“And Syndicate ground forces,” Marphissa added.
“Have any flying monkeys shown up yet?”
“Not yet,” Marphissa said, wondering again why and how “flying monkeys” had become an expression to describe the worst possible development. “That’s one thing to be thankful for. Should we call off the ground operation?”
“No.” Rogero looked at her, his eyes hard. “The citizens will be trapped down there, caught between the snakes and aliens. They need someone on that planet who is on their side. Request permission to attempt direct communication with the Syndicate ground forces.”
“Permission granted,” Marphissa said. “President Iceni will probably agree to any deal that keeps either the aliens or the snakes from massacring those citizens.”
“If the enigmas pop up and hit them before we get there, nothing we can do will prevent them all from dying,” Rogero pointed out.
“I don’t think they’ll act that soon,” Marphissa said, remembering her discussion with Kontos. “As far as the enigmas know, we are unaware that they have a buried installation on that planet. If they’re going to spring a surprise attack, they’ll wait until it will have the greatest possible impact.”
His eyes narrowed in thought as Rogero nodded. “That’s a real possibility. As alien as they are, the enigmas have demonstrated a skill at tactical surprise that matches what capable human commanders would do. They will have seen that we also have troop transports with us, so they will wait until we have also dropped our soldiers, or hit while we are dropping and too committed to pull out of the operation. Is it acceptable for me to reveal the presence of the enigma facility to the Syndicate ground forces?”
“Yes,” Marphissa replied immediately. “From what I know, the Syndicate soldiers cannot take that base themselves.”
“No. That won’t happen. It’ll probably turn out to be impossible for us, and we’ve been trying to plan and prepare for exactly that mission.”
She felt an odd sense of disappointment. “Colonel, I have to confess that I am surprised to hear you say that about our own chances. I guess I have become too used to seeing General Drakon’s forces do the impossible.”
Rogero grinned. “A reputation like that is a two-edged sword. It’s useful against enemies, but can result in your own side telling you to do the impossible one time too many.”
“I worked for the Syndicate, too, Colonel,” Marphissa said wryly. “We are all very familiar with being given those sorts of orders. Perhaps the Syndicate ground forces will recognize that they face exactly such an impossible mission and will eliminate the snakes among them knowing that no matter how bloody that battle it will still be preferable to any alternatives. If they do get rid of the snakes among them, they may be willing to cut a deal with us. Let me know how it goes.”
A couple of hours later, as Marphissa’s flotilla headed toward an intercept with the enigma armada, the light showing Imallye’s reaction finally arrived.
“She’s changing vectors on her ships,” Kontos observed. “Coming starboard and climbing slightly. They’re accelerating, too.”
“Aiming for us,” Marphissa said without waiting for the course projections to steady up.
“Yes,” Kontos agreed. “Our president appears to have motivated Imallye in the way we wanted. We did want her to attack us, right?”
“Better that than forcing Bradamont and Diaz to deal with Imallye’s flotilla with what we left at Midway.”
“Kommodor,” the comm specialist said. “We have an incoming message to President Iceni, but it is also addressed to our entire flotilla.”
“I might as well see it, then,” Marphissa replied, knowing that the specialists on every ship in the flotilla would already be finding ways to view the message as well.
There was Imallye again, garbed just as Marphissa had seen her at Moorea. The black skin suit and weaponry were the same, the only difference being a large, bloodred jewel clipped to Imallye’s left earlobe. The earring looked unsettlingly like an actual fat drop of blood hanging on the pirate’s ear.
“You’re making this easy for me, Iceni,” Imallye said with casual menace. “I’ll finish you off here, then wipe out the other contenders for Iwa before I move on to deal with your general at Midway. Oh, and say hello to your Kommodor for me. I have unfinished business with her as well. This time I am the one springing the surprise on you. Out.”
Whatever plea Iceni had made to Imallye had obviously fallen on deaf ears. Marphissa didn’t say anything for a long moment as she looked at her display, counting up the odds facing Midway’s flotilla.
Kontos broke the silence, his voice sounding… intrigued. “This should be interesting,” he commented.
“Interesting?” Marphissa bent a skeptical look his way. “That’s one word for it.”
“We’ll take our opponents out one by one? Or all at once?”
Kontos couldn’t be that oblivious. She took a closer look at him and realized that he wasn’t. He was putting on an act of his own to counteract the performance that Imallye had just shown them. The specialists witnessing this little conversation would pass it around to their friends in the flotilla, and morale among the crews would not be as badly affected by Imallye’s threats.
“One by one,” Marphissa said with tones whose confidence matched that of Kontos. “Getting them all together at once would be too much trouble.”
“I see. Good idea. Just wait until our battleship gets a shot at them!”
Marphissa managed a smile she thought would look real to those watching. It was true that the battleship Midway packed a punch that none of their opponents could match, but the massive warship was also too sluggish compared to their enemies to force a fight. She would have to lure the faster warships within range of Midway’s firepower, which meant limiting the maneuvers of her own more nimble ships like this battle cruiser.
It was the sort of problem that made for challenging simulations, and very tough real battles.
I may not have a big jewel stuck on my ear, but I’ll show Imallye just how tough I am before this is over, Marphissa vowed to herself.
Chapter Fourteen
Captain Honore Bradamont had spent about a decade in the Alliance fleet, which made her an old-timer in a force that for a century had been losing ships, men, and women at a rate matched only by their equally stubborn and equally bloodied opponents, the Syndicate Worlds. She had survived her first years through sheer luck, managed to learn enough to help her survive the next few, gotten captured by the Syndicate Worlds, gotten rescued by the Alliance several months after that, gained command of the battle cruiser Dragon, and had spent the final months under the command of Admiral John “Black Jack” Geary, who had been the sort of leader who could win victories that did not demand mass sacrifices on his own side.
And then, with peace having been declared, she had found herself fighting first through vast reaches of unexplored space inhabited by a couple of intelligent and hostile nonhuman species, as well as the ambiguously friendly Dancers, then assigned to Midway to help fight battles here.
“What exactly is peace?” Kapitan Diaz asked her.
Bradamont, her seat next to his on the bridge of heavy cruiser Manticore, shrugged. She had long since gotten used to those who had grown up under Syndicate rule asking her about things that Bradamont thought common knowledge. But this particular question dealt with a topic she wasn’t familiar with, either. “It’s supposed to be when someone isn’t at war.”