Daring

33

A plan is only a beginning. Kris had learned that at her father’s knee, watching campaign plans fall apart only to be hammered back into something else. She’d experienced it enough on her own as a Navy officer. Sometimes it had fallen to her to make other people’s plans implode.

Other times, someone else had done the honor to her.

Still, an entire civilization had never hung on any of the plans she’d made.

And none of the plans had ever taken two interstellar races into a war with a third in order to save a fourth.

But then, there’s a first time for everything.

The Vulcan’s completing the installation of the neutron torpedoes on the Hornet, Intrepid, and Fearless was number one on Kris’s list of what needed to be done before she took on the huge mother ship. So when the skippers of the Vulcan and Fearless called an hour later, she answered the call immediately.

“We’ve got a problem,” the skipper of the Fearless said.

“Possible sabotage,” the skipper of the Vulcan said.

“You’re not sure it’s sabotage,” said Fearless.

“Those wires didn’t cut themselves,” replied Vulcan.

“Hold it. Hold it,” Kris said. “What’s wrong?”

The view changed to show a bundle of wires cut smartly in half.

“How’d that happen?” Kris said.

“We don’t know,” Fearless said.

“Someone cut them,” was the Vulcan’s answer.

“It does look like someone cut them,” Kris said.

Silence answered her conclusion.

“It seems we have a reluctant tiger,” Colonel Cortez said from behind Kris.

“Reluctant tiger?” Kris said.

“Someone doesn’t want to be in on this fight,” the colonel went on. “Be they a coward or just God’s anointed to keep two galactic species from going to war, they don’t want the neutron torpedoes to go active.”

“Has anyone complained to you, Commander?”

The skipper of the Fearless shook her head. “Everyone seemed excited to be taking on the planet rapers. Being the first to use these torpedoes makes it one for the history books.”

“I think someone wants to skip their place in the history books,” Kris said, then came to a conclusion. “Nelly, put all the skippers online and the admirals, too.”

“Do we have to involve everyone?” asked Fearless.

“I’m afraid so.” Kris quickly filled in those who joined on net. Admiral Krätz seemed torn between indignant at the cowardly action . . . and strong support for the idea of the torpedoes’ not going live. The rest listened quietly.

“I know that tradition requires us to hunt down the dog who did this and keelhaul him, but I don’t have time for tradition at the moment,” Kris said. “We also can’t afford to post guards at every point where a ship might be vulnerable. Therefore, I propose you offer anyone in your crew a ticket home. If they want, they can ask for a ride back to human space on the freighters, the courier ships, or the Vulcan. Those ships will not be going with us. Anyone who wants to skip the coming battle can go home on them.”

“And if too many of the crew ask to use your ticket out?” Admiral Channing asked.

“Ships that can’t be fought will escort the freighters.”

“So you’re rewarding treason and sabotage.” Admiral Krätz exploded. “You will even let sailors vote to abandon their posts in the face of the enemy. Even take a ship out of my command!”

“Out of my command,” Kris snapped back. “I thought you’d be delighted. Maybe even take the ride home yourself.”

“I’ve already issued the orders to fight the fleet,” Krätz growled. “Now you’re inviting insubordination.”

“It doesn’t lack for a historic precedent,” Colonel Cortez said. “A small detachment holding a fort on the frontier of a tiny country, fighting for its independence from a much larger one, had dissension in the ranks. The commander drew a line in the sand and announced that anyone who wished to leave could do so. Just cross the line.”

“What happened?” asked Admiral Kōta.

“Offered the chance to leave, every one of them stayed.”

“How’d it turn out?” Admiral Krätz asked.

“They were wiped out to a man,” the colonel said.

“Banzai,” said Admiral Kōta. “An honorable death.”

Kris let the thoughts sink in, then went on. “I suggest you draw a line in the sand for your people as soon as you can and get any reluctant tigers moving toward a billet where they can do your ship no harm.”

The screen closed down, but before Kris could continue with a review of her plan, she realized she had forgotten to include Captain Drago and the Wasp in her line-in-the-sand offer. She quickly called the captain and brought him up to date.

“Yes, that would be a good idea. We had a lot of young sailors brought aboard recently. I suspect some of them may be green and frightened. It would be better for the ship if they dropped out now. I’ll have Senior Chief Mong pass the word.”

“He will understand this is a no-judgment offer?” Kris asked. Her experience of the old chief was that she would not want to be on his wrong side. She suspected the young sailors aboard had the same feeling.

“This may surprise you, but Senior Chief Mong has teenage boys at home. I’ve found that he has a very good understanding of our younger hands. By the way, Your Highness, there is a personnel matter that I should discuss with you. Would you mind if I dropped down to talk with you.”

“Certainly not, Captain. Feel free,” Kris said.

What she thought was What now? Captain Drago and his initial crew were all civilian contractors, hired to run the Wasp in some under-the-table agreement with Wardhaven’s chief spy. Kris didn’t care if some young sailors took her up on the chance to go home to momma. However, if Captain Drago and his entire crew announced that they wanted to exercise their option to bolt and run now that things were getting hot, it would leave her with no one to run the Wasp.

She would, of course, transfer her flag to one of the other corvettes. Still, to have your flagship run out on you just before the battle would be embarrassing.

To lose one-quarter of her squadron might well mean defeat.

Kris sighed and put that thought away in a pigeonhole marked Panic Later.

For the moment, she turned back to Jack, the colonel, Penny, Abby, and Chief Beni. They had a battle plan to refine and options to develop, so Kris could be oh so brilliant in the coming fight and pull out just the right rabbit at the right moment when the approved plan fell apart.

“Kris,” Nelly announced, “Lieutenant Song, skipper of the courier ship Hermes, would like to talk to you. She’s about to jump out of the system to check out the last system the Hornet was in. Do you have time to talk to her?”

“I’ll make time. Lieutenant Song, what can I do for you?”

“Commander, we just got the word that anyone who wants to go home can ask, and they’ll get a ride back on a courier boat or on one of the freighters. Is that correct, ma’am?”

Kris nodded. “Yes. No one has to go into this fight who doesn’t want to.” Kris didn’t explain the full security thoughts behind what some might think of as a most magnanimous decision.

“Well, ma’am, on the small ships, we’re wondering if some of us could transfer onto the fighting ships as replacements. I mean, if we’ve got sailors coming aboard, they might as well sail the Hermes and let us take their billets. Commander.”

Jack and the colonel grinned at Kris, struggling to suppress open laughter. She’d expected one thing and gotten something totally different. Facing the screen, Kris kept her face a commander’s mask.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll see what I can do. Pass the word to the other courier boats that anyone on them can put in their names and rate and they can switch with anyone on the corvettes who wants to trade. The couriers will go back, and they have to be properly crewed. They’ll carry The Word to the U.S. of what we are doing here. Humanity has to know what we’ve done in their name and why.”

“Yes, ma’am. I understand. The Word has to get back. But if there are folks who want to go back, let’s let them go and let the rest of us fight.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Pass The Word. Now, I have a battle to plan.”

“Yes, ma’am. Signing off.”

“Are you surprised, Commodore?” the colonel said.

“No. Yes. Maybe,” Kris said, trying not to stutter.

“You’re offering them a chance to fight for the right of an entire race to breathe the air God gave them,” Colonel Cortes said. “Drink their planet’s water. It’s a worthwhile fight. A good fight.”

“We’re all going to die,” Abby muttered . . . to everyone in hearing.

“Everyone dies,” the colonel said. “Not everyone gets to die for something worth dying for. Abby, my good woman, you have to quit thinking the old way. For years, the Navy took out the garbage and stopped this spat, that squabble. Now we’re facing something that doesn’t even consider us worth talking to. We try to talk to them. They try to kill us. That’s the way the conversation has gone. Now we’ll let Hellburners do our talking for us.”

“Hellburners?” Kris asked.

“The boffins can call them neutron torpedoes if they want. That’s a name to warm the hearts of some ice-water-for-blood scientist. Hellburners. Now that’s the name for a warrior’s weapon. That’s a name that will smash down the very gates of hell. I like that name.”

“We’d better,” Jack said. “Because Kris here is leading us right down hell’s main boulevard.”

“She’ll march us into hell, and she will march us back again,” the colonel said, “and we will all raise a glass at the memory when we’re old and gray.”

“I surely hope so,” Penny said, looking slightly pale. “I certainly hope so.”

“She’s a bloody Longknife,” the colonel said, grinning. “Who would you rather follow through hell?”

“Me, I’d rather skip the hike,” said Chief Beni.

“You going to apply for a ticket on one of the freighters?” Penny asked.

“Of course not,” the chief said. “If Kris is going to lead us out of hell, she’ll need me to find the best route.”

Kris chuckled. “Thank you, Chief.”

Captain Drago entered the Forward Lounge at that moment, a thick pile of flimsies in hand. It looked thick enough to cover every man and woman of his contract crew. Kris swallowed hard, mentally packing her kit. A shrunken kit that might fit on the Hornet.

“I have some personnel actions you need to sign, Commodore.”

“What kind?”

“Activating commissions, Commodore.”

“Whose?”

“Mine. All the other officers among our crew. Oh, and the enlisted swine want to be activated, too. If you’re going to fight a war, we’d prefer to fight it with good old Navy blue and gold on our backs.”