old, and he had been in politics longer than Bruno had been alive. Everyone trusted him to be impartial; he hated everyone evenly, at least as far as Bruno had been able to determine. Precisely what would happen when the grey-bearded old politician died was the subject of some ardent speculation among the younger Assemblymen, although the truth was that there was no easy choice as a replacement. It would become the subject of a bitter political battle.

“Honoured Assemblymen,” he said, his voice still strong despite his age, “I present to you His Majesty the King.”

Bruno rose automatically as the second set of doors swung open, followed by the rest of the Assemblymen, even the liberals who wanted an end to the monarchy. Normally, the King would have to beg entry to the Assembly Hall, a reminder that while the King possessed considerable power the Assembly – when united – matched him. The Assembly could dispose the King if necessary and order his replacement with one of his brothers – or sons, if King Thomas V ever got round to marrying and producing offspring. It was one of the prime duties of a monarch – and the only one the young King had not yet fulfilled.

The King, he realised as the young man strode down to the dais, wasn't wearing his robes or the black and gold suit he wore for daily business. Instead, he was wearing a military uniform, without rank badges or service emblems. And that, Bruno knew, meant only one thing. The King was asserting his powers as commander-in-chief of the Royal Avalon Navy and that meant war. He shivered as the King reached the dais, accepted a bow from a man old enough to remember the time when his grandfather sat on the Throne, and turned to face the Assembly.

Silence fell, broken only by shuffling as the Assemblymen waited to hear him speak. Tension hung in the air, so thick that it could almost have been cut by a knife. The King seemed to be hesitating, his dark eyes shadowy and tired. He’d been woken up himself, Bruno realised, woken up and confronted by bad news. And yet, was there a hint of relief around his features? Waiting for the war might have been more nerve-wracking than fighting it.

“My People,” the King said. The Assembly would be televised; the entire world would see the King speaking, as if he were speaking to them personally. It would go out on air just after the Assembly was closed. Bruno checked the report from his researchers before he’d entered the privacy fields; the entire planet was slowly coming to realise that something was badly wrong. “My people; we are at war.”

A great gasp came from some of the benches, where politicians who had believed – or claimed to believe – that war was not inevitable reacted to the shock. The smarter ones would already be considering ways to shift the blame onto the more radical members of the party – or, if the war went badly, to form a peace bloc in the Assembly. Several of the more radical members looked as if they wanted to call the King a liar, but didn’t quite dare.

“Two days ago, Theocratic forces entered the Cadiz System and attacked 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet,” the King continued. “I am forced to report that losses were very heavy and 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet was badly damaged, forced to retreat by the invaders. At last report, <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> was being bombarded, there was fighting in the streets and enemy shuttles were being launched to convey troops down to the surface. We must assume the worst; <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> has fallen and our garrison had been killed, taken prisoner, or scattered into the countryside. We are at war.

“Information is still coming in, but we have received notification of a number of minor assaults on Navy Bases and industrial stations scattered across the Commonwealth. Most of the attacks appear to have been devised to hamper our response; many attacks succeeded, others were beaten off before it was too late. We may discover that other worlds, lacking any form of FTL communicator, were also attacked and occupied. This is no mere border skirmish; this is war.

“We received a declaration of war from the Theocracy barely an hour after the attack on <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. They have claimed that we provoked the war – first by given sanctuary to refugees and then by trespassing in their space. And yet – and yet – their attack was jumped off bare hours after the so-called trespass! Their assault plan was prepared for years and the fleet was prepared to move, quite literally, at a moment’s notice. We knew that this day would come. We are at war.”

His gaze sharpened. “We are at war.

“The Theocracy has graciously told us what we can do to save ourselves from their juggernaut,” he said. “We can surrender; we can cede them vast amounts of territory…and we can scrap the Royal Avalon Navy. Such terms would win us peace, but for how long? Without the Navy, how long would it be before the Theocracy decided to renegotiate the terms and send an unstoppable fleet into orbit around Avalon, ready to crush us if we refuse to prostrate ourselves before them? The peace they propose is the peace of submission, the peace of the grave. We will have to accept their faith, their way of living, their leadership…permanently. Everything that makes Avalon work will be lost.

“I say you nay,” he thundered. “We all knew this day would come. We knew the nature of the lurking beast towards the Rim. We have been attacked; treacherously, as an ambusher might jump upon a stronger target from the shadow. The damage is extensive, but we can rebuild; we can construct a far more formidable fleet and make them pay for what they’ve done to us in this war. We will smash their fleets, tear apart their religious tyranny and ensure that this monstrous beast is slain for all time! We will not sacrifice everything that makes us what we are for a little illusionary safety. We will endure, rebuild, and smash them into the dust!”

His voice lowered, just slightly. “It will be a long hard war,” he admitted. “Many of us will die in the coming weeks, and months, and years. There will be times when surrender will look better than continuing to bear the burden of fighting. There will be many victories, but also many defeats. And yet we will not give in! I ask the Assembly, now, for a declaration of war against the Theocracy. I ask the Assembly to declare a state of emergency within the Commonwealth, to activate the plans for rapid mobilisation. And I ask the Assembly to select members from its ranks to serve on a War Cabinet. It is time to fight.

There was a long pause as he stepped back from the dais. “It is time to vote,” the Speaker said. By law, there were no debates over a declaration of war; it was either granted or refused. “All Assemblymen; place your hands on the panel and prepare to register your vote.”

Bruno looked down at the panel, and then pressed his hand against it. It lit up, once it had checked and rechecked his identity, revealing two buttons. If someone else had attempted to use it to enter a vote for him, even another Assemblyman, the system would have locked up instantly, sounding an alarm. There had been times when the system had sounded the alert when someone was touching the panel instantly, but there was no point in taking chances.

“Enter your vote,” the Speaker ordered. Bruno pushed down on AYE. Any Assemblyman who didn’t vote within the minute would be counted as an abstention. As the voting rolls were public, some of them might wind up having to explain their votes to their constituents. “Ten seconds…time’s up.”

The lights vanished from the panel. “Two hundred and seventy-nine Assemblymen have voted,” the Speaker reported. There were three hundred Assemblymen in all, representing the twenty-four major star systems within the Commonwealth. Avalon, as the founding world, had considerably more weight than it should have, under a purely democratic system. The remaining twenty-one Assemblymen had either missed the summons, or had chosen to abstain. “Two hundred and thirty-four have voted in favour. The motion is passed.”

Bruno smiled, even though it wasn't really funny. They’d voted to declare war, but the war would have come with or without their votes. And those who had voted against the war would have to explain themselves to their fellow Assemblymen, or to their constituents. That, too, was going to have shattering long-term political effects. And then there was the King himself. The Assembly had just voted him a hell of a lot of power…

And what would he do with it?

***​

It was a question that was still bothering him an hour later, when the Privy Council gathered in the underground bunker. With some careful manipulation, the War Cabinet – when it was formed – would be effectively a continuation of the Privy Council, although with some new faces. The King would still hold a majority of the votes, as long as he was careful.

“I think there is one question we have to face,” he said, firmly. “Can we win the war?”

“It’s early days yet,” Grand Admiral Constance Cinnabar said. “Admiral Christian is confident; he has the remains of 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet under his command and he has several other ships that have been detached from their regular formations and sent on patrol. However, a lot depends on what the enemy have in mind. If they don’t mind absorbing a few risks, they could crush Bristol Deep and then drive inwards towards Columbus or Kuala Aisha. We have powerful fleet elements in both systems, but they’re not concentrated.”

Bruno nodded. He’d been reading up on interstellar logistics and the reality had confused him. They could send messages instantly to any planet with an orbiting StarCom, but any world without a FTL transmitter could only be contacted by a starship. The warning would still be on its way to worlds that might be threatened by the oncoming storm. Some of them might be attacked before they knew that there was a war on.

“The Admiral has also recommended that we dispatch all available mobile fleet support units to join him,” <st1lace w:st="on">Constance</st1lace> continued. “I have confirmed this on my own authority; the Admiral is operating under the assumption that we will lose Bristol Deep and he will need supply ships. He’s currently working on ways to take the attack back to the enemy.”

Bruno was no expert, but it still seemed wrong to him. “Admiral, what happens if he moves to hit them and they hit us at the same time?”

“Then everyone gets very confused,” <st1lace w:st="on">Constance</st1lace> said, briskly. “Right now…it may not be politically palatable, but we have space to trade for time. Their offensive will slow down, giving us an opportunity to mass our forces against it and then smash their fleet – and then take the war into the Theocracy. We can win this war.”

“Sure,” one of the other Assemblymen said, “as long as we don’t lose our nerve.”

 

Comments?

Chapter Thirty-Eight<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“Piss-poor place,” Sergeant Boyce muttered. “You want to bet we all catch something nasty?”

“Now, Sergeant,” Greg said lightly. “How do you think that that is going to help the morale of our civilian comrades?”

The Sergeant had a point, he had to admit. Setting up the insurgent camp – he refused to admit that it was a refugee camp – had taken considerable ingenuity in the pouring downfall that had followed their attack on the enemy convoy, four days ago. They’d had to use their fission blades to cut through trees to produce wood and cut down massive leaves to provide a kind of cover. They didn’t dare risk a fire, even after the rain finally stopped falling; they’d had to use the heating elements in their emergency supplies to boil water. And they were very short on food. Cadiz did have the full package of Earth-origin plants and animals, but only a few of them were hardy enough to survive in the native forest.

Some of the local growth could be eaten and – thankfully – some of the natives they’d liberated had been able to help them find food, but the taste was appallingly bad. It wasn't even up to the standards of the muck they’d been served at Boot Camp, while feeding it to prisoners would have triggered off complaints about cruel and unusual punishment. At least the locals had been helpful; the prisoners who’d worked at the governor’s mansion before the invasion had largely been in shock, apart from the few soldiers. They’d joined the Marines with gusto.

Greg had been thinking ever since they’d established the base camp – a fancy word for a primitive camp that risked disease outbreaks, quite apart from enemy hunting parties – about what they were going to do in the long run. He had no doubt that the RAN would return to Cadiz; the handful of contingency plans he’d seen had promised that the planet would be recovered as soon as possible – whenever that was. It was quite possible that Cadiz wouldn't be liberated for a year, or longer, and that meant that his duty was to lead his Marines in harassing the enemy. He had no illusions about their ability to drive the Theocracy off Cadiz, but they could sting – and, when the locals had realised that Theocracy rule meant the end of the world, there would be other recruits for a resistance movement.

He looked back at the listless civilians and scowled. They should have been treated with respect by their captors, but it had been brutally obvious that the Theocracy didn't intend to honour any of the conventions. Three of the women had been slapped around; several of the men had been brutally beaten. One of them had reported that her friend had been raped, before other soldiers had arrived, torn the rapist off her and taken his victim away – no one knew where. Greg would have liked to tell her that her friend had been taken to a medical centre, but the truth was likely to be less pleasant. No, he told himself; the civilians were unlikely to be treated well if they surrendered. They’d have to hide out in the countryside...

His implant contained a complete set of files on Cadiz and he reviewed them, considering possible options. The Theocracy couldn't even begin to occupy the entire planet, any more than the Commonwealth; it should be possible to find a quiet and isolated spot for the civilians, before the Marines returned to the fight. But if they were discovered by the locals, they might be betrayed or killed by their neighbours – or handed over to the Theocracy. A great many locals would have grudges to pay off against their world’s former occupiers.

“Heads up,” Boyce muttered, breaking into his thoughts. “That girl is looking at you again.”

Greg shrugged. The girl he’d pulled from the enemy truck had been watching him over the last four days, her gaze often on his back when he turned away, or looking almost past him, as if she was a sniper not looking directly at her target until the last minute. It wasn't a lusty gaze, or the desperate neediness showed by some of the other refugee women; she appeared to be assessing him, although he couldn't think for what. She was pretty and young, with the hardened eyes of someone who had been forced to grow up too quickly, yet there was something about her that puzzled him. Besides, she seemed more composed than the others, as if she was used to privations.

“Never mind,” he said. He looked over at the tiny intelligence station they’d managed to establish, a fancy name for a handful of components from various suits plugged together and powered from a tiny generator. They’d had to remove the suits and hide them, at least until they could recover enough power cells to recharge their batteries. “Have you picked up anything else?”

“Just the same broadcast on all channels,” Boyce admitted. “They’re telling everyone to report to the new authorities, to register with them and to hand over all weapons – or else. ****ed if I know how they’re taking it, sir; we don't have any intelligence out of New Barcelona.”

Greg looked westwards, towards the city. It would be at least a twenty-mile hike – much of it through forest – to reach New Barcelona, if there was any point in making the trip. The last reports they’d received suggested that the Theocracy had sealed the roads leading out of the city; they’d certainly not seen so many refugees in the last couple of days. Inside, the Theocracy would be settle up its occupation government, disarming the insurgents and probably detaining them as well. They might not have the numbers to garrison the entire planet, but they could certainly make clear who was boss.

“We need intelligence, Sergeant,” he said, finally. There was no help for it. One of them would have to go scout the area, perhaps establish links with the locals nearer the city. Some of the locals they’d liberated from the prisoner trucks might be more convincing than armed Commonwealth soldiers. “I think that we’d better start preparing to move back towards the city...”

“Civilians won’t like that,” the Sergeant pointed out, gruffly.

“**** them,” Greg said, shaking his head. Perhaps they could blend the civilians into the local population; it wasn't as if anyone had ever managed to conduct a complete census of the wretched planet. “We’re at war.”

He looked around, just in time to see the girl rising to her feet and coming towards him. There was something about her steady gait that reminded him of Kat; the sheer determination to do what was best, whatever the cost. And, perhaps, the underlying doubts about her own competency. Her long brown hair made her seem younger than she really was, but up close he could sense her personality. If she’d been born in the Commonwealth, she might have reached the Assembly, or even joined the Marines.

“We need to talk,” she said, in Standard. It was almost unaccented, without the lilt that affected many of the planet’s local residents. “I think we can help each other.”

***​

It had taken most of the day to work up the nerve to just talk to one of the hated occupiers – former occupiers. Vanessa had watched them carefully, noting how they’d cared for her fellow residents of Cadiz as much as they’d cared for their own people. Of course, they were all on the run now, but they could have simply shot the locals and dumped their bodies in one of the swamps. They would not have been found for hundreds of years.

“I used to work for the resistance,” she said. She stopped short of admitting how high up she’d been. Besides, most of the men who’d followed her were probably dead by now, or trapped in a detention camp. The Theocracy – and she cursed her own mistake in accepting their help – would have had plenty of time to mark down her people for elimination. “You need ways to get information out of the city. I can help you get the information.”

There was a long discussion as the two Marines questioned her extensively. Vanessa was reluctant to talk about precise details, but she did manage to convince them that she knew enough about the resistance to prove her credentials. Finally, their leader agreed to hike with her to meet a resistance contact near the city, while the remainder of the small band would start heading towards the mountains. They’d meet up again five days later, where they would decide their next step.

They left two hours later. The Marine – he’d told her to call him Greg – was alarmingly fit, crunching his way through the jungle as if he’d been born wearing a loincloth and swinging from tall branches. Vanessa watched the muscles rippling between his shirt and felt an odd tingle between her legs, one she ruthlessly squashed at once. The resistance fighters had treated her as a semi-divine being, the kind of status normally conferred upon aged grandmothers; she’d certainly never thought of any of them as boyfriend material. And some of the criminals she’d encountered had tried to rape her, only to find themselves sliced open by her trusty knife. She didn't want to admit to herself that part of the reason she’d insisted on travelling alone with him was to test him, to see if he was a genuinely decent man.

At first, as they pushed their way through the foliage, they talked and shared their life stories, but as the going got harder she found herself fighting for breath. The heat was almost overpowering; the brief shower of rain brought no refreshment. They paused for ten minutes under a massive tree before they moved on, constantly heading towards the city. Or so she hoped; she knew the city like the back of her hand, but in the countryside she was out of her depth. By the time they reached one of the smaller roadways, she was exhausted and sore all over.

The sound of a powerful engine – no, multiple engines - sent them both diving into cover, ending up lying together under a bush that, she hoped, might save them from being spotted by the approaching vehicles. She caught a glimpse of him peering forward as the small convoy came into view, a pair of boxy armoured cars, followed by two open trucks and a smaller armoured vehicle. The trucks had once been used to transport livestock, but like the vehicle that the Marines had rescued her from, they had been converted into prisoner transports. Around fifty men, mostly young men with a smattering of young women, stood in the first vehicle, their hands cuffed to the metal railings. She wondered, as anger grew in her breast, what they’d done to deserve being arrested.

She heard a grunt from Greg as the second vehicle came into view. It carried prisoners too, but these prisoners were alarmingly familiar. They wore the black garments of priests; at a guess, they were the priests sent out from the city to minister to the smaller communities. Some priests had disapproved of a woman leading the resistance, others had been welcoming, even though they could take no overt part in the fighting. The priests had remained neutral, trusted by all...and the Theocracy had rounded them up like animals. She thought about Greg’s brief comments on what conquest by the Theocracy actually meant and ground her teeth together in rage. How long would it be, she wondered, before the schoolchildren were taught the rudiments of the Theocracy’s poisoned faith?

And how many of them would believe?

Once the vehicles were gone, they continued hiking inwards towards the city, watching carefully for roadblocks. Greg had a passive sensor block that – he said – should allow them to detect any drones before they got into position to see them, but the Theocracy might well have devices that hadn’t been shown to the Commonwealth before the war. Another hour passed slowly – the roads were almost deserted, even the ones nearer the city – before they turned off the road and started hiking through cornfields towards a small farmhouse that was isolated from any nearby community. The owner kept himself to himself; his closest relation was fifty miles away, on the other side of the city. He was the resistance’s main contact between the city-resistance and the fighters in the countryside. He could have no hostages to fortune.

“Stay here,” Greg muttered, as he surveyed the house. Everything looked normal, Vanessa told herself, but the world had turned upside down. She caught sight of a plant pot on one windowsill, signalling that it was safe to approach. Greg crawled back to meet her from his brief circuit of the house. “It looks clear.”

Vanessa nodded. Taking her heart in her hands, she stepped out of the cornfields and headed up to the farmhouse door. She knocked twice, waited ten seconds, and then knocked again, a simple code that the farmer would recognise and understand. Fine minutes later, the door opened and a grim-faced man peered out. At least he hadn't recognised Greg as belonging to the hated Commonwealth, Vanessa thought; the shotgun in his hand would probably have crippled the Marine if he'd pulled the trigger.

“They came to the farm this morning,” the farmer rasped. He’d never told her his name and she had studiously refrained from looking it up. “Searched the place; wanted a full assessment of my animals and crops; didn't believe that I was out here on my own. Bunch of creepy people; never once looked at me, just looked around as if they didn't believe that I lived her all along.”

“Abdullah’s population is very poor,” Greg said. “You would look like a millionaire to them.”

The farmer spat into the fire. “They said that they would be taxing me half of my produce and I could sell the rest for myself, once I’d registered it,” he continued. “Gave me an ID card and everything; said I’d need it, that anyone without one would be arrested and detained. Heard from other farms; their kids acted up, the bastards took the kids away. Little Sanchez from down the road had his head nearly staved in by one of them; they didn't bother taking him away. Bet they think he’s dead.”

“Social control,” Greg said. “Pretty soon, you won't be able to do anything without their permission. It’s just one way of keeping the entire population in line.”

Vanessa cleared her throat. “I need to check the link into the city,” she said. The Theocracy hadn't bothered to question her – or perhaps they’d intended to, if she hadn't been rescued first – but they’d had other prisoners. Only a handful knew the real secret of the farm, yet...what if one of them had been captured? “Is it still working?”

The farmer laughed. “It’s as active as ever,” he said. “They didn't even go close to it.”

He removed a rug from the floor and opened a concealed hatch. It was incredibly hard to spot even without the rug. Down below the farm, there was a hidden bunker, created by the planet’s original settlers and lost somewhere in the files. Vanessa liked to think that they'd been prepared for the future resistance, but the truth would never be known for sure. It was enough that it had remained hidden and useable, linked to the city by an underground cable so old-tech that it was almost completely undetectable. And the computers attached to it, so primitive as to be laughable, were perfectly capable of exchanging messages.

She smiled as she heard Greg suck in his breath, before she turned her attention to the computers and keyed in a password. They could probably be cracked by the Commonwealth – or the Theocracy – assuming they ever found an expert in old-tech to work it. Even Cadiz had moved beyond this level of technology years before the annexation.

“Not good,” she said, slowly. A number of messages had arrived. They moved from hopeful stories about liberation to grim reports of resistance fighters being rounded up, a dusk-till-dawn curfew and strict orders from the occupiers that women were not to go out unless escorted by a male relative. Anyone not holding an ID card when stopped and searched was taken away and not seen again, at least not yet. The invaders had crushed overt resistance with brutal efficiency. “Some of the cells are still active, but that won’t last.”

“Not for long,” Greg agreed. He leaned over her shoulder, studying the screen. She was suddenly very aware of his physical presence. “How many of your people do you think you can meet outside the city?”

“Not many,” Vanessa admitted. Her area of operations had been inside the city. She hadn't known many outside the city, if only to ensure that she couldn't betray them if she was captured and injected with truth drugs. “We might have to try to slip into the city.”

“Not likely,” Greg said. He shook his head firmly. “We’ll scout around, perhaps see if we can make contact with other Commonwealth forces, but I doubt we can get into the city. Their ID cards will all be registered at a central database; we couldn't simply jump a couple of their officers and take their cards.”

“Then perhaps we should take out their database,” Vanessa said. She wanted to impress him, even if she didn't really want to admit it to herself. “Couldn't we cripple it somehow?”

“They’d have backups,” Greg said, slowly. “Or maybe...if we were to find a few allies, perhaps we could do something clever.”

He shook his head. “Or perhaps we should just wait for the Navy to return and drive the bastards out of the system,” he added. “As long as they control the high orbitals, they can simply hammer any revolution flat before it gets off the ground.”

Vanessa laughed. “Swell,” she said. “Now you know how we felt all the time.”

 

love it some far... Chapter Thirty-Nine ????

 

The story is comming along great.I eagerly await more.
Matt

 

Hope all is well Chris ,haven't known ya to miss without a note .

 

OK, now we are officially in a crisis.

 

Sorry guys - I had to make an emergency trip to my grandma. Updates will resume tomorrow.


Chris

 

Hope she is doing ok.

 

Family comes first. Take care of your own.

 

Take care of your family. We'll still be here when you're able to resume. Gotta have priorities.

Hope all is well.

 

Sends good Mojo Chris's way....

 

Chapter Thirty-Nine<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

Governor Walid, the Caliph’s personal choice for Governor of Cadiz, chose to land in a high-powered shuttle that had once been a Janissary landing craft. Admiral Junayd kept his opinion to himself as the Governor’s vessel landed in front of the damaged mansion and his personal bodyguard marched out, followed by the hugely corpulent governor. He was a distant relation of the Caliph – a few steps closer to the throne and he would have been purged along with the other possible claimants – and had to be treated carefully. No one was quite sure if the Governor’s assignation was a reward or a punishment and no one wanted to find out the hard way.

“Welcome to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>,” Admiral Junayd said, with a bow. They shook hands and exchanged the mock-kisses that formed an essential part of social interaction in the Theocracy. It felt insincere to the Admiral and he was fairly sure that the Governor felt the same way, if only because his arrival automatically cut into the Admiral’s authority on <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. “I trust that you had a pleasant trip?”

“It was acceptable,” the Governor rumbled. As a gourmand with a taste for the finer things in life – and social connections that protected him from the attention of the Clerics – Governor Walid liked to travel in style. His transport, a converted heavy cruiser, was renowned for luxury and its personal staff of cooks and assistants. “I am looking forward to taking up my position here.”

Admiral Junayd nodded and turned to lead the way into the mansion. A number of locals had been rounded up at gunpoint, shackled and put to work clearing up the remains of the Commonwealth garrison, while a team of engineers had studied the mansion and pronounced that it was remarkably stable, considering its condition. The underground bunkers that had served as the true heart of Commonwealth government were intact, although someone – less complacent than Admiral Williams – had had the time and authority to purge and destroy most of the computers. He hadn’t expected anything else.

The bodies had been briefly checked and then carted outside, where a laser had been used to reduce them to ash. Bodies were normally cremated in the Theocracy and it was something of a gesture of respect, although there was also no time to transport them out the city and bury them in a mass grave. The locals seemed inclined to be sullen and through they’d been quick to round up the local insurgent leadership, a number of insurgents were still out there, turning their attention from one set of occupiers to the next. So far, the Janissaries had responded to any attack with massive retaliation, but there was a limit to how far that could go without slaughtering the workforce they so desperately needed.

He shook his head as he led the way into the plotting room. <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> was a difficult case, to be sure, but it wouldn’t be able to stand up to the Theocracy for long. The Governor had brought nine divisions of troops – and a whole parcel of Clerics who would begin the task of obliterating all traces of the local religion and replacing it with the faith. There would be resistance, of course, but the occupiers would reward those who converted and crush those who resisted. It had worked before and it would work again.

“The planet was taken with acceptable losses,” he said, once they were seated. A steward poured them both a glass of coffee and then left them alone. “Unfortunately, a sizable component of the enemy 6<SUP>th</SUP> fleet escaped our trap.”

The Governor blanched. “I was under the impression,” he said, sourly, “that the plan called for its complete destruction.”

“Indeed it did,” Admiral Junayd said. “The enemy had plans of his own. That’s why he’s called the enemy.”

“And if the fleet isn’t destroyed, the second stage of the plan becomes impossible,” the Governor continued, ignoring the light attempt at humour. “We cannot drive into the Commonwealth with 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet at our rear.”

“No, we can’t,” Admiral Junayd agreed, mildly. “We will have to turn and deal with 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet before it gets reinforcements from the Commonwealth and launches a counterattack of its own. Many of its commanding officers were captured or killed on the surface of <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, but the reports suggest that their absence will not hamper the fleet. Indeed, one may assume that unit efficiency has doubled. However…”

He tapped the table, sharply. “We have a rough idea of their contingency planning, such as it was,” he continued. “We believe that they will have fallen back on the naval base at Bristol Deep. Among other facilities, Bristol Deep has a StarCom – which will ensure that the remainder of the Commonwealth has been alerted. They know they’re at war.”

“But this is terrible,” the Governor protested. “We planned to fall upon their core worlds before they even knew that they were at war.”

Admiral Junayd scowled, inwardly. The Governor was quite right; the original plan had indeed called for a simultaneous set of thrusts that would have slashed into the Commonwealth, scattering their fleets and destroying them before the RAN could concentrate its forces and repel the invasion. However, that plan had had to be modified when Princess Jasmine had fled Abdullah and then scrapped altogether when the enemy cruiser had penetrated Theocratic space and discovered the fleet’s staging zone. In some ways, they were lucky; the original plan had looked good on the display, but he was less confident about how it would have worked out in practice. And yet, with the Commonwealth alerted to the war, the next set of targets wouldn’t fall so easily.

“Plans change,” he said, finally. “The Caliph has expressed confidence in me and the modified plan.”

He smiled as the holographic projector activated. “I have scouts already on their way to Bristol Deep,” he said, seriously. “Our most pessimistic estimates suggest that they will need at least two weeks to gird their loins for battle. Once we have confirmed their presence at Bristol Deep, we will move on Bristol Deep with three of my battle squadrons and screening units. We will crush them and destroy or capture their supporting base at Bristol Deep.”

“But you have overwhelming firepower,” the Governor pointed out. “What’s to stop the infidels from retreating once again?”

Admiral Junayd had to smile. Trust the Governor to come up with the most pertinent question, one born of knowing a very little about naval operations. A little knowledge could be a most dangerous thing.

“Why, nothing,” he said. “They may decide to retreat back into hyperspace and force us to give chase. But if they do that, we’ll take out their supporting bases and force them to retreat back to Commonwealth space. They won’t be able to get back on their feet for several months, at the very least, and by then all of our forces will be in place. We will drive into the heart of the Commonwealth and crush their bases before they can bring their industrial might to bear. And then the Commonwealth will be ours.”

He made a show of glancing down at the chronometer on his wrist. “I’m expecting the scouts back in four days,” he concluded. “If their report is positive, I will be staging from here an hour after they return. By then, I advise you to have your forces and support elements deployed to the planet’s surface. The locals will not remain quiet for much longer.”

***​

It was very quiet on Lightning’s bridge.

Kat found herself lost in thought as the cruiser drifted in towards <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, hidden behind the most capable cloaking field the Commonwealth could produce. Weeks ago – it seemed like years – <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> had been a Commonwealth world and the system had been humming with life. Even if the locals had shown little interest in bettering their lot, the corporations had invested in gas giant mines, local asteroid mining and even a handful of industrial plants. Given a few more years, <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> would have had quite a healthy balance in interstellar trade, even if most of the system’s population hadn’t contributed. Barely four days after the Theocracy had arrived, everything had changed.

There were only a handful of automated ore freighters – incapable of interstellar flight – moving through the gulf of interstellar space. A squadron of Theocracy light cruisers were patrolling the space around the largest gas giant, suggesting that the gas giant mining stations had been occupied by the Theocracy, probably intact. They’d be fuelling the Theocracy’s efforts in the system now, Kat knew, cursing under her breath. If Admiral Williams had been thinking straight, they’d have rigged the platforms to blow and evacuated the crews long before the Theocratic Navy had arrived to occupy the system. There seemed to be little sign of life among the asteroids, but she hoped that first impressions were misleading; asteroid miners tended to be stubborn bastards who would hold out until the bitter end. She cursed Admiral Williams again as she studied the tracks of a pair of Theocratic destroyers, searching carefully through the asteroid field. They should have worked up contingency plans for slipping in supplies and weapons to the asteroid miners, if only so they could harass the Theocracy until the Commonwealth could return and reclaim the system.

She scowled down at the display as the handful of shielded sensor drones headed away from her ship, heading down towards the planet. They were almost impossible to detect, she’d been assured, and indeed Lightning hadn’t been able to track them without the whisker-thin laser beams that linked them to her ship. And yet, no one knew just how capable the Theocracy actually was. The reports suggested that their sensor suites were inferior to those deployed by the RAN, but she wasn't going to risk her ship based on a hazy guess by ONI analysts. Besides, Lightning was down one reactor and was in no state for a fight.

If she’d had any doubt about the Theocracy having invaded the planet, they would have been dispelled by the handful of heavy troop transports in low orbit, surrounded by a protective force of cruisers and a squadron of battleships. The remainder of the battleships orbited in high orbit, their sensors constantly scanning for possible threats. Kat abandoned any half-formed thoughts she might have had of trying to slip much closer. There was no way that any cloaking device could compensate for such heavy active scanning.

“I’m picking up twenty-one ships,” the newly-assigned sensor officer reported. Kat couldn’t look at Lieutenant Joe Montclair without being reminded of Rachael, who’d died – or been captured – in the mission to the Theocracy’s staging post. “I think, judging from their general displacement, that they’re all troopships. That gives them roughly the lift required for nine or ten divisions of troops on the planet.”

Kat nodded, sourly. There was no way to know without slipping closer – and that she would not allow. If it wasn't for the fact that they desperately needed hard data, she would have refused to go so close at all. The screen kept updating, showing newly-emplaced orbital weapons platforms, sensor buoys and other nasty surprises. It was clear that the Theocracy intended to keep <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> as long as possible. She frowned, considering the possibilities. They might just hold onto <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, but in doing so they would tie down their fleet. And that would give the Commonwealth time to muster its forces and counterattack.

She shook her head. No, they’d go after Bristol Deep, she told herself. It was their only logical move.

The XO looked up at her. Kat was mildly surprised that he hadn’t been hijacked by the Admiral for a post on one of the desperately undermanned ships from <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, but she was grateful that he’d left her command team alone. She’d learned how to work with her crew and newcomers would only have limited her options when there was no time to waste.

“I think we’d better launch the communications beacons now,” he said. “And trust that Major Bone and his Marines are still alive down there…”

“Picking up a signal,” Roach said, sharply. “Captain, they’re transmitting a wide-beam signal, all over the system. It’s in clear.”

Kat frowned, puzzled. “Put it through,” she ordered. “And trace the source.”

“…Is Admiral Williams,” a voice said. Roach ran an analysis without even being asked; it was definitely the Admiral’s voice, even if he had never quite sounded so…dead. “All Commonwealth forces are ordered to surrender themselves to the Theocracy. All civilian installations are ordered to reveal themselves to the new authorities in <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. I have been given assurances of good treatment from the new Governor. I say again; this is Admiral Williams…”

“Cut that off,” Kat said, sharply. She’d assumed that the Admiral was dead. After all he’d done to weaken 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet, after all he’d done to ensure that they weren’t ready for the storm when it finally broke over their heads…he hadn’t even had the grace to kill himself. Or perhaps he was simply a traitor; perhaps he’d always been a traitor. “Analysis?”

“He’s been conditioned,” the XO said, flatly. “The deadness in his voice gives it away; my guess is that he tried to fight the conditioning process and it damaged his mind. They can make him swear that black is white, up is down and he’s a stripper called Shirley and he’ll believe every word.”

Kat scowled. “And how many people received that broadcast?”

“It’s in clear, Captain,” Roach reminded her. “The entire system will hear it.”

Greg won’t surrender, Kat told herself, firmly. If he was still alive…no, she had to hope that he was still alive. The Marines were expects in getting down to a planet with an enemy fleet in orbit trying to kill them – and they hadn’t even been the prime targets. She refused to think about how badly such exercises tended to go wrong, or how many Marines died – simulated – deaths in training. And once they were down on the surface, they could avoid enemy contact for weeks, or months, or even years. It wasn't as if <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City></st1lace> was anything like as well developed as Avalon, or Old Earth before the Breakaway Wars. There was plenty of undeveloped wilderness to use for cover.

“Begin launching the communications drones,” she ordered. “Tactical; keep a sharp eye out for any sign that we’ve been detected. Helm; jump us out of here if they light us up.”

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said. “Launching carrier drones…now.”

Kat settled back into her command chair and tried to remain calm. The carrier drones would take the communications buoys into orbit slowly, very slowly. They emitted almost nothing, navigating by the stars rather than anything involving active sensors. The only link to Lightning was another set of communications lasers, which would eventually be relayed through a network of stealthed platforms. She cursed the Admiral – again – as the network slowly began to deploy; they could have created the network long before the system had fallen and had it – and a set of contingency plans – in place for an invasion. And instead, they had to improvise. At least Marines were good at improvising.

“The first drone is reporting that it is in position,” Roach said, finally. There was a long pause. “The second and third drones are in position.”

“Good,” Kat said. Here was where it became very dangerous. The Theocracy had pushed most of the debris in orbit into the planet’s atmosphere, a rough and ready way of ensuring a safe orbital station for their ships. Now, the first drone would draw attention to itself – and if they realised that it wasn't just one of the few remaining pieces of debris suddenly finding itself energised and squawking like mad, they would know that someone was watching them. “Activate the drone.”

The signal was little more than garbage, at least to anyone who didn’t know what the code groups represented. It would appear to be just a random burst of signal, but the Marines below – assuming that they were following procedure and keeping a listening watch – would detect it and deduce the location of the other two communications drones. If luck was with them, it would allow the Marines to establish a laser link with the drones and through them to the Lightning. And if luck wasn’t with them, the drones would have to be tipped into the planet’s atmosphere. They didn’t dare risk allowing the Theocracy a chance to examine them in a research lab…

“Signal sent,” Roach said. There was a pause. “They’re onto the drone…that was quick.”

Kat nodded. One of the new orbital weapons platforms had just opened fire, launching a single missile towards the drone. The drone didn’t attempt to evade – it was playing a dumb piece of junk – and exploded when the missile struck home. Kat found her lips moving in silent prayer. If they were really lucky, they might just have gotten away with it completely…

“Drone destroyed,” Roach said. “As far as I can tell, they didn’t have any idea that it was anything other than a piece of space junk.”

“They’ll be paranoid anyway,” the XO pointed out. “They might just start running patrols up here, looking for someone sneaking around.”

“Keep laying the stealth platforms as we take our leave,” Kat ordered, calmly. Inside, she was worried. What was happening down on the planet? Were the Marines alive, or prisoners, or…there were too many possibilities. “We’ll have to wait.”

She thought, grimly, about the Admiral’s sealed orders. He’d told her to open them just before they left the Cadiz System – and they had no more than a week before they had to leave. If they didn’t hear from the Marines by then…they would have to be assumed dead and abandoned, at least until the RAN gathered the forces to return to <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> and retake the system. But then, they might not bother reoccupying the planet. Merely destroying the space-based facilities would be enough to keep the Theocratic Garrison from causing trouble elsewhere.

Come on Greg, she thought, desperately. I’m not going to abandon you again.

 

Chapter Forty<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“So what is going to happen to us?”

Vanessa kept her voice calm, even though she was nervous. The reports from New Barcelona had made it clear that the new occupation force was – if anything – even worse than the old occupation force. “Here comes the new boss, same as the old boss,” one of the Marines had cracked, and Vanessa had to admit that he had a point. It didn’t seem fair that <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> was going to be permanently occupied, but life was not exactly brimming over with fairness. Her life seemed to illustrate that nicely.

“I wish I knew,” Captain Bone said. A month ago, the thought of liking one of the occupiers would have seemed unbelievable. Now, after a week of sharing meals and tips on insurgency warfare, they were almost friends. “Once the Theocracy is defeated...”

Vanessa sighed. She’d grown up on a single world, without any space industry worth mentioning – apart from what the Commonwealth had created. She had no instinctive understanding that her world was a very minor world in the grand scheme of things, or that planners on both sides might see her world as little more than a headache, particularly if the war front swept onwards into the Commonwealth. The idea that a planner hundreds of light years away might put her world at the bottom of his list of problems was hard for her to accept. And what if the Theocracy wasn’t defeated?

The reports from New Barcelona were growing darker and darker. With the arrival of reinforcements, the Theocracy was settling in for the long haul. New bases and detention camps had sprung up, almost as if by magic, allowing them to deploy their forces over the entire continent. Indeed, every city now had plenty of troops ringing its position, keeping the population – those who hadn't already fled – from fleeing into the countryside. And those trapped inside were slowly being registered by the enemy, and then assigned to work details. Failure to report for work duty, she’d been told, meant immediate arrest and dispatch to one of the detention camps. No one – so far, at least – had returned from one of the camps. The insurgents were already calling them the death camps.

And it grew worse. The Theocracy had rounded up all the priests they could find and transported them outside the city, where they’d been executed and their bodies reduced to ash by funeral lasers. Churches and nunneries had been razed to the ground, with protesting parishioners gassed and then transported out to the camps. Children had been separated from their parents, husbands from wives...and for what? They hadn't managed to deter the Theocracy at all. And if they were so ruthless, so bent on reshaping Cadiz into their own image now, what would they be like if they won the war?

She looked over at the insurgent camp and shook her head. Only a few hundred insurgents from the pre-invasion cells had survived to make contact with her. There had once been thousands of insurgents in the area surrounding the city, but the Theocracy had scattered the cells and arrested many of the leaders. They’d walked right down a damn checklist, she told herself angrily, cursing the embedded officers who’d helped them learn to use the weapons the Theocracy had provided for the insurgency. The bastards had betrayed them all to their masters.

“They’re pulling the noose around our necks,” she said. “Is there nothing we can do to prevent them from taking stock of the farms?”

Greg Bone considered, stroking his chin thoughtfully. The Theocracy’s representatives had moved swiftly to take control of the farms, registering the farmers and warning them that failure to produce sufficient food each year would result in their farms being confiscated and forcible resettlement somewhere else. They’d checked all of the fields and made calculations as to how much food the farms should be able to produce, rendering it difficult for the farmers to hide food for themselves, let alone feed the insurgents. It crossed her mind that they could probably take the food by force – or allow the farmers to claim that they’d taken the food by force – but the Theocracy probably wouldn't accept any excuses. Bone had pointed out that the veneer of legality was typical of the Theocracy; it was quite possible that the farmers wouldn't be able to produce enough food, even without the insurgents taking what they needed. And then they’d have an excuse to kick the farmers off their land and resettle their own people on Cadiz.

The thought made her grit her teeth. Sure, Cadiz had been in the midst of a civil war when the Commonwealth had arrived, but they’d all shared a certain basic understanding, hadn't they? The Commonwealth had imposed one new elite on them and now the Theocracy would introduce a second. They’d already started collecting orphan children and transporting them somewhere into the hinterlands. Her imagination had told her that the children would be used as sexual slaves, but Greg Bone had suggested a far worse possibility. The children would be indoctrinated and turned into an army to support the Theocracy. It seemed only too possible to her.

“Maybe,” he said, finally. “The problem is that they go after any insurgent attacks with a hammer. Bit hard on the people caught in the crossfire.”

Vanessa shuddered. Only a day ago, a farmer had opened fire on a Theocracy team intent on registering his farm and laying down the law. The Theocracy had called in helicopter gunships, shot up the farm and then sent in their troops. They’d hung the farmer from one of his own trees, taken his younger children away and enjoyed themselves with his older daughters and wife before mercifully putting them out of their misery with a single bullet to the head. The entire countryside was seething with discontent and rage, yet what could they do? Any attack on the Theocracy would be punished a thousand times over – and the broken and battered bodies of the farmer’s wife and elder daughters were a chilling reminder of the fate of anyone taken alive.

“Terror works,” Bone said, slowly. “We would need to slip an offensive into one of the areas without a civilian population.”

“Or perhaps we should attack in the midst of the city,” Vanessa suggested. “It might force the civilians to rise up and attack the oppressor...”

“And get duly slaughtered,” Bone pointed out, dryly. “How many of your own people do you want to get killed?”

Vanessa flushed. “Don’t you get it?” She demanded. “They’re turning us into them!”

It was true. In New Barcelona, the new Governor had laid down the law. Civilian women had been told that they had to remain inside at all times, unless escorted by a male member of their family. A handful of women who had defied the new laws had been snatched off the streets, brutally raped and then unceremoniously dumped into their homes. Their male relatives had been fined – and as few locals had any Theocracy currency, the new debts had to be paid off by hard work in the labour gangs. Once, women had walked the streets as equals to men; now, they were almost entirely absent from the public sphere. How long would it be, she asked herself, before the new became normal?

It wasn't the only change, either. Girls had been barred from going to school, holding any position outside the home and a whole host of other minor regulations that completely reshaped their lives. The boys didn't have it much easier. They’d been sent to compulsory construction in the faith and woe betide the boy who attempted to cling to the old faith of his parents in the face of teachers willing to whip – or worse – any boy who dared show any defiance. A week of occupation and Cadiz had been changed forever.

“I think that we might be better preparing for the day of liberation,” Greg Bone said. “Right now, the bastards are prepared for insurgency; they’re ready to crush the **** out of anyone they don’t like. Give them time to relax; give them time to get lazy...hell, give us time to locate a few weak-willed among the faithful. There’s always someone who can be bribed or otherwise induced to betray his friends...”

He stopped, sharply. “Captain,” one of his Marines said, suddenly. “I’m picking up a signal from orbit.”

Vanessa blinked. “From whom?”

“Someone from the Commonwealth,” the Marine said. Bone took the small unit the Marine passed to him and studied it quickly. “They’re using the old one-step signalling trick.”

“Set up the portable laser,” Bone ordered, sharply. He looked up into the clear blue sky. “Let’s see if we can make contact.”

“But what if they detect us?” Vanessa asked. They’d already lost friends to Theocracy strikes when they detected radio transmissions from places where no radios should be located. “Can’t they track us down?”

“Not unless we get real unlucky,” the Marine grunted. “Line-of-sight laser; they’d have to physically intercept the signal to detect us. And that would block the signal and we’d know that something had happened...”

“Got it,” Greg said. He pulled a datachip from his pocket. “I’m sending them a tactical SITREP.”

“And then what?” Vanessa asked.

“And then they will let us know what they’re doing up there,” Bone said. He smiled at her. Vanessa felt an odd fluttering in her stomach and angrily told it to go away. This wasn't the time for romance. “If we’re really lucky, they might even be able to tell us when they’re going to counterattack.”

***​

“Got them,” Roach said. “They’re relayed through five stealthed relay drones. The Theocracy shouldn't be able to locate us.”

Kat frowned, unconvinced. The Theocracy had launched several wings of starfighters into space and deployed them on a search pattern, although none of them were projected to come anywhere near Lightning. There was no way to know if the enemy CO was simply being paranoid, or if it was just a training mission for the enemy pilots. After all, Commonwealth regulations said that starfighter pilots had to have at least five hours in space a day and the Theocracy, if anything, was even more hard-arsed about the whole issue of training. She was reluctant to assume anything when it came to the enemy’s plans and capabilities.

“Dump them a brief update and then download theirs into my console,” she ordered. “And then tell them that we haven’t given up.”

She skimmed through the SITREP as it appeared in front of her. Captain Bone and his team were alive! They’d made it down to the surface and actually managed to rescue prisoners, including important local contacts, before the Theocracy really clamped down on their new population. The remainder of the SITREP warned that the Theocracy had effectively decapitated much of the local insurgency and the remainder was too weak or too scared to act. It ended with a warning that Admiral Williams was in enemy hands, apparently conditioned; the status of his wife and children was unknown. Kat, who couldn't have cared less what happened to the Admiral’s brats, snorted as she reached the end of the section. And then there was the request for help.

The display updated slowly as new information was uncompressed from the burst transmission. Theocratic ground bases were marked, as if Lightning was about to fly right into their midst and launch a series of KEW strikes against targets on the planet’s surface. Kat wished she could – it was clear that the Marines were in a desperate position – but she knew that her ship would be destroyed before she got within attack range of the planet. All she could do was wish her former lover good luck and pray for his safety.

Lightning did carry heavy weapons and power packs for Marine combat suits, but she couldn't think of a way of getting the supplies down to the surface without being detected. The Theocracy might not blow an incoming asteroid out of space before it entered the atmosphere – although all planetary defences, at least in the Commonwealth, were designed to target space junk automatically – but they’d certainly be suspicious of a rock that just happened to touch down just outside the city. A stealth shuttle might be able to get through, yet Kat wouldn't have bet her life on it, let alone anyone else’s life. No, getting supplies to the Marines would have to wait until the Theocracy’s fleet was driven out of the system, whereupon they could destroy most of the targets on the ground from orbit.

“Tell them that we will be back as soon as we can,” she said. Admiral Christian had had something in mind, hadn't he? The question was simple; would he commit his undermanned, undertrained and severely damaged fleet against Cadiz? Kat rather suspected the answer would be ‘no.’ Cadiz just wasn't that important compared to the Commonwealth’s core worlds and at least two of them were likely to be targeted within the next two weeks. “And tell him that we are thinking of him.”

The thought was a bitter one, but what else could she do?

“Keep the stealthed platforms in position,” she added. The Admiral would send ships – either Lightning or a lighter unit – back into the system and they’d be able to link back into the stealthed relay chain. It was possible that the Theocracy would stumble across one of the platforms, but they’d just have to gamble. “Helm...start pulling us out of the zone. We’ll return to hyperspace in the asteroid belt.”

“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.

The XO gave her a concerned glance, but said nothing. Kat silently thanked him as she concentrated, trying to push her feelings for a certain Marine to the back of her mind. She had no choice; she had to leave him – and pray that he survived until the Cadiz System could be liberated. And he was a Marine. It would be just like him to do something stupid and heroic that would get him killed during the planet’s battle of liberation.

“Start preparing to upload everything we have to the Admiral,” she ordered, thinking of the sealed packet she’d left in her office. “I want to turn around in time to get back here before they realise we’ve gone.”

***​

“So they’re leaving us?”

Greg winced at Vanessa’s tone. “A single ship can’t break the blockade on her own,” he said, thinking of Kat. If there had been the slightest chance of success, he knew that she would have tried – but she knew that it would have failed, spectacularly. “They will be back, with help.”

Vanessa snorted. “And what will happen then?”

“I think that things will be different,” Greg admitted. He knew what she meant; Cadiz’s future was uncertain. It was quite possible that the Commonwealth would be prepared to recognise its independence, certainly if the Theocracy was crushed, leaving Cadiz worthless as a strategic assert. At least pre-occupation Cadiz hadn't been as bad as Terra Nova, in the years before the Breakaway Wars. “But we don’t really have time to worry about it now. We need to find a way of hitting back.”

An hour later, he watched her leading the way through the foliage as they hacked their way back towards Highway Three. The highway led up towards the grasslands and then through the mountains, but if the reports were accurate they wouldn't need to walk so far before they uncovered the Theocracy’s base. They’d intercepted enough radio signals to know that something pretty big was up there and most of the prisoner transports had headed in that direction. At the very least, the Theocracy was spending a great deal of effort in creating a trap for insurgents who might not even be able to pick up on the hints.

He caught sight of her tight trousers and cursed himself as he felt a rush of sudden desire. It always happened in the moments before combat, a sudden desperate attempt by his body to perpetuate its genes – or so he'd been told. Onboard ship, it could be handled with a simple feedback pulse from his implants, but the combat suit he needed had been stowed away at the camp, waiting for the final battle. He thought she was interested in him and perhaps...all he'd have to do was reach for her...

Angrily, he pushed the thought aside. There wasn't time for anything, but the mission – and she was an asset, nothing more. Or so he tried to tell himself. And then there was Kat, who had been his lover before she’d been promoted and become untouchable...she’d understand if he slept with Vanessa, wouldn't she? Or maybe she wouldn’t understand...and maybe Vanessa wasn't interested...and maybe...

The thoughts haunted him as he took the lead and set a harsh pace through the foliage, just before they reached Highway Three. Checking for enemy transports, they began to head upwards, towards the mountains. They should locate the enemy base long before they entered the foothills. The constant stream of shuttles overhead suggested as much. She turned and winked at him, her face suddenly lighting up with a smile that transformed her features. It struck him that she knew what he was feeling and was teasing him...

He shook his head and kept his eyes on the road. There wasn't time for romance.

***​

Kat frowned down at the slip of paper the Admiral had given her inside the sealed envelope. The note was clear; the meaning rather less so. Lightning was to proceed to a location only two light-years away from Cadiz and wait. If the Admiral didn't contact her in two weeks, she was to return to Bristol Deep and make contact with the Admiral. The orders made no sense, unless she assumed that the Admiral had a plan.

She keyed her wristcom. “Mr. XO, I’ve read the sealed orders,” she said. “I’m uploading new destination coordinates for us now. Take us there, best possible speed.”

And then there was nothing she could do, but wait. And pray.

 

Chapter Forty-One<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“Well,” Admiral Christian observed, “that was certainly an...interesting disaster.”

Captain Fran Higgins winced at his acidic tone. It wasn't fair, damn it! Defiant hadn't been in good shape even before the Battle of Cadiz. And then a quarter of her crew had been stripped away and replaced by strangers from other starships, crew that her original crew didn't know and didn't trust. And then...she shook her head. Hadn't she told herself that she could do a far better job than Defiant’s former commander, who was now – if he was lucky – a POW on <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>? She was getting the chance to prove it.

“Yes, sir,” she said. There was no point in dissembling, or denying it. “The drill could have gone a great deal better.”

The Admiral nodded. Fran had wondered why he’d chosen to transfer his flag to Defiant – along with his tactical staff – before realising that it was a gesture of confidence in 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet. It was hard to believe that 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet deserved the vote of confidence, unless their escape from <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> was being turned into a morale-boosting story back on Avalon. There had been no time to check the media updates and see how the home front was responding to the war, not with the hasty repair efforts and the desperate determination to get ready for the coming fight. Everyone knew that it would only be a matter of time before Bristol Deep was targeted for invasion – and 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet wasn’t ready to defend the system. If the enemy came after them with the fleet that had invaded <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, they couldn’t defend the system.

But they couldn’t just do nothing either.

“Work on it,” the Admiral ordered, absently. They’d had the entire fleet exercising almost continuously, even in the midst of the desperate repair efforts. Fran had personally supervised the transfer of some of the system’s engineers from the asteroids to the ships, even if there was a danger that they might be caught up in a battle when the enemy fleet arrived. “Put your crew through endless simulations. We can’t stay here much longer.”

Fran’s eyes strayed to the display showing Bristol Deep. Forty-seven destroyers, almost the entire flanking element deployed to the system – including a handful of ships that had been on patrol before being summoned to concentrate with 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet – were running patrols, flying endless patterns around 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet and out towards the asteroids. They’d been useful for tracking exercises, but the Admiral clearly had something else in mind. The Theocracy – unless its stealth systems were far superior to anything the Commonwealth had developed – wouldn’t be able to slip a scouting ship within close range of the fleet. It would be impossible for them to gather any up-to-date information on the fleet’s condition.

Not that it really matters, she thought, sourly. The Theocracy’s analysts would study the records of the Battle of Cadiz as closely as the Admiral’s tactical staff; they’d know, at least roughly, just how badly the fleet had been hammered before Fran had ordered the retreat. And they’d be able to estimate just how long it would be before the fleet was ready to take the offensive, although that was far more variable. Fran would not have cared to serve the Theocracy – if they would have let a woman serve on a starship – as an intelligence analyst, not when a slight variable meant that all of her calculations would be thrown off. If the Theocratic Navy and the RAN had one thing in common, it was a shared distrust of the intelligence services. They could take the blame if matters didn’t work out as well as they had promised.

“Yes, Admiral,” she agreed. They couldn’t stay in the Bristol Deep System much longer, not without pinning themselves for the enemy fleet. This time, the Theocracy would deploy starships into hyperspace as well, making it impossible for them to retreat. For all she knew, the Theocracy already had the system under covert observation. She started to order the crew to the exercise chambers and then hesitated. “You intend for us to leave now?”

“Within the hour,” the Admiral said. He’d been playing his cards close to his chest, but he clearly had some idea in mind. “I’ll upload the coordinates once we’re in hyperspace; there’s no immediate hurry.”

Fran nodded, wincing. The Admiral had a point. No one knew if the Theocracy had any sleeper agents within 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet, or had managed to subvert some of the fleet’s personnel. The StarCom was under strict supervision – the Admiral had even ordered it deactivated after sending a heavily-encrypted communications packet to Avalon – and there was no other way to get a message out of the system, unless it was beamed via laser to a lurking starship hiding under cloak. The Admiral would keep his plan to himself until they were already halfway to their destination.

The thought was a chilling one. How could she rely on her crew? Already, she found herself questioning everything, from the estimated repair time to the missile loads transferred to Defiant from the massive naval deport in orbit around the system’s primary. If someone was working for the Theocracy – and in a sufficiently powerful position – they could wreck the battleship quite easily or at least delay their departure until the Theocratic Navy arrived to complete the destruction of 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet. The Admiral had ordered Marines stationed at all access points and ordered the crews into lockdown when they were not on duty, but it was damaging the crew’s already fragile morale. There seemed to be no solution to Defiant’s woes.

“No, Admiral,” she agreed. “There’s no hurry.”

The next hour passed quickly. She’d been designing simulated exercises for the past six months, ever since she’d been warned that they might be going to war sooner than expected. Now, she ran her crew through exercise after exercise, checking and rechecking every part of the mighty ship’s sensors, weapons and drives. The crew – even with the newcomers – was already showing a considerable improvement over their performance at <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, although the only real test would be active combat operations. With the war underway, she was grimly confident that they’d be tested in fire soon enough.

“Order all ships to open their sealed orders, apart from those with special instructions,” the Admiral ordered, calmly. Fran nodded and opened the envelope he’d passed her, blinking in surprise at the contents. “And then order all ships to proceed through the fixed hyperspace vortex and into hyperspace, best possible speed.”

Fran issued orders to her crew, puzzled. There was no point in using the fixed vortex, not when even the merest destroyer could have opened up a gateway into hyperspace. And then it struck her; anyone watching the system from the outskirts would have problems telling which starships had left the system and which were still there, waiting for the Theocracy.

The vortex blossomed open in front of her and she felt the familiar sensation of falling back into hyperspace. It was joined by a new and unfamiliar sensation, the anticipation that her ship and crew were about to go back into harm’s way. This time, she was the Old Lady, the woman who bore the ultimate responsibility for her ship and crew. Even if the Admiral’s plan – and she had only a glimmering of what it could be – worked, they were risking almost all of 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet. If they lost…she banished the thought, angrily. They would not lose.

She keyed her intercom as the battleship and its escorts roared further into hyperspace. “All hands, return to simulations,” she ordered. “We will be testing ourselves against the enemy soon.”

***​

Captain Stewart watched as dispassionately as he could as 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet passed through the fixed gateway and vanished into hyperspace. It wasn't easy to remain calm knowing that an enemy juggernaut was bearing down on his location – and that all he had to stand it off were four squadrons of destroyers. The Admiral was determined to ensure that his plan worked, even if it meant stripping his screening elements to the bone. He studied the plot thoughtfully, knowing that half of the icons on the display weren’t truly there. The mighty battleships, sleek battlecruisers and solid heavy cruisers marked on the display were nothing more than ECM drones, projecting a false image to anyone close enough to detect their presence.


“General signal to the squadron,” he ordered, flatly. As the senior commander, he’d been appointed overall CO of Bristol Deep. It wasn't exactly a honour any longer. Everything that could be moved, including the StarCom, had been dragged into hyperspace, while the platforms and orbital stations had been evacuated and rigged to blow. “All ships are to maintain their patrol routes until I issue further orders.”

“Aye, Captain,” the tactical officer said. There was a pause while the signal was relayed out to the destroyers and responses started to flow back to the Jennifer Nettles. “All ships acknowledge, sir. They will comply.”

Stewart sat back in his chair. To anyone brave enough to slip into the system – and if the Theocracy was prepared to send spy ships over the border before the war, they’d certainly be brave enough now – it would appear that 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet was still attempting to repair itself following the disaster off <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. They wouldn’t be able to get close enough to realise that the ships they could see were nothing more than ECM drones because the destroyers were actively scanning for cloaked ships and would vector their comrades in on any suspect emission that might indicate the presence of a cloaked ship. And that meant that 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet would be off doing their unexpected while the enemy prepared themselves to fall upon Bristol Deep and smash the fleet before it could receive reinforcements. Or so the Admiral hoped. Everything depended upon the enemy taking the bait.

“Sensor reports are clear, Captain,” the sensor officer reported. Stewart had standing orders to detach a destroyer to warn the Admiral when – if – they picked up any trace of an enemy spy ship. It was quite possible that they’d miss it altogether; Lightning had slipped into <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> and escaped without being detected, after all. “There are no signs of any uninvited guests.”

“Keep scanning,” Stewart ordered. It was impossible to relax on the bridge, yet what else could he do. The enemy hadn’t bothered to call ahead and inform the RAN when they were planning to arrive and scout the system. “Let me know the instant you pick up anything, anything at all.”

***​

“Emergence complete, Captain,” the helmsman reported.

“There are no enemy starships within passive detection range,” the sensor officer added. His voice was tense; they all knew what was at stake for them if they failed. The Theocracy was not a very forgiving master and they’d already failed once. A second failure would rebound upon the entire crew. “I can pick up some low-power transmissions from the rough location of the industrial stations, but nothing else.”

Captain Zaid gritted his teeth. The mission was no honour, no reward for years of loyal and dedicated service to the Theocracy. If he hadn’t lost the Princess Jasmine…but he’d had no choice; he’d had to break off or his entire ship would have been destroyed. Someone higher up clearly agreed with him, or he would have been handed over to the Clerics and their Inquisition for scourging before they executed him to encourage the others. Or maybe they would enslave him instead, assigning him to one of the barely-habitable worlds that served as the Theocracy’s dumping grounds for its unwanted human trash. No one returned from one of those worlds, dead or alive.

“Take us in, slowly,” he ordered. It was all the fault of the Commonwealth’s harlot! He still remembered her face on the display, her mere presence a mocking refutation of everything the Theocracy stood for…and vowed angry revenge. If he pulled off this mission successfully, perhaps he could petition his superior for an assignment that might put him within weapons range of the bitch. How dare she damage his career through her misplaced charity? “Keep watching for any sign of the Commonwealth Navy.”

The hours crept by slowly as he brooded, watching the screens for any sign of enemy starships. Bristol Deep hadn’t been regarded as a target in the early version of the invasion plans and their intelligence was sadly lacking, leaving a question mark hanging over whatever the RAN might have moved into the star system. At least the spies had managed to discover that Bristol Deep was marked as a rendezvous point for 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet if anything happened to <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, allowing the Theocracy a chance to crush them before they could escape and retreat back into the Commonwealth. If they managed to shatter the remains of the fleet, they would be able to secure <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> and the remainder of the sector without trouble – and if he managed to bring back the word that would allow the Admiral to crush them, he would be rewarded and any black marks on his record would disappear.

He skimmed the latest letter from his second wife and smiled to himself. His wives were all educated, something unusual in the Theocracy, but it was nice to receive letters from them rather than the video messages that were always bland and boring. The senior wife was expecting again – she’d become pregnant after his last visit to Abdullah – and was nearing the end of her term. His brother-in-law – who just happened to work directly for one of the Emirs, who in turn served the Caliph – had told her that he was sure that there was a chance for promotion, provided all went well. Captain Zaid smiled at the thought. The Theocracy ran on hidden networks of family kinship and patronage; it was expected that family members would support one another. All he had to do was succeed.

“I’m picking up active sensor pulses now,” the sensor officer said. Captain Zaid leaned forward, feeling excitement thrilling through his blood. Now they would see what they had found! “There’s no hope of them detecting us at this distance, but I’ve got a lock on them; there are at least thirty destroyers in the system, maintaining steady patrol patterns.”

Captain Zaid frowned, stroking his beard. So many destroyers almost certainly meant that the enemy was up to something, for no commander in his right mind would separate his lighter units from his battleships. He studied the live sensor feed as it trickled into the display and frowned again, uncertain what he was seeing. There was so much input that vital sections of data were being blurred out by stray emissions.

“Interesting,” he said, finally. He leaned forward. The sensor officer was supposed to be the best in the service, or so he’d been told when he’d accepted the younger man onto his ship. He was also married to one of the Captain’s near relations. “What do you make of it?”

There was a pause. “I’m picking up power curves consistent with enemy battleships,” the sensor officer reported. “They’re odd, Captain; I think that some of the ships are badly damaged. They’re not putting out as much power as they should.”

“The infidels did flee from <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>,” the Cleric said. He had been even more dour than usual over the past weeks, ever since the Faithful Companion had almost been destroyed – and had lost the Princess Jasmine. “They were heavily damaged as they fled.”

Captain Zaid nodded. “And they’re here, trying to repair themselves,” he said. He ran through the tactical situation in his mind, considering. A few hours to get out of the system beyond sensor range, two days to <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>…and then the Admiral would know precisely where to find the enemy. He looked back down at the display and smiled. Even if the infidels chose to run rather than fight – and even if they escaped – they would lose the repair yards at Bristol Deep. Any large ship required at least a day in maintenance for every day it spent on active service and they would have to fall back to the Commonwealth to find succour. “They won’t escape us this time.”

He turned and issued orders to the helmsman. “Slip us out of the system, as quietly as you can,” he ordered. “I don’t want them to have a clue that we were here.”

“Understood, Captain,” the helmsman said. The destroyer shivered as the main drive came online, taking the small ship around and away from the local star. “Three hours to hyperspace, barring accidents or enemy contact.”

The Cleric scowled. “Should we not proceed into hyperspace at once?”

Captain Zaid hesitated. Clerical questions could easily become orders – and when the Cleric in question failed to understand the realities of naval operations, their orders could become disastrous. He had no intention of losing his ship because of a poorly-conceived order from a Cleric who was unworthy of the title, but there was no forceful argument he could use. The only way to deal with such a Cleric was through careful explanation of the relevant details, even if they should have been obvious to anyone on the ship.

“If we open a gateway, they will detect us,” he said, calmly. “If they realise that we know they’re there, they will abandon the system before the Admiral arrives to smash them flat.”

He didn’t point out that that would ensure that both of their careers were ruined, but he didn’t have to. Even a Cleric wasn't immune to the weight of official displeasure that could be brought to bear on anyone who failed the Theocracy. And Admiral Junayd was known for coming down hard on subordinates who failed him…

The Faithful Companion quivered slightly as she picked up speed, heading out of the system and into interstellar space. Captain Zaid allowed himself a tight smile as they left the battered infidel fleet behind. They’d be back soon, with enough firepower to destroy the rogue fleet…and then the rear would be secure.

And then they could plunge into the heart of the Commonwealth.

 

Chapter Forty-Two<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

They smelled the detention camp a long time before they finally made it through the foliage and up to the edge of the forest. Greg knelt low in the underbrush and peered through his enhanced eyesight, cursing the Theocracy under his breath. A great cage of wire had been established in the scrublands – a shuttle’s drive had been used to clear the ground, he suspected – and thousands of prisoners were languishing inside the cage. No, several cages; the Theocracy had divided them up by occupation. One cage held prisoners from the Commonwealth; a second held locals and a third held women, separated from the men. They’d all been stripped of their uniforms and dressed in simple prison garments, ones that would make them instantly recognisable if they happened to escape.

“Those bastards,” Vanessa breathed, as she pushed up beside him. Her eyes weren’t enhanced, but it didn’t seem to slow her down. “How many people do they have prisoner here?”

Greg attempted to count. There were at least seven huge cages, each one holding upwards of five hundred prisoners. Others seemed to be glimmering in the distance, while armed guards and dogs patrolled the outskirts of the cages, sometimes pausing to shout insults at the prisoners. A gang of men were being marched out of one of the cages, their legs chained together to make it impossible for them to escape, with guards shouting at them and applying the whip to make them move faster. They looked like locals to Greg, probably men who’d been rounded up and pressed into work parties. Or maybe they were former insurgents. There was no way to tell.

“Thousands,” he said, finally. How many Commonwealth citizens had been on the ground when the **** hit the fan? <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> had had hundreds of thousands of expatriates, all of whom might have been taken prisoner, or caught up in the crossfire and killed. And then there was the question of local resistance. There was no doubt in his mind that the Theocracy wouldn’t hesitate to kill as many locals as necessary to make sure that the survivors obeyed orders without question. “Look at that!”

A line of children, all boys of around the age of ten to twelve, were being marched past the cages. The boys were being encouraged to spit and shout curses at the prisoners, who seemed reluctant to shout back, let alone attempt to escape. They looked so listless that Greg guessed that they’d been drugged by their captors, probably with something nasty and addictive. It was a neat way of keeping the prisoners penned up, he had to admit; get them addicted to a drug that only the Theocracy could supply and they’d be unable to leave even if the cage wire was torn down. Perhaps they could be treated back home, but not on <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. The local medical facilities had never been very good, even prior to the occupation.

“Bastards,” Vanessa said, again. She sounded angry. None of the children would be from the Commonwealth – at least, Greg hoped that none of the children would be from the Commonwealth. The Admiral had had his brats…but they’d all been adult, at least physically. “Why the hell are they doing that?”

“Give me the child and I will shape his world,” Greg misquoted. “They’re being taught that they’re better than those behind the wire; soon, they won’t consider themselves part of your society. They will belong to the Theocracy, body and soul. God help them.”

He winced as one of the male prisoners began to shout to one of the children. A young boy broke free and ran towards the cage, shouting for his father. Seconds later, a jangler pulse sent him flying to the ground, stunned. Greg wondered if the troopers who picked him up and took him away from the rest of the group would ever let him wake up. He clearly hadn’t surrendered to their brainwashing technique.

“We need to stage a prison break,” Vanessa said, firmly. “We have to get them out of there.”

Greg couldn’t disagree, but it would be difficult, almost impossible. The camp was well-guarded, with armed guards everywhere, drones on the lookout overhead and helicopters flying around the perimeter. Even if he dressed his Marines in their armoured suits and risked burning up their remaining powered suits, it would still be almost impossible to get the prisoners out before the enemy commander called in <st1lace w:st="on">KEW</st1lace> strikes from orbit or simply shipped his armoured troopers down to the planet. He looked towards a set of prefabricated buildings and scowled. It looked as if they had stumbled upon a major enemy base.

“We’d have to plan it carefully,” he said, finally. He didn’t want to let her down, somehow. Besides, she had plenty of experience in fighting an underground war, more than anyone else in the insurgency. “We’ll have to find a way of hacking into the central database they’re using to store their registration records – or we’d end up being caught because of bad paperwork.”

He scowled to himself as he led her away from the camp, his implants silently filing away everything he’d seen for upload to Lightning or whichever ship returned to Cadiz. The information might just help Admiral Christian – now, there was a commanding officer who deserved loyalty – in plotting his counter-strike, whatever he had in mind. His implants posed a difficulty of their own; if the Theocracy’s forces scanned his body, they’d have no difficulty in realising that he wasn't an ordinary native of Cadiz. The planet had never possessed any medical centre capable of providing even the most basic implants, unlike Avalon. A single scan would reveal his true nature – and then he’d wind up a POW, or dead.

The hour passed slowly as they hiked back down towards the city. There was no sign of anyone else, not even the routine traffic that Vanessa assured him was normal around this part of the countryside. The Theocracy had probably slowed down traffic or forbidden it altogether, if only to prevent the population from moving out of its control. Greg had studied previous invasions and counterinsurgency operations and they’d all claimed that there were only two ways to perform a successful counterinsurgency; make friends with the locals, or control them so completely that insurgents couldn't flourish among them. The Theocracy clearly preferred the latter tactic.

A rumble of engines alerted them, too late. Greg stopped dead as a camouflaged vehicle roared out of hiding, an APC that looked to have been designed back in the days of the Wrecker Wars. It wasn't too surprising; the RAMC believed that simple was better when it came to deploying military technology and the Theocracy evidently agreed. After hundreds of years of development, the technology had effectively reached as close to perfection as possible. The vehicle was armoured against anything short of a missile or plasma cannon, the weapons it carried were capable of scything them to bloody shreds within seconds and the troopers riding inside were ready to dismount and support their transport on the ground. They were already piling out of the vehicle, guns pointed directly at Greg’s head. Greg froze, studying them carefully. They didn't seem to be paying any attention to Vanessa.

There were five troopers in all, carrying weapons part of Greg’s mind identified as a direct copy of the UN’s Standard Issue Assault Rifle during the Breakaway Wars. The uniforms they wore had an undeniable element of sloppiness about them, suggesting that they were a reserve unit rather than Janissaries or another elite formation. On the other hand, they were clearly alert and ready for trouble – and they were taking Greg seriously. The guns pointed at his head weren't just for show.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” the leader barked. His voice was oddly accented, as if he’d been forced to learn Standard through a hypnotic course rather than practice and more practice. The chances were that he was the only one in the small unit who could speak Standard, although Greg reminded himself not to take that for granted. Their superiors wouldn't want them being contaminated by other beliefs and ways of living, but they’d also want the troops to be flexible with the locals. It was a little hard to interrogate a person if the interrogator couldn't speak his language. “Identity card; now!”

Greg forced himself to stammer, as if he were terrified. “I...I don’t have one,” he said, desperately. “I’ve been camping with my girlfriend and we saw the lights in the sky and...what’s going on?”

The leader didn't look as if he believed Greg’s story. It was unlikely that anyone on Cadiz was unaware of what was going on, unless they’d been out away from civilisation and only ever seen the lights in the sky. Greg braced himself, prepared for the worst; he didn't dare let himself be captured. If worst came to worse, he would have to trigger the suicide protocol in his implants and hope that Vanessa was caught in the blast. The looks some of the troopers were exchanging behind their leader’s back suggested that they had something rather unholy in mind.

“This world belongs to us now,” the leader said, finally. “You have heard none of our broadcasts?”

“No, sir,” Greg said. The leader looked a little more convinced, or perhaps he was just not inclined to waste time. “What’s going on?”

“You will wait here until a transport arrives to take you to the registration camp,” the leader decided. His gaze fell on Vanessa. “And you will have to cover her so that her gaze does not incite the lusts of men.”

He barked an order to his men in Arabic. “Shackle them,” he ordered. Clearly, he was taking no chances – and he had no idea Greg spoke Arabic, although with an odd accent of his own. “We’ll hold them here until the transport arrives. They can explain themselves to the occupation authorities.”

Greg braced himself, triggering silent commands to his implants. His body began to prepare itself for a fight. New drugs flowed into his bloodstream, quickening his reflexes and heightening his awareness of his surroundings. The Marines were warned not to abuse their implanted drug glands and other systems, all highly classified, but some still pushed their bodies too far every year. It was hard to return to humanity when one had been a god. The movement of the enemy soldiers seemed to slow to a crawl. He silently prayed that Vanessa would have the sense to stay still when the fun began.

“Put your hands behind you,” one of the troopers ordered. “Now, infidel...”

He broke off as Greg slammed a palm into his neck. It would have crushed his throat with merely human strength; the force of his enhanced muscles snapped his neck, killing him before he realised that he was under attack. Greg snatched his sidearm as he picked up the body and threw it at a second soldier, while diving out of the path of a spray of bullets from a third. The blocky firearm felt cumbersome in his hand, but he managed to fire twice, taking down both the leader and the third soldier. Vanessa let out a yell and lunged at the fourth, who had seemingly ignored her – after all, she was only a mere woman. The knife she drove into his chest ensured that he would never be interested in anyone again.

Greg hurled himself forward as the mounted guns on the APC began to traverse. If they were only reservists, they might have made a crucial mistake...they had; they’d left the upper hatch open. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, but Greg was through the hatch before the two remaining occupants had a chance to seal it and call for help. One of them was killed by a bullet to the head; the second was luckier, dodging in the confined quarters of the vehicle so that the bullet only went into his arm. Greg slammed a fist into his chest, putting him out of commission for a few minutes, and twisted around to check the console. Like the equipment designed for Avalon’s ground-forces, it was idiot-proof. It was easy to work out how to dismantle the communications panel and cut the vehicle off from the communications net.

“Come on,” he snapped, hauling the sole survivor to his feet. “Out; now!”

The lower hatch opened and he kicked the survivor out, snatching up a plastic tie to bind his hands once they were out of the vehicle. He barked a command for Vanessa to take one of the grenades, toss it into the vehicle and start running while he concentrated on dragging their prisoner into the undergrowth. The APC exploded behind them into a fireball, suggesting that there had been more grenades inside the vehicle. It was careless of them; normally, tanks and APCs required a great deal more killing before they went up in smoke.

His body started to shake minutes later as the drug was flushed from his bloodstream, leaving him feeling weak and shaky. How long would it be before the Theocracy realised that they’d lost contact with one of their patrols? How long would it be before they investigated? And would they respond by destroying every civilian habitation near the incident scene? In hindsight, it might have been better to throw the bodies into the APC and destroy them. It might have been taken for an accident, the result of sending reservists into combat without proper training and preparation.

“Keep an eye on him,” he grunted, and staggered into the nearest tree. A well of vomit welled up inside him and he was violently sick, cursing the drugs as he hacked and coughed, trying to spew out the last of the disgusting taste. There was a price for everything, he’d been told when he’d enlisted; somehow, no one had mentioned the vomiting and motion sickness in the recruitment videos. It was easy to see why some chose to keep injecting themselves with the drugs, pushing their bodies to the brink of collapse, seeking the perfect never-ending high.

Vanessa was watching him, clearly worried. “Are you all right?”

“Pass me some water and I’ll be fine,” he said. He took a look at their captive and winced again. The man looked terrified, hardly an all-conquering hero. Maybe he could be interrogated, but first they’d have to see to their security. “Cut off his clothes and leave everything here, now. God alone knows what he might have had attached to him by their security officers.”

The thought didn't please him. It wouldn't be hard to create a simple tracker so tiny that it couldn't be seen by the naked eye, configured to remain silent until it received a ping from a search unit. The Theocracy would probably want to keep a covert eye on its recruits, if only because they might be tempted into sin by the luxuries all around them, even on Cadiz.

He shook his head. This trooper was never going to have the chance. He was going to be interrogated, and then – unless there was a reason to keep him alive – his throat was going to be cut. It was going to be a long hard war.

***​

There was something about the vastness of interstellar space that made Kat feel cold, and alone. Lightning drifted two light years from Cadiz, waiting for the Admiral’s messenger to arrive – or for the Admiral himself. They were an unimaginable distance from any inhabitable world, she knew; they could not hope to return to any life-bearing star without opening a gateway and moving through hyperspace. There were tales of starships that had made an interstellar journey without hyperspace, but none of those tales had any foundation. Humanity’s plans to travel through interstellar space on giant interstellar arks had come to an end when hyperspace had been discovered and the first starships set out on their interstellar voyages.

She stood in the observation blister and stared out into space. Somewhere out there, Cadiz’s primary was glowing in the darkness, shining down on Captain Bone and his Marines. Kat was relieved to know that they were alive, but somehow the thought that he was still in deadly danger bothered her more than she had expected. And unless the Admiral pulled a miracle out of his hat, it might be years before Cadiz was liberated. If it ever was...”

Her wristcom chirped. “Captain, we are detecting hyperspace gateways opening,” Roach said. Kat didn't feel alarmed; the only person who knew to find them in interstellar space was the Admiral. “They’re coming through now.”

Kat turned her gaze back into space just in time to see the first vortex shimmering into life, followed by a second and a third. Space itself was rent asunder, flashes of light heralding the arrival of battleships, battlecruisers and heavy cruisers, with only a handful of screening units. The entire 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet – and the battleship squadron the Admiral had commanded – had arrived, save only a number of destroyers. Kat stared at them in disbelief. If the Admiral had ordered them to gather here, it meant that he intended to attack Cadiz.

“Captain,” Roach said, “the Admiral would like to speak with you.”

“Put him through,” Kat ordered. “Upload our sensor readings from Cadiz to the command datanet.”

The Admiral’s voice cut into the wristcom. “Captain,” he said, formally. “I trust that you are surprised to see the fleet?”

“Yes, sir,” Kat said, honestly. “Sir...Cadiz is too strongly held for us to retake it.”

“Now,” the Admiral agreed. “I will dispatch four destroyers to picket the system. If the Theocracy takes the bait, we can give them a very nasty surprise.”

Kat nodded, understanding forming in her mind. There was only one target that might draw the enemy battleships away from Cadiz – 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet itself.

“I see,” she said. “And now we wait?”

“Yes,” the Admiral confirmed. “We wait.”

 

Chapter Forty-Three<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

Admiral Junayd allowed himself one of his tight smiles.

“They’re there, waiting for us,” he said, coldly. “Like lambs for the slaughter.”

Governor Walid didn't look so convinced. “Are you sure that they will remain there long enough for you to hit them?”

“They don't know they’ve been discovered,” Admiral Junayd said. “Think about it; that fleet is the only significant threat remaining in this sector. As long as it is in our rear, we cannot advance against the Commonwealth – which gives them time to mobilise and launch counterattacks of their own. We crush it and we have time to move up our own forces and continue the drive into the Commonwealth.”

He grinned, unpleasantly. The Governor wasn't having an easy time of it. Sure, most of the planet was under control, but there had been a handful of nasty incidents out in the countryside and the locals were proving uncooperative. They’d had to use mass reprisal several times in the cities just to keep them under control, while any locals who sought to sign up with the occupiers found themselves isolated by their fellows. Given time, the Admiral was sure that the planet would be pacified and brought into the faith – it had worked before, after all – but until then the occupation wasn’t going to be easy. The Commonwealth had killed the stupid insurgents a long time before the Theocracy had invaded. Those that remained were tough, smart and dedicated.

Not that it really mattered, of course. The Commonwealth had successfully managed to lock down most local factories that produced war material, although there were a vast number of primitive production plants hidden away in the countryside. Their only source of heavy weapons had been the Theocracy and that particular source of supply wouldn’t be forthcoming any longer. The insurgency would slowly die away for want of weapons and supplies, while the occupation force would register every last citizen on the planet and then begin the long task of preparing them for the faith.

“The facilities we’ve captured here are valuable,” the Governor objected. Admiral Junayd concealed a smile, aware that the Governor’s real interest lay with the industrial combines that provided support and funding in exchange for first crack at front-line Commonwealth technology. The Theocracy could match the Commonwealth in military technology, but it was becoming alarmingly clear that their general technological base was at least a decade behind their opponent’s technological base. “They have to be protected.”

“Of course,” the Admiral agreed, mildly. “I will assign a squadron of battleships and flanking units to protect <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, should enemy raiders attempt to return to the system and harass the mining facilities. Once we have crushed the remains of their 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet, we can re-concentrate our forces for the drive into the Commonwealth.”

He looked up at the holographic chart, frowning. Like every offensive in history, matters had begun to slip almost as soon as the first units had been set into motion. Some of his smaller squadrons, assigned to other targets in the sector, had not returned, let alone reported back. It would be several days before he had to assume the worst – if only because they didn’t send a courier boat to report – but it still left him feeling uneasy. The long fleet train was already in motion, bringing the supplies from the Theocracy that would allow him to kick off a mighty offensive into the heart of the Commonwealth, yet if they were delayed – or enemy raiders took them out – the offensive would stall, at least until replacements arrived. How long would it be before the enemy launched a counter-attack of their own?

”I will pray for your success,” the Governor said. “May God go with you.”

His image vanished from the display. Admiral Junayd considered the blank screen for a long moment, and then turned to issue orders to his men. They had a window of opportunity, one that could not be refused for fear of losing the war; the risk, if risk there was, was minimal. And besides, the enemy were already demoralised. One final push and 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet would disintegrate. How could the Commonwealth, a society based around freedom and self-determination, survive when challenged by a united society, following its Caliph to death or glory?

And yet he still felt uneasy. God never gave anyone victory, unless they deserved it. And the only way the Theocracy would deserve it was through working to make it happen. God helped those who helped themselves…and so much of their advantage had come from Commonwealth weaknesses, not their own strengths. And any Theocrat knew that gifts from God didn’t last. One had always to be worthy of them.

Cheer up, he told himself, firmly. These are the problems of victory. You could have been defeated instead.

An hour later, three battleship squadrons and flanking units opened a vortex into hyperspace and vanished, bound for Bristol Deep.

***​

“They’re gone.”

“It looks that way,” Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Robin Summers agreed. “We have orders to wait for six hours, remember?”

Invisible Hand wasn’t a RAN craft, not even in name. The intelligence boat had been designed by the Commonwealth Intelligence Service and built secretly – along with her sisters – in a hidden compound orbiting an otherwise useless star. She was almost completely invisible to passive sensors even without a cloaking device or masking field – and active sensors would be lucky to pick up on her unless she was at very close range. The boat had been on manoeuvres out along the borderline when the **** had hit the fan and Robin – the boat’s commanding officer – had promptly announced her presence to Admiral Christian and requested orders. Admiral Christian had ordered them into the Cadiz System, relieving one of his lighter units from scout duties.

She stood up and walked over to the small food processor, producing a glass of water. The interior of her command was cramped, with barely enough room for her four crewmembers and some of the most advanced sensor systems to exist in known space. Robin and her crew had all been fitted with suicide implants that would prevent them falling into enemy hands, a risk they’d accepted back when they’d signed up with the CIS. The boat itself seemed primitive, as if it was from a bygone era. There were no wireless systems onboard, not even standard implant access processor nodes. A single stray emission could betray their presence.

Drinking her water, she looked back towards the main display. <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> was surrounded by enemy facilities – including a new halo of orbital weapons platforms, some of which they’d monitored firing down on the planet – and a single squadron of enemy battleships. Two of them appeared to be damaged, although it was impossible to tell just how badly – or indeed if the effects were anything more than cosmetic. Some of the interstellar powers liked having their ships marked, even though it made little sense to her. They’d have to warn Admiral Christian that the ships might not be seriously damaged at all.

The time ticked by slowly. By long agreement among the crew – they would have torn themselves apart in the cramped confines if they hadn’t been able to get along – two of the crew slept under the influence of their implants while the other two continued to monitor local space. The enemy battleships resolutely refused to reappear. Robin studied the sensor readings of the hyperspace vortex they’d used to enter hyperspace and frowned; the enemy ships were on a rough course for Bristol Deep, but it was impossible to be sure. Besides, the enemy ships could have easily altered course while in hyperspace and returned to lie in wait. There was no certainty in wartime.

She rubbed her eyes as the timer ticked down to zero. They’d intercepted enough traffic from the planet below to know that the local population was being prepared for integration into the Theocracy, regardless of their own wishes and desires. Those who adopted the true faith would be rewarded and promoted; those who refused to convert would be sidelined, marginalised and eventually enslaved. Their children would be taken away and raised by the faithful. In the end, there would be no trace of any other religion on the planet. The crew had intercepted radio messages – in clear – that reported the destruction of thousands of churches and other religious buildings. They would all be raised to the ground.

“That’s six hours,” her partner said, finally. “They’re not coming back.”

Robin nodded and keyed a series of commands into her console. The first one brought the reactor up from standby and started to flush power into the ship’s heavily-shielded drive systems. Once they were mobile, they could start creeping out towards the outer edge of the system, where they would enter hyperspace without being detected. The second command transmitted a single codeword into the network of stealth platforms Lightning had left behind; the third transmitted a laser pulse to a courier boat lurking on the very edge of the system. By the time Invisible Hand was on its way out of the system, the courier boat would already be halfway to the rendezvous point. The Admiral would know that his deception had worked. <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> was uncovered.

Her eyes strayed back to the enemy ships orbiting <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> as the drive came up to full power and they began to withdraw from the system. They looked fat and happy to her, confident that they would not be attacked by the Commonwealth’s depleted forces. Her mouth twisted into a unpleasant smile as the stealth ship picked up speed. They were in for an unpleasant shock.

***​

The buzz of the transmitted brought Greg to wakefulness instantly; he grabbed for his sidearm automatically, concerned that someone nearby would hear the noise and summon the enemy troops. They’d already had to move camp further away from the city after a small army of enemy troops had headed up the Highway and launched a search-and-destroy mission, clearly looking for the insurgents who had wiped out a small patrol and destroyed their vehicle. The search hadn’t been very efficient, at least in Greg’s view, but it had thoroughly terrorised the locals near the detainment centre. They wouldn’t be giving any help to the insurgency in future.

He grabbed the portable terminal as the other Marines came awake, snatching up their weapons to repel attack. The sentry motioned quickly; there was no attack. Most of the Marines returned to sleep, apart from a handful who remained quietly on alert. It was supposed to be impossible for an enemy force to sneak up on them, but none of them would take that for granted. An enemy force would be trying to surprise them. He looked over at the locals, who were also stirring, and frowned. How long would it be before the Theocracy arrested their families and brought pressure on them to betray their uneasy allies?

Shaking his head, he glanced down at the terminal. The message seemed to blast a wakefulness pulse into his skull, a memory of his time spent at Boot Camp. He glanced over at Vanessa, who was looking at him with wide eyes, and nodded to her. She pulled herself up from her sleeping bag and headed over to join him. He forced himself to look away as she squatted down next to him, half-astonished at his own diversion. They didn’t have time for romance, or even outright lust.

“They sent us a warning message,” he said. No one else would have received the message, at least as far as he knew. If there were other rogue bands of Commonwealth soldiers out there, they hadn’t made contact with the Marines. God alone knew how many others were out there, helpless, lost and alone. “The system is about to be attacked.”

Vanessa looked up, sharply. “They’re going to liberate us?”

Greg winced. He hadn’t been looking forward to this part of the conversation. “I don’t think so,” he admitted. “They don’t have the firepower to take and hold <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>; I think that this is just going to be a massive raid, perhaps a chance to trap and destroy a number of enemy ships when the odds favour us.”

“Damn,” Vanessa said. She frowned. “They didn’t give you any details?”

“No,” Greg said. “They wouldn’t tell me anything, for fear that the enemy might intercept and be put on alert. I think we’re going to have to spot targets for them, once they arrive and take the high orbitals. However…”

He looked down at her. She wasn't going to like this. “I want you to pass the word to the insurgent cells you’re still in contact with,” he said. Insurgents didn’t have formal chains of command, he knew; they tended to be far less hierarchical than the Marine Corps. But then, any insurgency with a clear chain of command was just asking to be rounded up by the enemy. “You have to tell them to keep their heads down and stay out of the fighting.”

“This is our planet,” Vanessa said, stubbornly. “We will fight for it.”

“They can’t hold the planet indefinitely,” Greg reminded her. “The Theocracy will return and take control of the population again – and when they do, their leader will be twice as ruthless and unpleasant if he thinks that your forces aided ours. You have to keep your people out of the fight until we can make a stab at liberating <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> permanently.”

He watched her face twisting in the light of the early-morning sun. The birds were carolling out in the distance; he could almost believe that it was little more than an adventure trip with a pretty girl and a handful of buddies. But as Sergeant Boyce prepared the Marines for their morning duties, he knew that the illusion couldn’t last. It would soon be time to make war again, on an enemy renowned for its ruthlessness. The normal laws of reprisal simply didn’t deter the Theocracy, if only because its population were trained to regard themselves as completely expendable. Those who died in the course of a holy war believed that they went straight into God’s merciful arms. The leaders, he suspected, would know better, but anyone who sought to use faith to motivate his armies was riding a tiger. It was quite possible that if the council of hypocrites and monsters at the head of the Theocracy were to be killed off, they’d be replaced by true believers.

“Fine,” she said, finally. “But one thing…”

Greg scowled. “Go one,” he said. “What can we do for you?”

“I want to take part personally,” Vanessa said. “I’ve been in the shadows too long.”

Greg bit down the comment that came to mind and nodded. “Very well,” he said. “We’ll be heading back to the detention centre within the hour. You can march with us.”

He turned and watched as Sergeant Boyce started to bark orders to the Marines. The handful who were still sleeping jumped up and started to stow their kit away in their rucksacks, while the sentries started to fan out, checking to ensure that there was no sign of enemy forces anywhere near their position. A quick scan for radio transmissions reported nothing closer than a pair of known enemy positions – they’d taken over a couple of farms in strategic locations and kicked out the farmers when they complained – although the city was blazing with radio transmissions. There was no way to know if they had any inkling that an attack was coming, or that their positions were about to be shattered.

“Seems to be business as usual, sir,” Rifleman Jones reported. He’d taken over the listening watch for the night. “They’re not alert for anything.”

“Yeah,” Greg said. He caught Vanessa’s eyes and nodded to her. She was already ready to depart, carrying one of the Marine-issue weapons that they’d signed over to her. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

***​

Commodore Amadadodi relaxed on the bridge of the Hammer of Faith as his ship’s boy brought him his morning cup of coffee. It was strong enough to blister the ship’s hull, just the way he liked it. The battleship was quietly preparing for its next deployment, once the Admiral returned victorious from Bristol Deep, leaving her commander feeling deprived of the chance to win glory. It had taken a whole series of favours and family connections to obtain his command and he was damned if he was going to sit in orbit around <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> for the entire war. They could be halfway to Avalon by now if they’d just pressed on after taking <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>.

Part of him knew that that wasn’t true, but he found it hard to care. Two ships in his squadron had been battered quite badly during the Battle of Cadiz, even though the damage was already under control and nearly repaired. The Admiral was merely expressing his irritation at having so many ships damaged – or perhaps he was concerned about allowing a man with such family connections a chance to win glory that would earn him promotion. He scowled down at <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, thinking angry thoughts about the infidels on the surface. If they would just accept the true faith and submit to their rightful overlords, he could take his ship to win glory and…

His thoughts were interrupted by an alert from the tactical console. “Report,” he barked. The tactical officer was competent; he’d proved that in the endless drills they’d endured before receiving their final orders. “What’s happening?”

The tactical officer seemed shaken. “Commodore, we have multiple hyperspace vortexes opening up,” he said. New icons sprang to life on the display. The Commodore stared in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening, not to him. “I’m readying….twenty-seven enemy battleships, plus flanking units…”

He cleared his throat. “Commodore,” he said, more formally. “The Cadiz System is under attack.”

“I can see that,” Amadadodi snarled. “All hands to battle stations!”

 

Chapter Forty-Four<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

“Emergence complete, Admiral,” Fran reported. Defiant had roared out of the hyperspace vortex she’d created, heading down towards <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> – and a suddenly badly outnumbered enemy fleet. “We are launching tactical probes now.”

Admiral Christian didn’t hesitate. “Launch all fighters,” he ordered. The carriers were making their way out of the vortex behind the battle line, ready to launch their remaining fighters into the battle. “Order them to attack the enemy, attack pattern alpha-delta-sierra.”

“Aye, sir,” the CAG said. The attack patterns had been discussed previously; the starfighters, assuming that the enemy had no fighters of their own with their picket, would concentrate on taking out the enemy ships. Fran nodded to herself as a pair of enemy freighters revealed themselves to be makeshift carriers, launching four wings of enemy fighters into space. “Lead fighters are requesting permission to engage the enemy.”

“Permission granted,” the Admiral said, with equal formality. “Retain two squadrons for CSP; deploy the remainder as you see fit.”

He turned and looked down at Fran and her crew. “The battleships will advance to engage the enemy,” he ordered. “All ships are ordered to open fire as soon as they enter range. Program the command network for multiple target selection; we have a three-to-one advantage and I don’t mean to waste it.”

“Aye, sir,” Fran said. “All ships will advance to engage the enemy.”

A cloud of fighters roared out ahead of the battleships as they advanced down towards <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. The enemy seemed confused, but they were rapidly concentrating their force and starting to advance outwards, away from the planet. Their tactics made little sense to Fran – in their position, she would have ordered a retreat – but there were hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of enemy soldiers on the planet below. The enemy commander might not want to risk abandoning them. Besides, the Theocracy would need a scapegoat for the disaster and who better than the system’s CO?

“Interesting,” Admiral Christian observed. If he was feeling the same tension that had turned Fran’s blood to ice, it didn’t show in his voice. Indeed, he sounded as calm as if he were ordering dinner. “The enemy commander has decided to engage us rather than retreat. And what does that mean, I wonder?”

He smiled. “Either we’ve just walked into an enemy trap, or they believe that we will not risk heavy losses ourselves,” he said. “Let’s see which one is right, shall we?”

The seconds ticked away as the battleships lumbered closer and closer, until they reached engagement range. Defiant shuddered as she unleashed her first broadside, hundreds of missiles fired as one. The other battleships fired simultaneously, unleashing a massive broadside that roared down on the enemy ships. Part of Fran’s mind noted that the endless drills had paid off, with most of the gunnery stations showing a mark improvement from their performance in the first Battle of Cadiz; the remainder watched the wall of missiles, horrified by the sheer weight of firepower she’d unleashed. It was enough firepower to casually wreck several worlds.

A moment later, new alarms sounded as the enemy returned fire. The point defence was already online, launching drones and decoys to draw off as many of the enemy missiles as possible. Hundreds of bolts of plasma fire and rail-gun pullets flashed into space, each one destroying an enemy missile…but there were hundreds more incoming. Defiant shuddered angrily as a missile detonated against her hull, followed by a second and then a third. Red alarms flashed up on her display, reporting that the ship had been hulled.

“Our firepower gives us the advantage,” the Admiral mused. Four enemy ships were steaming atmosphere, badly damaged. One was sliding out of position, suggesting that it had been completely disabled. “Send the signal to Sapper. She can move now.”

***​

Commodore Amadadodi cursed, heedless of the Cleric’s warning presence on his bridge, as missiles slammed into his battleship. His force had a slight edge in lighter craft, but it wasn’t enough to keep them from taking hideous damage at the hands of the enemy ships. The pounding was rapidly growing unsubstainable, suggesting that his entire force was on the verge of being wiped out.

“Incoming starfighters,” the tactical officer warned, suddenly. The infidels didn;lt just have the advantage in ships of the line; they had the advantage in starfighters too! If the Admiral had kept his task force at Cadiz...but no, the infidels had clearly been waiting for their moment. They’d picked their time well and his force was about to be hammered. The prospect of leaving a battered enemy fleet in possession of Cadiz was unthinkable; after all, the Caliph had already appointed a Governor and word of the victory had been sent throughout the Theocracy. “They’re coming in on attack vector.”

“Shift our point defence fire to cover,” Amadadodi ordered, harshly. Another icon vanished from his display, a light cruiser that had no place in this battle of the titans. Its absence opened up a gap in the point defence datanet, allowing the enemy to hammer another of his battleships and put it out of commission. A missile smashed through the armour plating, detonated inside the hull...and a chain of explosions blew the battleship into flaming plasma. There had been no time for the crew to get to the lifepods. The ship had gone down with all hands.

He looked over at the Cleric. “We have to retreat,” he snapped. Another impact shook his starship. The enemy starfighters were launching their missiles at close range, picking off his weapons, drives and sensors. His ship was on the verge of being blinded. It was intolerable that such gnats would threaten his ship, yet there was nothing he could do about it. Most of the fleet’s starfighter carriers had departed for Bristol Deep along with the Admiral. “We can't stay here.”

The Cleric stared at him. “The Caliph has ordered that this world be held,” he thundered. He didn't seem disconcerted by the thunder on the hull, or the periodic shockwaves that ran through the ship. Clerics were simply too ignorant to be afraid. “We cannot deny him!”

“If we stay here, we will be destroyed,” Amadadodi thundered back. Having an argument on his bridge in front of his crew was the last thing he wanted, but he needed the Cleric’s permission to cover himself. It wouldn't look good on his service record if he retreated in the face of the enemy – assuming that he was permitted to survive. The Caliph wasn't known for blaming his favourites, like the good Admiral. Someone would have to take the blame for the disaster and that would almost certainly be him. “We have to leave, now!”

“Commodore,” the tactical officer snapped. “I have new hyperspace vortexes opening behind our lines, near the planet!”

For a moment, Amadadodi knew hope. The Commonwealth and the Theocracy agreed on one point; complex operations were just asking to fail spectacularly. If someone new was arriving, it might be the reinforcements from the Theocracy or even the Admiral himself, along with his task force. Why would the Commonwealth RAN send in a second attack force...?

And then the red icons appeared, flowing out of the vortex. A second Commonwealth force had arrived...

And Cadiz was almost undefended, ripe for the plucking. His career was lost, along with his life. And his family would suffer for his failure. The only thing left was a glorious death. And he’d wished for glory!

“Helm,” he ordered, in a voice like death. “Take us right into the teeth of the enemy fleet. All guns are to continue firing until...they can fire no more.”

***​

“Sapper has entered hyperspace,” Roach reported. “The Admiral has given us clearance to proceed.”

Kat nodded, feeling the lump of tension in her breast slowly draining away. “Take us out of hyperspace,” she ordered. “And alert the other ships to follow us in.”

A dark vortex materialised in front of Lightning and the starship plunged back into the Cadiz System. Kat took in the situation in an instant. The Admiral’s battleships had successfully drawn off the enemy battleships, leaving Lightning and her consorts to deal with the fixed defences. Red icons flared up on the display as orbital weapons platforms went active, locking their weapons on Lightning and her consorts. They were about to come under heavy attack.

“Fire at will,” she ordered. Behind Lightning, the single assault carrier that had survived the disaster of First Cadiz was launching her starfighters, providing cover for Lightning and the handful of other ships. The enemy were already rerouting starfighters of their own to tackle the small squadron, correctly deducing that they wouldn’t be able to turn their battleships away from the Admiral’s fleet without having their heads handed to them. “Take out as many of the orbital defences as you can.”

She tensed as the enemy fighters roared down on Lightning. Individually, fighters posed little threat, but collectively they were incredibly dangerous, even if they hadn’t made capital ships as obsolete as some had predicted, back when they’d first been put into production. They could carry out precise targeting, slamming missiles into Lightning’s drives or weaponry, crippling her ship. The RAN starfighters fanned out around Lightning, providing what protection they could. One by one, enemy starfighters began to die, but not before unleashing their missiles into Lightning. The point defence killed most of them, yet a handful survived to strike home. Lightning shuddered as five missiles slammed into her armour. Kat felt the impacts deep in her soul, even as she gritted her teeth. They had to remain where they were.

“Keep firing,” she ordered. The orbital defences were shooting now, launching missiles towards the small squadron. Ahead of Lightning, two squadrons of RAN starfighters were flashing towards the orbital weapons, picking them off before they could keep launching missiles. Brilliant explosions lit the skies of Cadiz – again – as the Theocracy’s orbital defences were blasted out of orbit, sending debris falling down into the planet’s atmosphere. The remaining enemy starfighters altered course, seeming to hesitate for a long second, and then they drove towards their targets. Kat barely had a second to realise that they were attempting to ram the capital ships before one slammed into Lightning. The ship shook violently.

“Direct impact, secondary shuttlebay,” the Chief Engineer said. He sounded unshaken, much to Kat’s relief. They’d been lucky enough to keep their full complement of damage control officers, but they’d lost half of their spare parts to the rest of 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet. “Two shuttles destroyed; minor structural damage. The secondary layer of armour held.”

“Good,” Kat said. If the secondary layer of armour had broken, the explosion would have inflicted far more damage on her ship. It might have crippled Lightning, or broken her back. “And the rest of the squadron?”

“Petticoat took a kamikaze to the drives and is falling back to the RV point,” Roach reported. “All other ships report minimal damage, Captain; local space is clear of enemy units and installations.”

Kat nodded. The Theocracy hadn’t had the time to construct orbital fortresses or other heavy defences, choosing instead to rely on automated orbital weapons platforms and their starships. It wasn't a bad tactic, but it ensured that they could never really uncover Cadiz, at least not without risking the RAN arriving to smash the occupation force. Her lips twisted into a smile as the small squadron moved forward, already linking in to the Marines on the ground. The enemy was about to discover the weakness in their planning.

“Move the two monitors up ahead,” she ordered, as Lightning started to settle into high orbit. It would allow them to run, if necessary. The enemy fleet might realise that they’d been tricked and come racing back to Cadiz with blood in their eyes. “Tell them that they are authorised to open fire.”

Monitors were rarely used in space combat, at least according to pre-war doctrine. They were designed for rapid, overwhelming and precise bombardment of hundreds of targets on the ground, targets that might be capable of shooting back. Compared to Lighting, they were ugly blocky craft, but they’d be worth their weight in gold today. Unlike any other ship in the fleet, they could launch thousands of KEW projectiles if necessary, utterly shattering the enemy positions on the ground. And thanks to Captain Bone and his Marines – she allowed herself a tight smile on her former lover’s behalf – they had excellent targeting data. No enemy units would survive within a hundred kilometres of New Barcelona.

“The monitors copy, Captain,” Roach reported. He’d had to serve as a fleet coordination officer as well as her tactical officer, but he’d adapted well. “They’re opening fire now.”

Kat’s imagination allowed her to fill in the picture. KEW projectiles were really little more than rocks, dropped from orbit and precisely targeted on enemy positions. All over Cadiz, enemy troops would be fleeing their vehicles and bases, trying to get away before the rocks slammed down and obliterated their targets. Anything broadcasting on enemy frequencies was marked for destruction; within ten minutes, thousands of KEWs had fallen on the planet below. It was simply impossible to maintain any degree of coherent coordination in the face of such a barrage; that had been proven in countless wars and skirmishes since the human race had first turned space into a war zone. The optical sensors on the monitors were the best in the Commonwealth, capable of tracking even individual enemy vehicles and assigning them a targeting priority. It helped that the Commonwealth had lost every armoured vehicle on Cadiz, ensuring that there was little danger of hitting a friendly unit.

The reports from the ground had said that the Theocracy was moving rapidly to establish control of the civilian population. Right now, the civilian population – which had been firmly opposed to the Commonwealth – would be very aware of just what conquest by the Theocracy actually meant. They’d take this opportunity to scatter into the countryside, or take up arms and fight when the Theocracy returned to Cadiz...or maybe even settle scores with those who had supported the new occupying force. Who knew? After Cadiz had been liberated permanently, the survivors might even want to join the Commonwealth.

But that was a long way off. “General message to all ships,” she ordered. The updates had come in from the Marines, allowing them to prepare the next stage of the mission. “Land the landing force; I say again, land the landing force.”

***​

“Update from Lightning, sir,” Fran said. Defiant was taking a pounding, but there were only four enemy battleships left in the maelstrom. Five RAN battleships had been forced to fall back to the RV point with severe damage, yet it could all be repaired. “They’re landing the Marines now.”

“Good,” the Admiral said. Defiant shuddered again as another missile slipped through the datanet and slammed into the ship’s heavy armour plating. “Continue firing.”

Fran felt cold terror trickling down the back of her spine. Any moderately sane opponent would have cut and run, escaped into hyperspace and skulked around the edge of the system until reinforcements arrived. Instead, the Theocratic ships were trying to close the range between their position and their enemy, as if they intended to turn entire battleships into kamikaze units. She banished the feeling angrily; the Theocracy might be led by religious fanatics, but they wouldn't sacrifice entire ships...

Or perhaps they would. The remaining enemy battleships just kept coming, even though they were taking an immense pounding from the RAN units. Two of them had lost speed and the others had slowed to accommodate it, needing the lamed vessel as additional point defence platforms. Their drones were distracting missiles from their hulls, trying to preserve their lives as long as possible. And they could have made it out, even now. They could have opened up a vortex and escaped into hyperspace...

One of the enemy ships exploded, violently. The others kept coming, firing constantly towards their targets. They’d reached a shorter range and switched their missiles to sprint mode, making it harder to intercept them before they reached their targets. Explosions rocked the RAN ships as a battleship died, followed rapidly by a second ship...and still the enemy kept coming. One of their ships fell out of line and then exploded, vanishing within an immense cloud of radioactive plasma. The final ships continued their mad charge until they entered energy range. In a final savage duel, they crippled two more RAN battleships in exchange for their utter obliteration. It looked as if they hadn't even launched any lifepods.

Fran wiped her forehead with a rather sweaty hand. The battle had been won, yet none of them had anticipated the cost. 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet had been battered again, even though they’d won. It would take weeks of work to repair their ships and Bristol Deep would no longer be of use as an anchorage. She wondered what the Admiral had in mind. They could link up with the repair ships that had escaped Bristol Deep and make repairs in interstellar space, or maybe head back into the Commonwealth and link up with reinforcements. The war wouldn't be won or lost at Cadiz...

“Keep us here,” the Admiral ordered. “Have all ships report their statuses to me personally. I’ll want any cripples to return to the RV point for later...”

He broke off as an alarm chimed. “Report!”

“Hyperspace vortexes opening,” the tactical officer reported. Fran knew what he was about to say before he could speak. There was no hope of any more friendly forces arriving in Cadiz. “Admiral...I am picking up nine enemy battleships, twelve battlecruisers and two carriers.”

The Admiral’s voice showed no hint of concern. “Belay my previous orders,” he said, calmly. Fran wondered at his calm. Even though they outnumbered the newcomers, they were in no state for a fight. “Prepare to fight a delaying action. We must win time for Captain Falcone.”

COMMENTS?

 

Super!
Excellent!
Outta Sight!
Far Out!
Mesmerizing!
Enthralling!


Like Star Trek and Rat Patrol all rolled into one!!

 

What can I say Chris I'm so engrossed in the story I want to put my ship in the fight and get involved .LOL
I hope the powers that be have already sent some help their without them knowing it .