Valiant Dust

20

CSS Hector, Gadira II Orbit

An hour after seeing Ranya el-Nasir safely to Shihab, Sikander and Darvesh returned to Hector. The sailing yacht’s tiny landing spot couldn’t accommodate the cruiser’s shuttle, so Petty Officer Long had been obliged to land in the water beside Shihab and bring the shuttle alongside so that Sikander could board. Ranya had sent him off with a chaste kiss on the cheek, since a large number of very anxious Royal Guards watched over her like eagles guarding their nest. The last Sikander had seen of her, she was hurrying down to the yacht’s command facilities as Shihab furled her sails and lifted her hull up out of the water on her induction drive, headed for the crowded shipping lanes in the open ocean south of Tanjeer. If el-Fasi’s forces received any kind of orbital feed from their Dremish allies, blending in with other shipping would be the best way for Ranya to conceal her exact location.

The instant Long settled the shuttle into the hangar bay’s docking cradle, Sikander headed straight for the captain’s cabin. He still wore his battle-dress uniform and carried a noticeable aroma of smoke with him, but he thought that Markham would agree that the circumstances dictated a timely report. He took a moment to doff his cap and run a hand through his hair outside her door, then knocked and entered. “Captain?” he said. “I am back on board.”

Markham looked up. She was not alone—Peter Chatburn sat across the desk from her. Evidently they had been in the middle of a conversation. She took in his unusual appearance with one raised eyebrow, and nodded. “So I see. What’s the news from the ground, Mr. North? Any word about the sultan?”

“The last I heard, he was in the Khalifa Palace at Toutay,” Sikander replied. “I am afraid that a mob in Tanjeer overran El-Badi Palace, but Amira Ranya is safe for the moment. I left her on board the royal yacht, which should keep her well out of reach of urban insurgents.”

“Your news is a little out of date, Mr. North,” Chatburn observed. “The insurgents no longer hold El-Badi. Apparently Salem el-Fasi’s forces moved in and recaptured the palace shortly after the amira fled the scene.”

“I hadn’t heard that, XO,” Sikander admitted. Conditions on the ground changed rapidly today, it seemed. “However, that brings me to the real problem facing us today: Dremark.” He quickly recounted his encounter with Bleindel in the warehouse at Meknez, the appearance of el-Fasi’s troops in Tanjeer, the defense of the palace, and Ranya’s description of Bleindel’s dealings with Bey Salem. “I think we are facing a wide-ranging Dremish plot,” he concluded. “First they arm the rebel elements, then they choose a new strongman to support when the el-Nasir sultanate crumbles. If they haven’t landed Imperial troops to support el-Fasi yet, then they will do so soon.”

“I don’t know,” Chatburn said slowly. “The fact that this Bleindel character was associated with el-Fasi doesn’t mean that he coordinated the whole thing. For all we know, he merely rented el-Fasi’s facilities to deliver the arms aboard Oristani Caravan. Corruption is endemic here.”

“I would agree, sir, except for the fact that el-Fasi’s forces were waiting in Tanjeer this morning for trouble to break out,” said Sikander. “The bey knew ahead of time that the insurgents planned a major uprising today and pre-positioned his forces. Either he is coordinating directly with the Caidists—which seems unlikely, since he claims that he’s taking over in order to defeat them—or some other party is arranging events and making use of them both.”

Captain Markham leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful frown on her face. “And let’s not forget that SMS Panther and SMS General von Grolmann have also conveniently arranged to be on hand for this moment. They weren’t sent here by accident—the Dremish thought that their warships might be needed in Gadira. One wonders how they knew.”

“Damn,” Chatburn muttered. “What do we do if they put troops on the ground?”

“Let’s hope that we can persuade them to avoid further escalations,” Markham replied. She looked at Sikander. “Thank you for your report, Mr. North. Get something to eat and take the opportunity to rest if you can; I’ve a feeling this is merely the beginning, and I will need you at your best later.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sikander stood, saluted, and left.

As per the captain’s orders, he stopped by the wardroom for a hot sandwich before returning to his cabin to shower and change. His anxiety about events on the ground didn’t allow him to sleep for long, but he catnapped, and dozed off daydreaming about swimming with Ranya amid the sea flowers of Socotra. He awoke feeling much better—a hot meal, a shower, and some rest had dispelled most of his fatigue.

When he returned to his station on the bridge, Sikander found the compartment already three-quarters full. Most of Hiram Randall’s Operations Department specialists stood at their posts, carefully monitoring Hector’s orbital reconnaissance drones and doing their best to keep up with events on the ground. Captain Markham and Commander Chatburn were on hand as well; the ship’s senior officers congregated around the center of the action. For his own part, Sikander suspected that he had plenty of routine work to catch up on after being absent for a couple of days, but it could wait for now. He’d spent more time on the ground than anyone else on Hector, and the captain might need his insights and observations.

Lieutenant Commander Randall glanced up as he paused to study the displays. “Welcome back, Sikander,” he said. “Nice work at the palace. El-Fasi’s troops are turning Tanjeer upside down looking for the amira.”

“Thanks, Hiram,” Sikander replied. If nothing else, it seemed he’d finally earned the operations officer’s respect. He studied the tactical displays for a moment, focusing on Panther and General von Grolmann. “What have the Dremish been up to in all of this?”

“Early this morning, the transport began launching reconnaissance flyovers around the major cities. They’ve also landed observation and contact teams, especially around the capital.” Randall motioned at the main bridge display, which showed an overhead image of the city of Tanjeer with the positions of different forces marked.

Sikander nodded. Aggressive reconnaissance was the least he expected from the Dremish warships. “Are there any new developments with el-Fasi’s forces?”

“Well, they re-seized the arms shipment Ms. Larkin’s landing party impounded in Meknez. Around the planet, they’re securing government buildings and transit hubs. There’s fighting in some places between Royal Guard units and el-Fasi’s troops, but in other places they’re cooperating to quell the insurgents. It looks pretty confused to me.”

Sikander nodded to Randall. “It appears that I have some catching up to do.”

He sat down at the weapons console and examined several different feeds, looking for the latest information on the fighting near the capital. First he checked on Shihab, and found the royal yacht a good eighty kilometers south of Tanjeer, motoring along slowly as it did its best to blend in with the waterborne shipping on the Silver Sea. It seemed that Ranya was safe for the moment, at least. Then Sikander turned his attention to the Dremish ships in orbit, looking for any clues as to their intentions. Panther simply maintained her station, not maneuvering or conducting any shuttle operations. The transport General von Grolmann was significantly more active, though. Several assault shuttles kept station on her, and she continually adjusted her orbit to linger over the capital. Grolmann was easily twice the size of Panther, although of course she was not anywhere near as heavily armed. She carried plenty of bomb cells and low-velocity K-cannons for ground-fire missions, but only a handful of point-defense lasers for protecting herself. Assault transports didn’t fight other ships; they carried large numbers of troops instead. “What are you up to?” Sikander muttered to himself.

Because he happened to be looking at Grolmann, he was the first to notice the change in operational tempo. A group of shuttles—first four, then eight, then a full dozen—detached from her troop bays and began to descend toward the planet. Sikander wasn’t terribly familiar with Dremish small craft, but similar vehicles in Commonwealth service carried as many as thirty troops. That would be a couple of companies, at least, or possibly a full battalion if they launched a second wave.

“Captain!” he called. “The Dremish are launching assault shuttles from General von Grolmann. It looks like a large landing force.”

Markham glanced at the display showing the Dremish ships. “It seems so. Mr. Randall, I need your best guess about their combat power and their intentions. XO, let’s go to Condition Two. We’re almost there anyway.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Randall replied. He conferred with his intelligence specialists.

Chatburn stepped over to a nearby comm station and thumbed the all-call selector. “Now set Condition Two. Repeat, now set Condition Two throughout the ship.” That would bring Hector to one step short of general quarters; at Condition Two, half of the ship’s crew reported to their battle stations, and the ship’s engineers readied the ship’s power and damage-control systems for potential action. A ship could stay at Condition Two for hours by rotating personnel on and off watch, but wouldn’t be caught completely unprepared if action threatened.

Captain Markham moved over to her battle couch and took her seat. “Communications, transmit to SMS Panther,” she said in a cool voice. “Panther, this is Hector. What is the destination of the landing force currently deploying from General von Grolmann, over?”

There was a short delay before the Dremish cruiser’s reply came over the bridge speakers near the captain’s seat. Sikander recognized Captain Harper’s voice. “Hector, this is Panther. The Gadiran government has requested our assistance in dealing with the ongoing unrest in Tanjeer. We are complying with their request, over.”

Markham looked over to Randall. “Mr. Randall, check with our contacts in the Royal Guard and find out whether they asked the Dremish for help.”

Randall nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We’re on it.”

“Panther, this is Hector,” Markham said, renewing her transmission. “Where do you intend to land your troops, over?”

“Hector, we are deploying to establish a safe perimeter around the Tanjeer spaceport,” Harper replied. “No Aquilan citizens or property will be threatened by our forces. Restoring order is frankly to the benefit of any power with interests in Gadira, over.”

“This isn’t your problem, in other words,” Markham said without transmitting. Her frown deepened.

“Captain, we have a quick assessment on the landing force,” Randall said. “Twelve of their Falke-type assault shuttles can land a combat team consisting of an infantry battalion with a dozen light combat flyers and a heavy-weapons section. If Grolmann is fully loaded, she’ll have two more infantry battalions backed up by a heavy-armor company on board. They might not have the numbers to garrison the capital, but they can smash up any number of insurgent formations.”

“Or Royal Guards,” Sikander pointed out. Gadiran soldiers in obsolete Montréalais vehicles wouldn’t stand much chance against the soldiers of a first-rate Coalition power such as Dremark; numbers might not matter much in that kind of confrontation. The flight of assault shuttles accelerated down and away from the big Dremish transport, weaving and jolting as they entered atmosphere.

Markham nodded, but did not reply to Sikander. “Did the sultanate request their help?” she asked Randall.

“No, ma’am. They have no idea what the Dremish are talking about and want to know where they’re going.”

“I feared as much,” the captain said. She glanced up at Chatburn. “We can’t allow an outright occupation of the planet. How do I convince Harper to stand down?”

“Stall for time?” Chatburn suggested. “Give them a chance to think it over and decide whether they’re ready to risk a major incident.”

Markham keyed her comm panel again. “Panther, this is Hector actual. Captain Harper, we are aware of no request for intervention from the Sultanate of Gadira. Given that, your landing force appears to be substantially in excess of the limits imposed by the Tanjeer Agreement of 3062. We request that you suspend your landing operations until the situation can be clarified, over.”

This time there was a long pause. “Hector, this is Panther actual. Captain Markham, we have learned that Sultan Rashid el-Nasir is no longer the head of the planetary government,” Captain Harper said over the comm link. “We are engaged in discussions with the provisional government of Bey Salem el-Fasi, the new planetary authority. They have asked for our help in restoring order, and we feel compelled to safeguard our interests by providing whatever assistance we can. Our ground operations will continue. Panther, out.”

“That arrogant bastard hung up on us!” Markham snarled under her breath. Sikander tried to think of another time he’d heard Markham swear, and couldn’t come up with one; her patience was fraying rapidly, not that he could blame her. The captain took a moment to compose herself, then spoke to Chatburn. “I think we may need to express our disapproval more forcefully. XO, please set Condition One.”

Chatburn nodded, and pressed the general-quarters signal. “General quarters, general quarters! All hands man your battle stations,” he announced. “Set Condition One throughout the ship. All stations report readiness.”

Sikander did not have far to go; his battle station was the master weapons console. He stood up and pulled his battle armor from the storage bin behind his seat. The standard Navy working uniform could be sealed to create a serviceable vacuum suit for a short time, but for full combat readiness all hands pulled on torso armor, heavy gauntlets, magnetized boots, and armored helmets. He left open the faceplate for ease of communication; if the compartment was suddenly holed, his helmet was designed to close instantly. While Sikander shrugged on his gear, the bridge crew quickly changed over. Some hands currently on watch left to go to battle stations elsewhere in the ship, while others who hadn’t been on the bridge hurried into the compartment; Peter Chatburn left to go take up his position in the auxiliary bridge, while Angela Larkin and Karsen Reno joined the rush of incoming personnel and quickly pulled on their own battle armor before taking their stations at the torpedo console and the secondary-battery console. A well-drilled crew aimed to set battle stations within three minutes; Captain Markham usually insisted on two and a half.

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.”

“The Empire of Dremark has taken that decision out of our hands, Mr. Chatburn.” Markham stared at the Dremish ships, her face grim, then turned to Randall. “Break orbit and engage Panther, Mr. Randall. If we disable her fast, we might put a stop to this before it gets any worse.”

“Aye, Captain,” Randall replied. “Helm, ahead full! New course zero-seven-zero, up sixty. Bring us to ten thousand kilometers from Target Alpha and commence evasive maneuvering. Main battery, engage Target Alpha!”

“Engage Target Alpha!” Sikander echoed. He released the weapon hold icons on his console; an instant later Michael Girard opened fire from his station.

“Commencing fire!” Girard reported. Hector shivered with the immense power of the K-cannons blasting their deadly projectiles at the Dremish cruiser. At the same time, the deck tilted and the main view showed the planet drawing away as Hector moved to open the range and gain maneuvering room.

“Panther is returning fire!” Sublieutenant Keane called out from the sensor station.

“Understood,” Captain Markham replied. “Mr. Randall, Mr. North, give me continuous fire on that cruiser until she’s disabled. Now that we’re in a fight, I have no intention of losing it.”

“Continuous fire, aye, Captain,” Sikander replied. And God help us all.