“It’s…it’s Alan,” Emily spluttered. “I never even learned his last name.”
After more stories and drinks, Captain Murphy drifted away and the four of them were left alone. “Well,” said Cookie, raising her glass, “to Camp Gettysburg.”
They toasted, then Cookie glanced at Emily. “So I heard about you graduation exercise. What did they call it, Alamo Fort?”
“Supply Station Alamo,” Emily corrected, surprised and a little dismayed that anyone out of Home Fleet had heard about it.
“I heard you whupped your instructor,” Cookie said, eyes gleaming. “C’mon, girl, tell us how you did it!”
So Emily explained it alclass="underline" the feint, the chaff cloud, the lure, the nasty surprise waiting inside the chaff field, and how she mined the supply station. When she was through, Hiram smiled and nodded, Cookie howled with laughter, and Grant stared at her with an expression she couldn’t begin to read.
“How did you think all that up?” Cookie gasped.
“Simple,” Emily replied, looking at Hiram and Grant in turn. “Once I knew what the problem was, I asked myself what Grant what want to do, and how Hiram would go about doing it.”
The two men looked startled, then nonplused. Cookie roared.
They looked up to see Peter Murphy standing over them, his face grim. “We’ve just heard: The Tilleke Empire launched an attack on a convoy of Arcadian freighters,” he told them. “They destroyed the DUC escorts. The Arcadian Prime Minister has asked for assistance from Victoria. All officers and crew of Second Fleet are being recalled immediately.”
The four of them stood as one. Hiram looked stricken. Cookie looked determined, and Emily could see her wrapping herself in Fleet Marine macho. In a few minutes Cookie would be all steel and clipped sentences, focused on what was to come. Hiram needed those few minutes to say goodbye.
“C’mon,” she murmured to Grant. “Let’s let them talk. I’ll walk with you to the shuttle deck.”
They walked in silence for several minutes, each caught up in his own thoughts.
“I’ve been appointed as my father’s adjutant,” Grant suddenly said.
Emily had already heard. A number of other junior officers were scornful…and envious. She admitted to a little of both. “It will be good experience for you — see how it works from the inside.”
“I wanted to be assigned to the scout frigates, but my father wouldn’t let me. Said it was a waste of time. He told me most junior officers spent as much as four years trying to get enough experience to be appointed as an admiral’s adjutant, but because I am his son, he could make it happen now.” He suddenly stopped, turning to her. “In frigates I could have made my own name. Now…I’m just Admiral Skiffington’s son. Other men will fight; I’m going to fetch coffee.”
Emily was disgusted. The Fleet was going to war and he was going to be sitting in the command room where all of the major decisions would be made. It was a historian’s dream! And he was whining about it! “Listen to yourself, for pity’s sake!” she snapped. “The Fleet is going to war and you’re bitching because you have to view the entire thing through the eyes of the commanding admiral? Half the officers in the Fleet would give their eyeteeth for that assignment.”
Grant flushed a deep red. “But I’ll be sitting on some battleship while other ships are in the thick of the fighting-”
“Gods of Our Mothers, Grant, don’t you get it? This is the Navy! People aren’t sent into harm’s way alone; we all go together!”
“No, I don’t want to be the Admiral’s gofer; I want to lead men into battle!”
“Well, great, I hope you do a better job at it in real battle than you did at Gettysburg.” She was angry now, knew her words were too strong, too cutting, but couldn’t help herself. “As I recall you used to get a lot of us killed when you were in command.”
Grant went pale. “And as I recall,” he said stiffly, “the only person who got anybody killed was you.”
Emily stopped dead, the words like a slap in the face. And he was right, wasn’t he? The only real deaths occurred when she tried to send men across the river.
Grant held up his arms in a placating gesture. “Sorry, that was a cheap shot. Sorry.”
They reached the shuttle deck a minute later, the silence between them brittle. “Go, Grant. Do your job.”
Grant didn’t reply. He nodded stiffly, one short nod, then turned on his heel and boarded the departing shuttle. And to her utter astonishment, Emily felt a sharp stab of regret that she wasn’t going to war as well.
Chapter 25
In Victorian Space, near Atlas Space Station
The Dominion freighter Blue Swan slowly maneuvered through the anchorages surrounding Atlas Station. Its captain radioed the Atlas Station Port Authority for permission to anchor just off the Primary Maintenance Bay, explaining that the Blue Swan had an anti-matter injector that had frozen and would require a dock repair.
Permission was granted. The Blue Swan slid to a stop twenty miles from the entrance to the Primary Maintenance Bay. A tug fixed it to an anchor buoy.
A few miles away, just visible to the naked eye, was the HMS Lionheart, one of the three battleships in the Home Fleet.
Chapter 26
P.D. 952
When in doubt, be bold!
Victorian Second and Third Fleets
At the Wormhole Entrance into Tilleke Space
“The scouts are back through the worm hole, Admiral. No sign of hostile ships.”
Admiral Oliver Skiffington, Commander of the Second Fleet, nodded once, then pushed the com button to be connected with every one of the one hundred and twenty ships under his command.
“Men and women of the Second Fleet. In a moment we will enter Tilleke space. Our scouts report there are no enemy ships on the other side of the worm hole, so this part of the mission will be unopposed. But stand ready. The enemy is out there, and when we find them, we will join them in battle.
“You are members of the greatest single fleet ever created in human history. We will meet the enemy and destroy them! Victory for Victoria!”
Skiffington closed the com and nodded to Commander Kerrs, the captain of the battleship, H.M.S. London. “Take us through, Captain. All ships to follow in train.”
It would take two hours or more to bring the fleet through and shake out into formation, but entering Tilleke space without opposition was a gift. The Emperor had made a mistake, perhaps a serious one. He had missed his first chance to do some damage, to try to weaken them. Not that it would matter in the end. He allowed himself a small smile. On the holo display the fleet was so large it looked like blue snow. He was commanding the largest task force in the entire history of mankind! One hundred and twenty war ships, with six battleships, thirty formidable missile cruisers, and destroyers and frigates by the dozen.
The Hammer of God, he thought. And I wield it.
The last ships came through the worm hole and shook out into formation with four battle groups on line and two in reserve. Then, on Admiral Skiffington’s signal, they moved forward, making a course for Qurna, the Tilleke home world.
And then, for the next ten hours…nothing. Just empty space. Deck crews rotated off, their seats taken by fresh replacements. The Admiral and Commander both stayed on the bridge, living on coffee and nerves. Grant Skiffington sat in a chair just behind his father, ready to do anything asked of him, but there was nothing to do. He rubbed his eyes and vainly tried to stifle a yawn. The holograph display showed the fleet, a wide arc of blue dots, with a sprinkling of blue in front representing the reconnaissance frigates. Nothing else.