He had known Erica West for years. She’d commanded one of the big Gettysburg class transports that carried then-Major Cain’s battalion on several campaigns. She was a gifted tactician, though her years commanding troopships had threatened to set back her advancement as a combat commander. That is until Augustus Garret got a good look at her. Garret had a great nose for finding talent, especially when it was a bit unorthodox, and he put West on the fast track, leapfrogging her over a dozen officers with more seniority.
After the rebellions, he put her in command of the newly-organized Third Fleet, jumping her once again over a number of her colleagues. But Garret was sure of her ability…and her loyalty too, and that had become just as important a consideration. Since he had been kidnapped by Alliance Intelligence, Garret had developed a healthy level of suspicion – some close to him called it paranoia – and he was not about to give a fleet command to anyone he wasn’t 100% sure about.
Unfortunately, Third Fleet had been put together from the scraps left after Garret organized First and Second Fleets. Its ships were older and, put together from whatever was available, its battle order was less cohesive. Cambrai was the only capital ship on the OB. She was the oldest battleship still in service…and she had been for some time. Transferred to the Strategic Reserve after the war, she’d been seized by Alliance Intelligence along with the other mothballed ships. Because of her age she’d been slated to be manned last, and she spent the entire rebellion in drydock waiting for a crew that never came. That had been her salvation – Garret’s forces hunted down the other rogue ships, destroying them all in a bloody campaign. Afterward, he was grateful to find Cambrai still operational, and he ordered her recommissioned at once to help plug a hole in his battered fleet roster.
Stuck at Armstrong for the foreseeable future, with Compton tied down at Wolf 359, Garret had chosen West to lead an expedition that might very well turn into a heavy fight. She was shocked when he told her; she knew he had confidence in her, but she’d had no idea how much. Erik knew she was a little overwhelmed at the size of her new command and the uncertainty of the mission, but from what he could tell as a passenger, she had her people working like a finely tuned machine.
Cain took one last look through the observation window. A meter high and three meters long, the hyper-polycarbonate panel was a luxury not to be found on more modern vessels. Though the material itself was as strong as reinforced plasti-steel, the seams connecting it to the hull were a weak spot. Newer ships had dispensed with the observation decks, choosing greater strength over aesthetics. The beauty of space sacrificed to utility again, Cain thought wistfully, though he couldn’t argue with the logic. Perhaps one day men would spend more time stargazing and less trying to kill each other but, he thought again sadly, that day was not today.
He turned and walked slowly toward the hatch. He’d checked with Teller earlier, and everything was under control on the transports. He really didn’t have anything to do. He’d already reviewed all the new intel…twice. They’d lost two more colonies on the Rim. The report from Barrow was sketchier even than that from Newton, but they’d gotten excellent data from Wellington before the attackers took out the Commnet station. It was more of the same – overwhelmingly powerful weapons, missiles moving with unprecedented acceleration. It was looking less and less likely that this was some sort of ruse. Cain had spent a considerable amount of time trying to imagine comparably advanced ground weapons, but with no hard data it was a pointless exercise in science fiction.
The hatch slid open as he stepped out into the corridor. He turned toward his quarters then changed his mind and walked the other way, toward the gym. Might as well keep myself in shape, he thought. Even with the rejuv treatments, he didn’t have the body of an 18 year old anymore. The years of constant stress and wounds were starting to take a toll in spite of modern medicine’s best efforts. The stiffness he felt each morning told him that much.
He was about to enter the lift when his earpiece buzzed briefly. “General Cain…Admiral West here.” Her voice was tense, edgy. “We’ve received another transmission. I think we should go over it. My conference room…ten minutes?”
“Yes, Admiral…that will be fine.” Cain had to force back a sigh. It was bad news…almost certainly. The predictability of that was getting tiresome. “I’m on my way. Cain out.” He flipped off the link and then he did sigh. Loudly.
The steward filled a glass with water from a small pitcher and set it on the table in front of Cain. He walked around the table and did the same for the admiral then he stood at attention. “Is there anything else, Admiral West?”
“No, that will be all, Crewman Smalls. Dismissed.” Enlisted personnel of the lowest rank on a naval vessel were designated simply as crewman. In the old wet navy Smalls would have had been called seaman, but the sea had nothing to do with interstellar fleets, and spaceman had seemed a bit silly to the founding officers of the service. Non-commissioned personnel tended to advance to various Specialist and Technician grades that defined both their rank and their area of expertise. A modern spaceship just didn’t need a lot of low-skilled crew. There were bots to swab the decks and load supplies.
Admiral West waited for the hatch to close behind Smalls. “Thank you for rushing right up here, Erik.” She was a spit and polish type, quite unlike Cain in that regard, and she sat bolt upright in her chair. “There’s been another attack.”
Cain didn’t look surprised. He’d just taken a drink, and he put the glass down in front of him. “I don’t suppose that should come as a shock now, should it?” He leaned back in his chair and looked across the table. “So what are the grisly details?”
“It’s Adelaide.”
Erik looked back, and for the first time there was a hint of surprise on his face. “What do we know? They must have put up a fight, at least.” The first three worlds attacked were undeniably soft targets, new colonies with no defensive capabilities to speak of. But Adelaide was different. “Cooper Brown commands the local forces there. I don’t know him well, but I remember him from Carson’s World.” Cain paused, trying to picture Brown’s appearance. He came up blank. When you fought in powered armor you got to know people without seeing their faces much. “He’s a fighter.”
West looked across the table, her face somber. “The 18 th Squadron was also there.” Her eyes drifted downward, looking at the table. “Admiral Garret ordered them to scout forward, and they ran into the enemy attack force near Adelaide.”
She closed her eyes, only for an instant longer than a blink, but Cain noticed, and he understood. “All lost?”
West looked up, her eyes finding Cain’s. “Yes. We presume so, though we only got two Delta-Z transmissions.” She looked across the table at him, her expression pained. “The third ship…” She paused, trying to recall the vessel’s name. “…the Hornet…she must have been destroyed so quickly the crew never got their final transmission out.” West took a deep breath and continued. “But the squadron sent up solid intel before they were wiped out. We have much more reliable information now.” She took another breath, exhaling hard this time. “And it’s not good, Erik.”
Cain hadn’t been expecting any good news – he’d already pretty much written off the theory that the advanced technology was a hoax, and it looked like West was about to confirm his conclusions. “Do I look like a man who is expecting good news?” He managed a weak smile.
West let out a short laugh. “No, I don’t suppose you do.” Her levity quickly faded. “Anyway, we can now confirm a number of the things originally reported by the Northstar.” She ran her hands over a large touchscreen built into the table. “The enemy missiles are indeed capable of producing thrust levels in excess of 200g.” She briefly glanced up from the screen to look at Cain. “You can imagine the implications of this not just in terms of ordnance closing faster but also with regard to maneuverability. These missiles are able to execute vector changes much more quickly than our own. I hesitate to venture a guess on the numerical superiority we would need to have a chance of prevailing in any missile exchange.”