The captain donned her armor, and returned to her couch. She waited a few moments, studying the display that showed the ship’s various action stations—weapons mounts, damage-control parties, sick bay, redundant engineering stations, and the auxiliary bridge—reporting their readiness. The noise and chatter that had filled the bridge compartment beforehand dissipated. “All stations manned and ready, Captain,” Randall reported from his position at the tactical console.
“Very well,” Markham replied. “I’m going to speak a little more sternly to Captain Harper. Mr. Randall, Mr. North, be ready, but do not engage any active targeting without my express command. If necessary we’ll fire a warning shot one hundred kilometers in front of Panther’s bow.”
Sikander looked down at Ensign Girard and nodded. “Set it up, Mr. Girard,” he said quietly. “No active targeting. We don’t want to paint their hull or they might mistake our intent.”
“Yes, sir,” Girard replied. He busied himself with calculating trajectories on the main-battery console.
Markham opened her comm channel again. “Captain Harper, we do not recognize the authority of the el-Fasi government. In the absence of such authority, your operations are in violation of Article Six of the Tanjeer Agreement. Suspend your landing operations immediately, over.”
The bridge fell silent as officers and ratings alike listened for the Dremish reply, whether it was their job to do so or not. There was none.
“The Dremish assault shuttles are engaging Gadiran Royal Guard defenses at the Tanjeer spaceport, ma’am,” Randall reported. “Four shuttles are splitting off and appear to be headed toward the northwest. We’re not certain where they are headed.”
Sikander adjusted his console display, bringing up the imagery that the operations team was observing. He had a suspicion about that secondary flight … a suspicion he was able to confirm with a cursory glance at the map. “I believe they’re headed for the Khalifa Palace in Toutay, Mr. Randall,” he said. “That’s where Sultan Rashid is.”
Markham shifted in her seat. Only the flat monotone of her voice betrayed her anger. “Captain Harper, I must inform you that if your ground forces continue their attacks on the legally constituted government of this planet, I will be obliged to fire upon them. The Commonwealth will not stand by and ignore your efforts to overthrow the government of this system. I repeat, cease your offensive operations at once, or I will open fire on your troops, over.”
Larkin and Girard exchanged glances in front of Sikander. He imagined they were thinking what he was: Dear God, I hope she is bluffing. And I hope the Dremish believe her.
Harper responded swiftly to Markham’s threat. “Any attack upon Imperial forces operating in this system is an attack upon the Empire of Dremark, Captain Markham. We will reply with all necessary force, over.”
“Captain Harper, your violation of the diplomatic accords both our nations have agreed to leaves the Commonwealth of Aquila with no alternative,” said Markham over the comm channel. “If you mean to start a war here, you’re making excellent progress. Recall your landing force immediately, or face the consequences. Hector, out.”
Sikander realized he was holding his breath, and forced himself to exhale. He’d thought of Elise Markham as an excellent commanding officer before this day, but he was in awe of the unyielding iron she now revealed. Did her orders extend to firing the first shot if necessary? Perhaps more important, did Captain Harper believe that they might?
“Mr. North, are you prepared to fire a shot across Panther’s bow?” the captain asked Sikander.
Sikander glanced at Girard’s fire mission, repeated on his display. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Then, on my command, one and only one main-battery round, one hundred kilometers ahead of Panther’s bow. Activate no targeting system, and mind the planet, we don’t want to hit something on the ground. Train battery … and fire.”
“Train battery and fire, aye!” Sikander repeated. He released Girard’s fire order, and watched the icons on his console flash green. A mechanical whine and thump came from the hull ahead of the bridge, followed by the heavy thrumming sound of the Mark V kinetic cannon spitting out its round. The ten-kilo projectile left little in the way of visual evidence of its passage through vacuum—a K-cannon shot needed to hit something to produce any spectacular explosions. But the standard sensors of any warship within a couple of million kilometers couldn’t miss the short-lived pulse of EM energy from the rail cannon, and radar systems watching for micrometeorites and orbital debris likewise tripped automatically when the fist-sized rod of tungsten moving at one percent of the speed of light hurtled through the area before disappearing into deep space beyond. In all likelihood the shot set off half a dozen blaring alarms on Panther’s bridge, and Sikander supposed that would be spectacular in its own way.
“Panther’s painting us with fire-control systems,” Hiram Randall reported. Warning lights flashed on the tactical console.
“Return the favor, Mr. Randall,” Markham ordered.
“Designate Dremish cruiser Panther as Target Alpha,” Randall ordered. “Designate the transport General von Grolmann as Target Beta. Illuminate Target Alpha and commence tracking.”
“Illuminate Target Alpha, aye,” Sikander replied. He marked the Dremish ships as hostile on his console; Ensign Girard quickly brought up Hector’s targeting systems and activated them. Sophisticated radars, lidars, and passive gravitic systems instantly measured the distance, course, and speed of the Dremish ship. At the moment, she was only about three thousand kilometers distant, lower in her orbit than Hector and moving at a correspondingly higher speed—knife-fighting range by the standards of modern fire control.
For several minutes, nothing more happened. The two cruisers locked each other with their fire control, the naval equivalent of two duelists pointing their pistols at each other but holding their fire. Sikander switched his attention from the weapons console to the main bridge display, now adjusted to focus on the orbital situation. Panther slowly rotated to keep her broadside on Hector; Hector’s helmsman likewise adjusted the ship’s attitude to keep the maximum firepower focused on the Dremish cruiser. “Steady, everyone,” Sikander said softly to his weapon officers. “Keep your hands well away from the firing keys.”
Then General von Grolmann opened fire.
The troop carrier’s K-cannons were not pointed at Hector, and Hector’s automated defenses did not register the barrage as an attack. But half a dozen K-rounds went streaking down into the dusty skies below. “Grolmann is firing on Gadira, Captain!” Randall said.
“What’s she shooting at?” Markham demanded.
“The rounds appear to be targeted in the Toutay area, ma’am, probably the Khalifa Palace,” said Randall. “Impacts are visible now.”
It’s not Ranya, Sikander told himself. He risked a quick glance at the vid feed that Randall’s team monitored. Giant dust plumes obscured the area, but the display retained a faint outline of the original structure underneath. El-Fasi forces ringed the palace at a safe distance; he guessed that Bey Salem had called upon his Dremish friends to soften up the fortresslike palace for his troops to mount an assault. Until the dust cleared, it would be hard to assess just how much damage the Dremish bombardment was inflicting, and whether Gadira still had a sultan or not.
Commander Chatburn’s voice came over the ship’s internal command channel; the XO stood watch in the auxiliary bridge, ready to take over if an enemy hit took out the main bridge. “They aren’t firing on us, Captain,” he said. “They’re only hitting the ground targets. The Commonwealth has no vital interest here worth starting a war over.”