“Thank you,” he said, and meant it. Without the Marines, the next part of the mutiny would be impossible. It would have been more convenient, he admitted to himself, if the superdreadnaughts had docked at one of the orbital stations, but not even Commodore Roosevelt would take such a risk. “Are you confident of success?”
“Nothing in war is certain,” Frandsen reminded him, “but we are primed and ready for the mission. Besides, they’re using Blackshirts for their internal security. They don’t trust their Marines.”
His voice had darkened. One of the titbits Colin had discovered in Howell’s files was that Commodore Roosevelt was bringing three divisions of Security Division troops to Jackson’s Folly, the dreaded Blackshirts. The only reason to use Blackshirts was if one intended to run as harsh an occupation as possible, one where atrocities would not only be committed, but actively encouraged. It boded ill for Jackson’s Folly.
“Don’t worry, sir,” Frandsen said. “We talked about it once the mutiny was underway and we made up our minds. Fighting the Blackshirts might just allow us to regain some of our honour.”
Colin nodded. “Thank you,” he said. According to the schedule, there were only two days left before the superdreadnaughts arrived. And then… they would either take the ships or lose. And it would be completely out of his hands. He would just be an observer while the Marines took the ships. “Good luck, Colonel.”
Chapter Four
Commodore Stacy Roosevelt, the Commanding Officer of the 123rd Superdreadnaught Squadron, was almost as young as she looked. At thirty-one years old, she looked nineteen, with long blonde hair, a heart-shaped face and a smile that seemed to light up her face — when she cared to show it. Her connections within the Thousand Families — she belonged to the main branch of the Roosevelt Family — were second to none in the Imperial Navy. Although Admiral Percival was her nominal superior, in practice it tended to be the other way around. Percival, a Roosevelt client, bowed and scraped to Stacy. He had certainly assisted her in becoming a Commodore at such an absurdly young age.
Flag Captain Jeremy Damiani kept his face under tight control as Stacy ranted at him. She certainly wasn’t smiling for her subordinate, the older man who had been assigned to assist her in carrying out her responsibilities. There were times when Jeremy wondered if it was all worth it — her patronage could take him far, but being in close proximity to her was unbearable — but there was little choice. If he abandoned his patron, she would ensure that he would have nowhere else to go; certainly, no one would back him in a tussle with the entire Roosevelt Family. It would have been a great deal more bearable if Stacy had possessed the knowledge and training of a first-year cadet, but as it was, he was certain that the only way she had passed through the Academy was through family connections.
It didn’t help that Stacy had been placed in command of the Roosevelt Family’s planned expansion into the Rim, once they had secured control of Jackson’s Folly. The senior members of her family, people who intimidated even Stacy herself, had been very insistent that everything should go according to plan. Stacy had, accordingly, taken control and instructed Captain-Commodore Howell to refrain from doing anything until she arrived with her superdreadnaughts, but the Roosevelt Family wasn’t the only one involved with the sector. It wasn’t hard to come up with possible scenarios for disaster — and, even for Stacy, failure would mean heavy punishment. She would probably find herself exiled to run a mining station somewhere thousands of light years from Earth, the heart of the Empire.
“We are running late,” Stacy repeated. Her face, the best that money could buy, was colouring with rage and stress. Jeremy was silently grateful that they were in her stateroom, rather than on the bridge. Being screamed at in front of his crew could only reduce his command authority, what little there was of it. Like most incompetent officers, Stacy was a micromanager, without the wit to know that it would be better to allow the more experienced crewmen their heads. “Why are we running late?”
Jeremy kept his own face blank. There was no point in shouting back at her, not when a word from her could ruin his career. He wouldn’t have put it past her to ruin his career out of spite anyway, but at least he had to try. Besides, he did have a certain degree of loyalty to the Imperial Navy and he didn’t want to think about what Stacy would do without someone watching over her shoulder. It was highly unlikely that she would order a flicker jump right into an asteroid field that would destroy the squadron, yet he wanted to be careful. The Empire could not afford to lose any superdreadnaughts.
“We needed to swap out some replacement components on the drive,” he reminded her, calmly. After that, they’d made good time — indeed, they were one jump away from Jackson’s Folly — but Stacy wasn’t interested. Never mind that leaving the drive motivator in place might have resulted in the drives failing at an inconvenient time. “We will be there in one hour, Commodore.”
“I want you to find the person responsible for this delay through gross incompetence and have them removed from their post,” Stacy ordered. Jeremy nodded. The chances were good that no one was responsible, at least not in the sense that they’d done it on purpose. Drive motivators, exposed to the weird energies of the flicker drive, tended to fail more often than any other component, even after years of research. The superdreadnaughts tended to swap out almost every component on the ship over a five-year period, just to keep the ancient vessels running. “They have delayed our mission.”
“Of course, Commodore,” Jeremy said, smoothly. Bitter resentment flickered through his mind, only to be forced down and back into the rear of his mind. Scraping and bowing to a noblewoman was humiliating, but it could be a great deal worse. The post on HMS General Montgomery was prestigious. It was well worth the hassle. “I shall see to it personally.”
He smiled as he tapped the main display, bringing up the star chart. The Observation Squadron had carried out a careful tactical survey of Jackson’s Folly and its daughter colonies, preparing for the invasion that everyone knew was inevitable once the Empire realised just what a prize Jackson’s Folly actually was. There might have been a handful of Rogue Worlds, where the writ of the Empire didn’t run, but they were poor and harmless — and had nothing the Empire wanted. Stacy was meant to draw up the attack plan, yet her mind — which, he had to admit, was good at manipulating the Empire’s power structure — was no good at tactical planning. Jeremy had used the time they’d spent in transit working on a fairly basic plan, one where relatively little could go wrong.
“As you can see, Commodore, we will begin by…”
An hour later, he allowed Stacy to precede him onto the bridge. The sight of the main bridge never failed to thrill him, even though the throne-like command chair belonged to Stacy alone. Here, at the nerve centre of the superdreadnaught, the command crew could deal out death and destruction on the Empire’s many enemies, while remaining safe from anything the enemies could deal out to them. The five kilometre-long superdreadnaught was one of the most powerful ships in commission, packed with missile tubes, energy weapons and heavy shields. It would take a matching squadron of superdreadnaughts to present the squadron with a real threat and standard military doctrine called for at least two squadrons to break up an enemy squadron. It hardly mattered, of course; the Imperial Navy was the only force permitted to possess superdreadnaughts.
“My Lady Commodore,” the helmsman said, as Stacy settled down into her command chair. She looked almost like a child sitting in her father’s chair, but her eyes were as alert as ever. Had any of the crew neglected the proper honorific, she would have noticed — and remembered. “We are ready to make the final jump.”