“We could also send ships up towards Jackson’s Folly and raid their rear,” Penny added. “It would be risky, because we would lose track of the ships, but it might be worthwhile.”
Wachter hesitated, studying the chart. “Goddamned Roosevelt Family,” he muttered, unpleasantly. “What were they thinking when they installed so many defences and industrial nodes?”
Penny hesitated, then gave the answer she’d deduced. “They wanted to fight a civil war.”
“It looks like they succeeded,” Wachter grunted. “And they’ve made life harder for the rest of us.”
He looked down at the chart. “I think we’d be better off withholding that until after we’ve given the rebels a bloody nose,” he added. “Organise a couple of heavy squadrons — nothing heavier than battlecruisers — for your ambush scheme. See if we can get in a couple of blows, then force them to shoot off their missiles. Even if they recover them it will still cost them time.”
“Yes, sir,” Penny said. Being given general orders made her feel proud. She wasn’t being micromanaged, merely being told what he wanted accomplished and expected to work the rest out for herself. “Will you require me later this evening.”
Wachter hesitated. “I have ordered myself to watch the lashings,” he said. “I issued the orders. I can’t not watch.”
Penny shivered. Lashing was technically legal, but very rare. It was more common to dock a crewman’s pay, demote them a grade or simply reassign them. But several of the bullies had tried to reassert themselves, clearly not taking the Admiral’s warning seriously. Perhaps a public lashing would help them learn the error of their ways.
“You should lash the commanding officers too,” she said, remembering Percival. “They deserve it.”
Wachter nodded, then shook his head. A poor commander generally meant a poor crew, but commanders couldn’t be treated like ordinary crewmen. They were expected to maintain a certain dignity at all times. In Penny’s opinion, far too many of the commanders at Morrison didn’t deserve the title, but there was no helping it. There were only a handful of potential replacements.
“We’ll start formal exercises tomorrow,” Wachter added. “Hopefully, a few of the worst will prove themselves incompetent and give me a chance to remove them. You can command the opposing force.”
He smiled. “Just remember what I told you,” he concluded. “Make them work for their victory.”
Chapter Ten
Commander Ira Dennison stared around his command centre, feeling — again — a sensation of total despair. Fairfax had been intended to serve as a shipping hub, but the economic slowdown had diminished the system’s importance long before the rebellion had started in Sector 117. Ira was far too young and junior to be in command of the mighty orbital fortress, yet he’d been given no choice. His former commanding officer had departed the system soon after the Battle of Camelot for ‘consultations.’ It was rather more likely, Ira knew, that the bastard had weighed the odds and decided to leave before the rebels landed on the system like a ton of bricks.
It was quite likely to happen, he knew. Fairfax had a small shipyard, a couple of industrial nodes and a planetary population that chafed under outside rule. The only thing keeping the planet from a general uprising was the hulking presence of the orbital battlestation, which could hammer the planet back into the Stone Age if Ira felt like it. But there were times when he had his doubts. Which side should he be on?
The Empire hadn’t been bad to him, he had to admit. He’d passed through the Academy and gone out to serve in Fortress Command, with a handful of commanding officers who hadn’t been too bad to the newly-minted Ensign. Even the coward who’d fled hadn’t been an unpleasant person. Ira had heard whispered stories of abuses, but he’d never seen any of them personally. Fortress Fairfax-One — Fortress Command was not noted for imagination when it came to naming its fortresses — was a reasonably happy orbital fortress. It just happened to be sitting right in the path of the rebel advance.
Ira had tried to convince himself that the system would remain untouched, but he knew better than to believe it. The shipyard alone was worth capturing, while the industrial nodes would help support the rebel war effort. Besides, there was an entire planet of potential rebels under the fortress’s guns. He would sooner expect the rebels to commit suicide than leave Fairfax alone. Even if it couldn’t threaten their supply lines, it could serve as a base to starships that would.
An alarm chimed. He jerked upright, his eyes searching the display. There had been almost no visitors to the system in the months since they’d heard of the Battle of Camelot. The only movement had been STL interplanetary transports carrying ore from the asteroid field to the industrial nodes. Now… several red icons had blinked into existence, a safe distance from the planet. Others were appearing too, spreading out into a crude but effective formation.
“I’m reading twenty-seven superdreadnaughts and forty smaller ships,” the tactical officer said. She sounded stunned. Like most of Fortress Command’s personnel, she had never seriously expected a major attack on the worlds they guarded. “They’re generating enough ECM to make it hard to be sure we’re seeing them all.”
“Good work, Bianca,” Ira said. The rebels weren’t even trying to hide. Were they that overconfident or did they want him to think that they were overconfident? Ira hadn’t been allowed access to the sealed personnel files, so he knew almost nothing about the rebel commander. “Bring our systems to full alert, then load missile tubes.”
Bianca looked up at him in surprise. She was junior to him by six months — which hadn’t stopped them from moving in together as soon as they’d realised that regulations were unlikely to matter any longer. Fortress Command had always been more laid back about interpersonal relationships than the Imperial Navy, although rumour suggested that the navy was also more given to having illicit relationships.
“Commander,” she said carefully, “there are twenty-seven superdreadnaughts out there.”
“I know,” Ira said. It was unlikely the ECM hid more superdreadnaughts, although he had to admit it was possible. “But we can’t just surrender.”
Colin forced himself to relax as the Shadow Fleet settled down into hammerhead formation. There was no way to know what the defenders had in mind for Fairfax; they might surrender at once, they might fire off a handful of shots and then surrender… or they might fight to the death. Fortress Command had never been noted for defiance in the face of overwhelming power, but they were holding an entire planet in bondage. They had to suspect that the locals would tear them apart if planetary bombardment was no longer a factor.
“One orbital fortress, Class-VIII; confirmed,” the tactical officer said. “Nine automated weapons and sensor platforms; confirmed. No military starships within detection range.”
“Lock weapons on target,” Colin ordered. Unlike a superdreadnaught, the orbital fortress couldn’t hope to run. He’d once sneaked up on an enemy fortress and blasted it from point-blank range, but it was unlikely that trick would work again. By now, the entire Empire would know which superdreadnaughts had fallen into rebel hands. “And transmit our demand for surrender.”
He waited as the signal pulsed out, wondering just what the enemy officers were thinking. It was possible they’d surrender at once, of course, or they might hold out for guarantees. Colin wouldn’t hesitate to offer them, if asked. Like he’d told his crew, time and time again, accepting surrenders only to break them ensured that no one would surrender in future.