Imperfect Sword

Chapter Eleven

“Here comes another barrage! Into the shelters!”

Drakon sat down, feeling clumsy and massive in his battle armor, the seat creaking beneath his weight. The command center had few soldiers in it besides him and Malin. He eyed the information on his display about the incoming barrage, judging it through his way-too-extensive experience with being bombarded by enemy artillery. “It’s a little lighter than the first one. They must be running low on rockets.”

“There is a higher proportion of gun artillery,” Malin agreed. “Sir, we’re going to have to employ chaff from the base stocks if they hit us again after this. Everything blocking precision weapon targeting and sensors out there is starting to get thin.”

“This second Syndicate barrage will throw up more junk,” Drakon said. “Colonel Kai, Colonel Safir, how are your troops doing for ammo?”

“Fully resupplied, General, with more stocks in ready resupply right behind the forward positions,” Kai said.

“Same here, General,” Safir reported. “The troops are tired, though. It’s been a long day.”

“Up patches are authorized for anyone who hasn’t employed one yet,” Drakon said. Using too many of the stimulant patches too fast was a recipe for psychotic episodes, which was a particularly bad thing when heavily armed soldiers were involved. But it was probably past time to give his soldiers a mental and physical boost after all they had already been through.

“Yes, sir. My people believe that they have spotted preliminary indications of Syndicate troops massing opposite sector four,” Safir said.

Malin nodded in agreement. “From the small signs our sensors have picked up in the Syndicate positions, I estimate the next two attacks will come at sectors one and four.”

“They’ll do the same thing,” Kai said. “Failure is no indication of a flaw in planning.” Safir laughed sharply, drawing a puzzled look from Kai. “I was merely pointing out Syndicate tactical philosophy,” he said. “Do you disagree?”

“No, Colonel. I was admiring the accuracy of your statement,” Safir replied.

Drakon barely managed to hide his own smile. Safir, having served so long with Gaiene, had plenty of experience with comebacks. But the reminder of Conner made the smile vanish before it could form, then the bombardment arrived.

The sky fell on the base again, the overheads, the walls, and the floors trembling with the constant shock of explosions. But the Syndicate could build things well, and this base seemed to be lacking in the most common construction flaws and errors. Ground-penetrating artillery was being foiled by layers of special armor, surface fortifications were shrugging off armor-penetrating artillery, and the concussions of the high-explosive rounds were accomplishing little but to bounce around the increasingly fine gravel and dust which this morning had been the surface structures of the base.

Malin took a report, then shook his head at Drakon as more dust silted down from the ceiling. “Executive First Rank Finley, the supposed senior snake here, is dead. She was taken prisoner during our initial assault but was found dead among the prisoners, all of whom professed to know nothing about what happened to her.”

“Funny how often snakes die during assaults or when captured and left among other prisoners,” Drakon said, leaning back and looking up so he could see through his helmet’s visual sensors a stream of dust falling toward him from a small crack in the ceiling.

“A lot of them died here,” Malin agreed. “From what I have been able to piece together, that’s what allowed us to seize the base so quickly once we penetrated the fortifications. The snakes stationed at the front lines began shooting soldiers who tried to retreat, and the other soldiers took that badly enough to start massacring the snakes among them. The brigade holding this base fell apart from the inside when we punched the outside hard enough.”

“Morgan was right about that,” Drakon said.

“Yes… she was.”

Drakon gazed upward at the falling dust, wondering again what had happened to Morgan, and wishing as usual that he could leave whatever command center he was in and go to the front line. He had never liked the usual necessity of holding back from getting directly involved in the fighting, so he could focus on the big picture. It did not feel brave or right when his soldiers were fighting and dying as a result of the commands he issued. But I know I have to do it that way. If I’m not looking out for the big picture, acting like the commanding officer should act, then I would be betraying them. Who would do my job if I weren’t doing it?

Who would care about these soldiers if I didn’t?

“The barrage is ceasing,” Malin cautioned. “Surviving surface sensors see no more inbound rounds after the next volley hits in thirty seconds.”

Drakon sat up, stood up, and focused on his display. “All units, the latest barrage will cease after the next rounds land. Exit blast bunkers in forty seconds and reoccupy all outer fortifications.”

The ground shook through a final spasm, then Drakon saw on the virtual windows before him Syndicate chaff rounds sprouting their clouds of confusion in the open area all around the base.

“Hold on,” he heard Colonel Safir say to what was now her brigade. “Don’t fire until you have targets. Wait for it.”

“Stand by,” Colonel Kai told his soldiers. “Ready.”

The defenders had been able to rest during the barrage. They had been resupplied from the ample stockpiles of ammunition in the base and had eaten rations from the base supplies. Now they packed into the fortifications where many of the automated defenses had been destroyed by earlier fighting, their own weapons leveled toward the chaff clouds before them.

At both sector one and sector four, a mass of figures in battle armor burst through the murk and into full view less than twenty meters from the outer fortifications.

“Fire,” Safir and Kai said simultaneously.

The front ranks of the assault evaporated under the defensive fire at both locations. Stubborn attackers kept coming, stumbling over the bodies of their comrades, facing a storm of fire that knocked them down mercilessly.

The attackers at sector one faltered, standing still for a few moments, leaning into the defensive fire as if it were a heavy wind. Then they broke, scrambling back into the chaff clouds.

But opposite sector four the attackers confronting Safir’s soldiers kept coming, wave after wave, until their bodies began blocking the firing ports of the fortifications.

“Colonel! We can’t cover the base of the wall anymore! Their breaching teams will have a free shot!”

“The hell they will!” Safir cried. “General, request permission to counterattack.”

Malin cast a startled glance at Drakon, who had been watching the pressure build on Safir’s troops. “General, that’s—”

“A very good idea,” Drakon said. “The Syndicate troops back at their lines won’t be able to see our forces leave the base because of the chaff they laid to screen their own attack. Colonel Safir, permission granted. Sally your counterattack from sector five. Clear the base of the wall, then get your people back inside.”

“You heard the man!” Safir called. “Third Battalion, go!”

Sally ports shot open in the base of the fortifications to one side of where the masses of attackers were piling up against the base’s outer wall. The Third Battalion of the Second Brigade, with Colonel Safir in their midst, poured out, immediately pivoted ninety degrees, and hit the side of the Syndicate assault like a hammer.

The attack collapsed, many of the exhausted Syndicate soldiers simply dropping to their knees and throwing away their weapons as the rest of the assault force fled. Armored figures who must have been snakes or frustrated supervisors tried to shoot those surrendering, but Safir’s troops targeted anyone still holding a weapon and wiped them out. “Round them up!” Safir ordered. “You!” she added, shifting to an external speaker that the microphones on the Syndicate battle armor would pick up. “If you want to live as prisoners, move! Anyone left out here when we get back inside is a target!”

“General,” Malin said. “As soon as the Syndicate commanders realize we have soldiers outside the base fortifications—”

“They will order in a bombardment of that area,” Drakon finished. “I worked in the Syndicate system long enough to know how much time it takes for that system to identify new information, make a decision, and get a sudden change implemented. We’ve got at least four minutes. Colonel Safir, get your people back inside in less than four minutes.”

“Yes, General,” she replied, sounding breathless. “They’ll know better than to mess with Conner Gaiene’s lads and ladies again.”

Drakon realized that he was smiling. The Second Brigade was no longer commanded by Gaiene, but he had been in charge long enough to put his stamp on the unit, especially once Drakon’s division had been exiled to Midway and thereby, ironically, given a bit more freedom from Syndicate micromanagement as a result of being punished. For a while longer at least the Second Brigade would still think of themselves as Gaiene’s, and that was not a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all.

“I think Colonel Safir was around Colonel Gaiene a bit too long,” Malin said.

“It looks to me like she was around Conner for just about the right amount of time,” Drakon said.

The Third Battalion, showing little patience with laggards, hustled the disarmed prisoners inside the base and resealed the sally ports. “Well done, Colonel Safir,” Drakon said. “Make sure the prisoners are under strong guard until they’ve been individually screened for any weapons we might have missed in the rush.”

“Barrage inbound,” Malin announced, then looked at Drakon again. “Four minutes, fifteen seconds.”

Drakon grinned at him, feeling a rush of relief that the latest attacks had been repulsed. “Close enough for Syndicate work.”

“A damned sight better than Syndicate work, sir.” The ground trembled once more as the barrage struck outside of sector two. “The Syndicate soldiers surrounding us will know that barrage is hitting any of their wounded outside the base.”

“We brought in every wounded soldier we could,” Drakon said.

“We know that, but the Syndicate ground forces will assume those wounded are still out there and being killed by their own artillery.” Malin smiled that cold smile of his. “With that on top of the losses they’ve sustained in futile attacks today, the Syndicate forces are going to face some serious morale problems.”

Drakon nodded, his eyes on his display, where the chaff clouds now drifted with no signs of the enemy visible behind them. “I’m going to need the Syndicate prisoners screened for potential recruits, Bran. The ones from the brigade that held this base and the ones we just picked up outside. We’ve taken way too many losses today. Maybe we can find some recruits with potential among our prisoners.”

It took Drakon a moment to realize that he had just thought beyond the next hour, beyond today.

He might just have a future again.

But they were still surrounded; despite their losses, the Syndicate ground forces still had big advantages in supporting arms like artillery and aerospace warbirds, and above all else there was still that Syndicate battleship to worry about.

In terms of numbers, the two flotillas rushing toward each other were closely matched. Each had a single battleship. Now that Haris’s cruisers had joined it, the Syndicate flotilla also contained two heavy cruisers, one light cruiser, and three Hunter-Killers. Marphissa’s ships had met up with the newly arrived Midway, giving her flotilla two heavy cruisers, two light cruisers, and four Hunter-Killers.

“I should switch flagships,” Marphissa said reluctantly. She had gone to her stateroom to talk privately with Mercia and Bradamont, who were in one of the battleship’s secure conference rooms, but thanks to the conferencing software appeared to be sitting right next to Marphissa’s desk on Manticore. “I should be aboard Midway. There’s plenty of time for a shuttle to come over to Manticore and transport me back to the battleship.”

Kapitan Mercia looked over as Bradamont cleared her throat. “Kommodor,” Bradamont said, speaking formally, “I recommend that you stay on Manticore. Not because of any flaw with Midway,” she added with a gesture toward Mercia. “We all agree that the Syndicate believes the Midway is once more bluffing, that her weapons are still mostly not operational. If you switch flagships, the Syndicate will see the shuttle movement and know what the significance of that must be. It will cause them to wonder if the Midway is indeed bluffing. Why would you transfer to a ship without working weapons?”

Kapitan Mercia nodded. “So, if the Kommodor switches to Midway, it might well lead CEO Boucher to question whether Midway might be fully operational, or at least much more ready to fight than the Syndicate expects. I agree with Captain Bradamont.”

“But,” Bradamont continued, “if you stay on Manticore even though you have the opportunity to transfer to Midway, it will serve to confirm to the Syndics, excuse me, the Syndicate forces, their belief that Midway is not a functional warship.”

Marphissa nodded as well. “That is an important consideration. I will be very close to Midway in any event, able to communicate with you with no meaningful delay. I will stay aboard Manticore. I want to take every measure to ensure that Happy Hua is badly surprised by our first engagement.” No one had mentioned that as a heavy cruiser, Manticore was far more vulnerable than a battleship like Midway. This was not a matter in which personal safety of the flotilla commander should be deciding the course of action.

“Hua will be aiming for Midway’s propulsion,” Bradamont added. “Above all, she wants to be sure that this battleship does not get away from her.”

“And I will be aiming for her battleship’s propulsion,” Mercia said with a laugh. “We’re both going to be chasing the other’s backside.”

“Both of you have a lot more experience with engaging battleships than I do,” Marphissa said. “Is there any other way to quickly cripple Happy Hua’s battleship? Besides trying to hit her main propulsion?”

Mercia shook her head. “In a one-on-one engagement? In one firing pass? Even if we had that Alliance fog weapon, we couldn’t do it except by aiming for the main propulsion. But we’ll never get a clean shot at her stern if both of us are trying to do that. Neither of us can outmaneuver the other. It will just be a succession of head-to-head firing passes, gradually wearing down both ships, and if Hua finds she is being worn down faster, she will have a chance to bolt and escape from us.”

“What can we do then?” Marphissa demanded.

“You said,” Bradamont commented to Mercia, “it couldn’t work if both battleships were trying for each other’s propulsion.”

“Yes, I did.” Mercia hunched forward, her hands moving to illustrate the movements of ships. “CEO Boucher thinks we’re bluffing. She’s coming toward us in what will be a head-to-head encounter. I can appear to fumble the angle of our bow at contact, which won’t strike CEO Boucher as odd because I’m just some junior executive or even worker who killed her betters and got promoted immediately to command a warship, right? That will seem to allow the Syndicate battleship a partial shot at my stern. Midway herself only fires a few weapons on that pass, as if that’s all we’ve got. We come out of it with some of our main propulsion apparently inoperative as a result of lucky hits. The external damage won’t be there, but there are plenty of internal reasons why main propulsion units can go off-line after taking fire, so it will still look plausible. We turn away and loop back toward the jump point for Midway Star System. It looks like we’re running. Our bluff has been called, and we’ve taken damage.” One of her hands swung in a wide turn.

“But we’ve lost some main propulsion, so the arc of our turn is wider than what Happy Hua’s ship can manage,” Mercia continued, her other hand moving in a tighter arc inside that of the first. “It’s hard to shift the vectors on so much mass. Happy Hua turns inside us and aims for our stern, coming in at about, hmmm, our stern quarter. Even if I try to turn bow on toward her, I’ll just be pivoting my own stern along the same path that Hua is taking. She’d still be able to hit my stern quarter as she passes.”

“That’s your most vulnerable point,” Bradamont said.

“Yes. This is all if we held our vector. But, we’re on that arc. We have a lot of momentum along a wider angle that our main propulsion is fighting as it keeps pushing us through the turn.” Mercia’s hands moved again. “If I completely kill our main propulsion, we stop turning along that arc at that rate. My ship changes speed relative to Hua’s ship, and immediately begins to swing out along a much wider arc. You see? Hua has set her firing pass to come close to our stern, but when I change my arc by killing my propulsion just before contact, it changes the situation. She will suddenly find her battleship passing,” Mercia said with a grin, as her hands moved past each other, “just in front of my bow, angled away from me, giving me a perfect shot at her stern quarter.”

Marphissa stared intently, running the maneuvers through her mind. “It could work.”

“It will work,” Mercia insisted. “We all deal with momentum. It’s a major factor in how we maneuver. But battleships deal with it most of all because of our mass relative to our main propulsion. Hua can’t appreciate that because she lacks the experience. Her automated maneuvering systems will provide a textbook-perfect firing run on my battleship, but because they deal only with what is, and not with all the possible options I might employ, they will not warn her what will happen if I make that change in my vector in the last minutes before contact, and, most importantly, they will not warn her that when she tries in those last moments to shift her own vector and her own battleship’s facing to counter my actions, she will be fighting not just me, but also all of the mass and existing momentum of her own battleship. She won’t be able to succeed.”

“You’re saying there’s no risk?” Marphissa asked skeptically. “That this is a sure thing?”

“Of course there is risk!” Mercia replied. “This is war, not a game or simulation where we can order the umpire to make things come out as we please. Something could go wrong. Midway might take real, significant damage during the first engagement if the Syndicate gets lucky. Happy Hua could do something so stupid it is smart and totally messes up our plan. One of the sub-CEOs or executives on Happy Hua’s ship might spot the risk and warn her, and Happy Hua might listen to them, as unlikely as that is. I might misjudge the exact second to kill my main propulsion and miss my shot at Happy Hua’s battleship, or Worker Gilligan might short out all of my controls just as I need them.”

“I actually had a worker named Gilligan once,” Marphissa said. “He didn’t cause any disasters, but that was probably because everyone watched him constantly, expecting him to do something like that. Honore? What do you think?”

“I think it’s brilliant,” Bradamont said. “What are your cruisers and HuKs going to do while the battleships smash at each other on that first pass?”

Marphissa pondered that for a few seconds. “Happy Hua will concentrate her fire on Midway. All of her ships will be told to target our battleship as well because she knows that is by far the most important target, and she wants to inflict as much damage as possible before Midway runs for safety as she expects her to. Agreed? That should give us shots at taking out some of her cruisers and HuKs while they are firing on Midway.”

“Midway should fire back at the battleship on that first pass, though,” Bradamont said. “Since you’ll be using only the few weapons you intend to employ to further the impression that Midway is still barely operational. Seeing the few shots Midway fires bouncing off her battleship’s shields will enhance CEO Boucher’s feelings of her own invincibility this time around.”

“Yes,” Kapitan Mercia agreed, nodding. “That’s a good idea.”

“How did a sub-CEO with your kind of brains survive under the Syndicate?” Marphissa asked.

Mercia smiled. “There were a few times I nearly didn’t. But the supervisors who were unhappy with me never got around to reporting it.”

“Accidents?” Marphissa asked.

“Yes. It was sad.”

Bradamont eyed the two of them. “I never know when you people are joking.”

Marphissa didn’t reply, not wanting to discuss realities of Syndicate life that Bradamont found either incomprehensible or abhorrent. Instead, she went back to discussing the upcoming engagement. “Happy Hua’s flotilla is twenty-six light-minutes away and coming on fast on a direct intercept. We’re both going about point two light, so that would be an hour’s travel time left before contact. We’ll start braking in fifteen minutes. I want us down to point zero eight light speed when we encounter the Syndicate flotilla.”

“Point zero eight?” Mercia questioned. “You’re assuming that Happy Hua won’t brake?”

“I don’t think she will brake enough,” Marphissa said. “She gained some experience in our last fight. She knows she has to keep her relative velocity from being too fast when we meet or she won’t be able to hit us, and Happy Hua wants to hit us. But she’s also still inexperienced enough to think that going faster is better. So she’ll compromise and do neither well enough. My guess is that in this encounter she will get down a lot closer to point one light, but not all the way.”

“That’s a reasonable guess,” Bradamont said. “CEO Boucher probably also still underestimates how hard it is to make a battleship’s mass do what you want in a hurry. The Alliance usually tries to assign battleship commands to officers with a lot of previous experience on battleships, but occasionally they get someone without that experience who tries to make a battleship dance like a battle cruiser. It’s not pretty.”

Mercia eyed her. “You’re telling us about Alliance policies? How your fleet does things?”

“That’s one of the reasons Admiral Geary assigned me to Midway Star System,” Bradamont said.

“So I was told, but… yes, that’s a valid observation. CEO Boucher probably will underestimate the difficulty of making rapid changes to her battleship’s facing and vector. I saw that in a lot of new commanders.”

“All right,” Marphissa said, sensing the tension that had become apparent between Mercia and Bradamont. “Have we forgotten anything?”

“What will your formation be?” Bradamont asked.

“Standard box— Hell.” Marphissa laughed at herself. “The problem with defaults is that they become habitual. I think… Modified Diamond. Midway at the point.”

“At the point?” Mercia asked, surprised. “That is an unconventional arrangement. Probably not the best, either.”

“I know,” Marphissa said. “That’s why I think it would work. The Syndicate thinks we’re young fools, out of our depth. Why not look a little clumsy? It won’t hurt us. It’s not the best arrangement for protecting Midway, but since we’re only facing one other battleship, it won’t make any difference in terms of how much fire Midway takes.”

“True,” Mercia conceded, her eyes intent.

“Then we will prepare to execute the plan we discussed. I will call the vectors as we approach the Syndicate flotilla, but you, Kapitan Mercia, will independently adjust your final heading as you feel best to give the Syndicate what they think is a shot at your main propulsion. After the first engagement, I want a recommendation from you, Kapitan, on how wide to have Midway turn.”

Mercia nodded. “You will get it.”

“Are you comfortable with Captain Bradamont’s offering advice when she feels appropriate? She is discreet.”

“Then… yes, Kommodor.”

“I may not have much to offer in this engagement,” Bradamont said. “I have a lot less experience with battleship maneuvering than Kapitan Mercia, and that is what will count.”

“But you have already helped us plan the engagement,” Marphissa said. “Is there anything else?”

Mercia cleared her throat. “Kommodor, may I speak with you privately?”

Marphissa glanced at Bradamont, who nodded to her without any sign of discomfort, and left the conference room on the battleship.

Once they were alone, Freya Mercia gave Marphissa a serious look. “I wanted to be certain that something was out in the open. This is not a conversation that would have been held under the Syndicate, and so the matter might have festered and created problems.”

“What matter is this we must discuss?” Marphissa asked, trying to mask her tension. Mercia was older than her, had more experience with mobile forces, and had more experience in command positions. Was the old veteran about to attempt to slap down the young pup?

“I have been around awhile longer than you,” Mercia began, apparently oblivious to the way her words caused Marphissa to shift into a defensive posture. “That has the potential for problems which I know would concern me if I were in your place. However, I wanted you to know that I accept my role as your subordinate. I will not conspire against you in the Syndicate way because from all I have seen and heard, you are not operating in the Syndicate way. Just now, we discussed what to do, and you listened, and you asked questions, then you decided. I know I am respected. That will take some getting used to after my years with the Syndicate, but I am grateful for the chance to use my skills and experience for those who value what I can offer.”

Mercia waved around her. “I have command of a battleship, and I am fighting for a good cause. I have no complaints, Kommodor. I will support you and comply with your orders. I did not want you to have worries on those counts.”

“Thank you,” Marphissa said. “I did have some concerns. Was it obvious?”

“No. You actually hid it very well.”

“Do you understand that you can trust Honore Bradamont? She is Alliance, but to her, we are no longer Syndicate.”

“Syndics,” Mercia said with a twist of her lips. “I admit I am having some trouble at times seeing an Alliance officer on my bridge. But, yes, her insights are useful, and she admits when she knows less on a matter than one of us. She does not act like a conqueror, which I had anticipated from an Alliance battle cruiser commander. Her lack of arrogance and superiority is unexpected and welcome.”

“I trust Captain Bradamont,” Marphissa said. “In time, I hope you will trust her as fully. How is your crew handling having her around?”

“Oh, that!” Mercia rolled her eyes. “It has been… interesting. But they understand that any display of hostility or aggression toward her will result in serious consequences. She has bodyguards as well, of course, to keep her safe from the crew.”

“At first, it was like that on Manticore,” Marphissa said. “Now Bradamont is seen by the specialists as one of us. She is Black Jack’s.”

“The one who destroyed my flotilla?” Mercia asked. “But also the one who captured us instead of destroying our escape pods.”

“And it was Bradamont who suggested getting you all from the Alliance, bringing you back to us.” Marphissa shook her head as memories rushed in. “We wouldn’t have made it back, made it through Indras Star System, without her advice to me. I called all the maneuvers, but Bradamont told me how I should use the escorts to protect the freighters. I had never commanded such an operation.”

Mercia raised both eyebrows. “I saw enough of the action there from the command deck of the freighter I was on to be very, very worried. One of the reasons I didn’t object to your being my boss was knowing how you handled your ships at Indras. I hadn’t heard about Bradamont’s role, though.”

“It was between her and me. She never undermines me in front of my crew when she offers advice.”

“That’s good.” Mercia sighed, grimacing. “I haven’t had much time to learn things about all of you. I’ve been so busy getting the weapons on this ship operational, it hasn’t left much time for anything else. I admit I was surprised, and a bit resistant, when President Iceni insisted that Bradamont accompany Midway to Ulindi. But Kapitan Kontos thought it was a good thing, almost a natural thing, and I wasn’t about to defy Iceni and have them thinking I might be like Ito, so I went along.”

“If anyone thought you were like Executive Ito,” Marphissa said, “you wouldn’t have been given command of Midway.”

“Thank you. Bradamont didn’t mention it, but she is worried about the ground forces.”

“So am I. I’ve done all we could up to this point. Once we take out CEO Boucher’s flotilla, Midway should be able to offer major support for the ground forces.” Marphissa looked down, then back at Mercia. “Hopefully, it won’t be too late. Is there any other matter we should discuss?”

Mercia shook her head. “No, Kommodor.”

“Good. I have full confidence in you. You’ve achieved a miracle by getting Midway ready to fight as fast as you did. I have no complaints.”

“No complaints? What kind of supervisor are you? How am I supposed to be motivated unless you treat me like dirt?” Mercia laughed.

“You know what? If we destroy Happy Hua’s battleship, I’ll also praise you. Publicly praise you and give you your fair share of the credit. You’ll just have to get used to that kind of thing.”

The Syndicate flotilla’s warships remained in Standard Box Formation One as they rushed to intercept, rising a little and coming along a slightly curved path just off to port of the Midway flotilla. The center of the box was occupied by CEO Boucher’s battleship, the two heavy cruisers at the upper front corners and the light cruiser at a lower front corner. One of the three enemy Hunter-Killers was at the other lower corner, and the other two at the back upper corners. The enemy ships had closed to within five light-minutes, and had braked down to point one three light speed.

“No imagination at all,” Kapitan Diaz scoffed. “Except for the velocity being too high, she’s doing it exactly by the book.”

“Which is good for us. We should be able to do some damage to those escorts.” Marphissa had arranged her ships in the Modified Diamond, which was not a by-the-book formation at all. She had kept the formation flat, all of the ships in the same plane, but had given it a three-dimensional quality by slightly canting the formation downward relative to the Syndicate ships, so it would pass through at an angle rather than evenly. Midway occupied the front and lowest point. Gryphon, one of her two heavy cruisers, was at the point behind and to the port side of the battleship. The light cruiser Hawk was on the point opposite Gryphon, while the light cruiser Eagle was at the highest and rear point. At the center of the diamond was Manticore. Spread out at equal points within the diamond were the four Hunter-Killers Sentry, Sentinel, Scout, and Defender.

“Are you sure?” Diaz had asked, puzzled, as he saw the formation.

“Yes,” Marphissa said. “It’s not aimed at the Syndicate battleship. I want Midway to be leading to ensure she draws their fire, leaving our escorts to hit some of the Syndicate escorts hard while ignoring the Syndicate battleship.”

“Won’t they expect that?” Diaz said. “It’s what we did last time we encountered CEO Boucher.”

“Yes, but last time we did not have a battleship with us. The forces were very lopsided. And Syndicate doctrine insists that the major combatants be targeted first. In our last fight, that was our heavy cruisers as far as Happy Hua was concerned. Now it’s Midway. She will assume we will do the same since we now have a battleship, and that is doctrine.”

“Twenty minutes to contact,” Senior Watch Specialist Czilla reported.

Marphissa studied her display. The projected tracks of both formations went directly through each other at a slight angle, the sort of head-on clash that lacked finesse and led to brutal engagements. That had increasingly been the usual sort of battle in the last several decades of the war with the Alliance, as both sides lost the skills and training to try anything less direct and concentrated on trying to hit the enemy harder than the enemy hit them.

CEO Hua Boucher, believing herself to have an overwhelming advantage in firepower, would surely stick to that path, wanting nothing more than to be able to hit Midway with everything she had. Marphissa’s problem was how to adjust her own track slightly to still give Boucher shots at Midway, but not too many, and also give her own cruisers and Hunter-Killers the ability to concentrate their fire on a few of Boucher’s escorts.

Twist the diamond formation slightly, bend its vector a little to one side, and her escorts would pretty much bracket Hua’s two heavy cruisers while Midway and the Syndicate battleship went by each other. “Ah, yes,” Marphissa murmured, designating one Syndicate heavy cruiser, the one that had helped bombard Kane, as the target for Gryphon and Manticore, and the other enemy cruiser, the one that had been under Haris’s control, as a target for Hawk, Eagle, Sentry, Sentinel, Scout, and Defender.

“Kapitan Mercia,” Marphissa called. “I am sending you my final vector and formation changes just before contact so you can adjust the heading of your ship.”

Mercia studied the information on her display, then nodded. “I understand, Kommodor. You are certain you will make these changes?”

“Yes. CEO Boucher will not react even if she sees them in time because they still give her a clean shot at you.”

“Thank you, Kommodor,” Mercia said dryly. “I appreciate the opportunity to field-test my ship’s armor and shields.”

“We’ll be going a bit fast for the combat systems to compensate,” Marphissa said. “But if the Syndicate ships stick to their vectors while we are making minor adjustments in ours, it should allow us to still have good hit probabilities while reducing their accuracy.”

“I am going to be twisting Midway at the moment of contact, pretending that I overcompensated. The Syndicate weapons should mostly impact my side shields and armor, but they will think they got a shot at my rear quarter.”

“That’s going to take some very good maneuvering,” Marphissa said.

Mercia smiled. “I know.”

“Ten minutes to contact,” Czilla reported.

“We’ll talk again after the firing pass,” Marphissa said, ending the call. She focused completely on her display, wanting to get the feel for the right moment to make the small adjustments in her formation and vector. Bradamont had coached her through this sort of thing, giving her tips that had supposedly been given to Bradamont by Black Jack himself. Marphissa knew that she had still screwed up the firing pass last time against CEO Boucher.

But not this time.

“All units,” Marphissa said, spacing the words out and speaking clearly, “at time one four come port zero one degrees, up zero two degrees. Engage assigned targets with all available weapons.”

For hours, the Syndicate ships had been very far away, just dots against the dark backdrop of space. Even in the last minute before contact, they were tiny objects because of the distance separating the two forces. Traveling at a combined velocity of over point two light speed, they were getting closer to each other at a rate of more than sixty thousand kilometers per second.

The views could be easily magnified, of course. Marphissa had a small virtual window on her display showing a clear vision of the enemy formation, seven warships seen in perfect detail across those huge distances. She could have zoomed in the image further, getting the same picture as if she were mere meters from the enemy. Space offered few obstacles to sight and none of the degradation of vision that occurred in a planetary atmosphere.

It was a mixed blessing, Marphissa thought. Being able to easily see the enemy charging at you for hours could be unnerving for those unused to the experience. And the long periods of nothing happening while the enemy charged at you could lead to a very dangerous complacency that would be shattered when those final thousands of kilometers separating you were covered in less than a second.

“One minute to contact,” Czilla said.

“Make your shots count,” Diaz ordered his weapons specialist. “This is for Kane.”

In the last seconds before contact, Marphissa’s formation shifted vector slightly as ordered, twisting and rising a little to meet the Syndicate formation at a slightly different angle. She could see Midway twisting in place, just as Mercia had said she would, apparently making a clumsy attempt to meet the Syndicate battleship bow to bow and failing badly.

Manticore lurched slightly as her missiles fired at the oncoming warships. Around her, Gryphon, Hawk, and Eagle also launched missiles.

Sensors barely had time to report that the Syndicate warships were firing missiles as well before the two formations rocketed into contact.

The enemy was there, and past, automated weapons on both sides hurling out hell lances and the metal ball bearings called grapeshot in the tiny fraction of a second when the ships were in range of each other, the weapons impacting along with the missiles fired earlier.

Marphissa hadn’t felt Manticore lurch from any hits. She stared at her display, waiting for her warships’ sensors to evaluate the results of the engagement as the two sets of warships tore away from each other.

Both of the heavy cruisers were missing from the Syndicate formation, one spinning off at an angle with its entire forward section smashed, and the other simply gone, a ball of gas and debris revealing that it had taken enough hits to cause a power-core overload.

Only a few hits from the Syndicate Hunter-Killers had struck Marphissa’s escorts, everything else in the Syndicate arsenal having been aimed at Midway.

“They scratched my ship,” Mercia complained.

“You took hits? I’m not seeing damage reports in the status feed.”

“They must have missed a lot, and other hits came in at high enough angles to skip off my shields and armor. But, oh dear, I have lost half my main propulsion,” Mercia reported with feigned distress.

“You didn’t shut it off during the engagement?” Marphissa asked, looking at her display’s review of recent events.

“No. Within seconds of the engagement, in a staggered ripple of shutdowns. As we said earlier, I wanted it to look like control failures since the Syndicate will be able to see that the exteriors of the units were not damaged. Kommodor, with my ship’s reduced maneuverability, I recommend we alter vector up three five five degrees.”

“All units,” Marphissa called, “immediate execute, alter vector up three five five degrees. Match velocity to Midway and maintain your positions in formation.”

The Midway diamond formation bent upward, velocity falling off as the ships fought their momentum to curve their tracks around and reverse course. The cruisers and Hunter-Killers could have made the turn in much less space than the vast distance required for the battleship to turn with half of her main propulsion units not working, but they matched their movements to the battleship, holding the same positions relative to Midway.

“Here she comes,” Diaz said, pointing to his display.

Happy Hua’s formation was turning up as well, coming back toward them. Marphissa watched, trying to look calm despite the tension she felt, as the vectors on the two formations steadied out. “It looks good. She’s doing what Kapitan Mercia predicted.”

“Will she keep doing it?”

“She’s Syndicate through and through,” Marphissa said. “Flexibility in anything but morals is not taught by the Syndicate. And she’s ruthless. She sees a chance at a kill, and she’s going to take it.”

It took time for the formations to come back together as they swung in their huge arcs through space. “You make the call when to kill your propulsion completely,” Marphissa told Mercia. “The rest of our ships will be slaved to your maneuvers, so we stay right with you.”

“I understand,” Mercia replied, her eyes locked on her display as she talked to Marphissa. “I will comply,” she added, unconsciously using the Syndicate phrase that had been required of her for so long.

“Showing five minutes to intercept,” Czilla reported.

Marphissa touched her comm controls. “Gryphon, Hawk, Eagle, Sentry, Sentinel, Scout, Defender, slave your maneuvering controls to Midway. I will not designate specific targets this time because our aspects will be changing as our formations engage. Your primary targets are the remaining enemy escorts. If you can’t get a good shot at an escort, add your fire to that of Midway at the enemy battleship.” She ended and looked at Diaz. “You, too.”

“Yes, Kommodor.” Diaz had his eyes fixed on his display as well.

One minute passed. Another. CEO Boucher’s formation came onward steadily, tracking to pass close behind Midway’s stern.

“Midway has cut all main propulsion,” Czilla said.

Manticore lurched as her automated maneuvering controls, fixed on maintaining the same position relative to the battleship, cut back her own main propulsion dramatically.

Vectors changed suddenly on the ships of Marphissa’s formation, shifting wider and flatter, the projected intercept point with the Syndicate warships swinging higher to one side.

“CEO Boucher sees what’s happening,” Diaz said. “Her battleship is firing thrusters to bring her bow around.”

The projected vectors and intercept points kept shifting rapidly, the Syndicate battleship firing its thrusters on full to try to compensate for the sudden changes in how it would encounter the Midway.

“All units,” Marphissa ordered. “Fire when your weapons are within range.”