Commodore (11 page)

"They have two, sir," he replied.

I nodded, that'd be more than adequate. "Then their orders have indeed changed. Our main attack launches at noon; at ten till, our Toehold people will nuke the Palace of the House of Wilkes employing both warheads, without the slightest advance warning. Having studied the schematics I suggest emplacing them just outside the security perimeter at the north and south gates, but that'll be your affair. Then, insofar as they can, they're to seal off every last communication line to and from the capitol. Forget the landing beacons; we'll have to make do without them. I don't expect miracles, but the more confusion they create the better. It'll pay enormous dividends in lives ultimately spared." Finally I turned to Josiah. "All task force commanders are to meet here in the briefing room in one hour for further orders. Commander Von Schtolen is exempted—he's going to be plenty busy with other matters, I expect." I raised my eyes to the viewscreen. "So far this has been a peacetime cruise, gentlemen. But that's all over, as of right now.

"We're about to begin earning our pay."

18

And thus the deluge began. From that moment forward, I found myself drowning in a tidal wave of officers who urgently, legitimately needed to see me about an endless series of details which required my personal approval. It would've been awful for anyone, but it was even worse for a Rabbit because we naturally dislike being the center of attention. At least it was reassuring, in a way. My task force was accelerating from zero to all-out war in six hours, but at least we had standby plans and a firm, unshakable chain of command in place. The House of Wilkes would have neither factor going for them, or so I hoped. Certainly they wouldn't once their central command authority consisted of a bunch of irradiated corpses buried in broken masonry. So, the chaos
their
leader would face was going to be immeasurable. The more bewildered the enemy, the less destructive the fighting would be. That was the whole point of a sneak attack, after all.

Josiah took me aside about that one; while it might not've been proper for another first officer to do so, his age and our long relationship gave him the right. "Sir," he said softly as we walked down the corridor towards the hastily-convened commander's meeting. We were five minutes late, but that was all right.
Whippoorwill
's boat had experienced launch problems, so her commander was running an excusable fifteen minutes behind schedule himself. Josiah wasn't one to let the remaining ten unclaimed minutes go to waste. "May I speak to you in private for a moment?"

"Of course," I replied. Sick bay was just ahead, so I commandeered an unused treatment room. "What can I do for you, old friend?"

"Sir…" He said softly, unable to meet my eyes. "I've always admired you, even long before we met. But..."

I nodded. "But you think I'm planning this battle more like an Imperial officer than a Royal one?"

He smiled. "That's… One way of putting it. Sir, we've only just begun talking with the Wilkes people. What you're proposing to do here is, well… You're in essence executing an entire Noble House, sir. That's never been done before, much less without a trial. And the innocent casualties from the palace-bombing!" He shook his head. "This isn't like you."

I nodded again. "Josiah… I respect you more than you know, and now more than ever. For what it's worth, I've written both His Majesty and my uncle about your service to the throne, and it's my firmest hope that you'll receive a commensurate reward. I've also already drawn up orders for you take over command of
Javelin
and captain her on the kind of raiding mission that'll be written about in letters of fire. They're waiting right in here." I lifted my portfolio and waggled it at him, then looked hard and deep into his eyes. "But I need for you to trust me, Josiah, and support me one-hundred percent until then. Everyone else is going to be asking themselves exactly the same questions that you are, and they're going to be looking to the men who know me best for reassurance that I've not gone over the edge." I paused and licked my nose, then looked down at my portfolio again. "You don't have all the facts, Josiah, and the more I tell you the more I endanger our kingdom and everyone in it. The full truth may
never
come out; in fact, I rather doubt that it will. Perhaps I'll go down in history as a sinister figure after all, but duty is duty and I swear to you that I've both moral justification and legal authority for what's about to happen. Most of the officials in that building won't live long no matter what I do at this point. They've condemned themselves beyond all reprieve. And while I bleed for the innocent, even more innocents are dying elsewhere and will keep right on dying in uncounted masses until this entire historical cycle is broken." I looked down at my feet. "Damnit, Josiah! I'm just a naval officer, not a deity who can command lightning bolts from the sky that kill only the unjust! I have to make use of the resources and abilities I have at hand, not those I might wish for."

Josiah nodded slowly. "I see."

"No you don't," I corrected him. "You
can't
see, based on what you know. But you
can
trust me, and that's good enough." I sighed and shook my head. "At any rate, in three days or so you'll be captain of
Javelin
and on your way into Imperial space. The last man to command this ship on such a raid was a high-ranking nobleman. He did his job well, and I'll speak no ill of him. But you're a fencible officer without so much as a drop of blue blood in your veins, like most of the rest of us. So make us proud, Josiah. Please? For the sake of all of us commoners everywhere?"

"Yes, sir!" he muttered, clearly moved. "Thank you!"

I smiled—it felt good, being as it was likely to be the only one I'd wear all day. "So go ahead and begin making your plans, whenever you can find a spare moment. There's one key factor you should consider, though. It's something I dare not commit to writing, and which I fear that you can never, ever let the Imperials know I told you. At the cost of your life, if necessary."

His eyebrows rose. "Sir?"

"When you leave this system, I suggest that you immediately penetrate deep and hard into Empire space. It should be perfectly safe, if you take an indirect route. Because I expect their main battle fleet to show up here at almost any moment, you see. Most likely, they'll remain in this vicinity for quite some time thereafter."

19

My commanders meeting went both quickly and well, once everyone arrived. "We're at war with the House of Wilkes," I explained the situation to them all, just as I had to the bridge crew, and briefed them on our impending landing. Then I handed out the envelopes. "Here are your individual orders. Are there any questions?"

I watched my combat leaders closely indeed as they opened their paperwork and studied what lay within. Most of them received very simple instructions—I'd commanded three of my destroyers to prepare themselves to refuel from their fellows; though their orders didn't say so, they'd be detached to escort
Javelin
for as long as they were able. Another—
Whippoorwill
—I'd ordered to prepare for an immediate high-speed run home with urgent despatches, which would include Sir Jason's coded report. But the troop transports… That was another story.

"Sir!" Captain Harlowe protested halfway through his reading. "How can you… I mean…"

"I agree that it's not standard policy to detach a marine force from its transport vessels," I replied. "In fact, I don't know that it's ever been done at all before. It's almost axiomatic—the marines occupy, the army garrisons and defends. But I find myself in urgent need of a garrison, you see. And there's no army troops anywhere to be found."  

"It's… It's a bloody waste, sir!" Harlowe stuttered. "These men have trained… I mean, there's all the specialists to consider!"

"You can keep the boat pilots," I agreed, gesturing with a placating hand. "And their support-section as well. But as for the rest…" I sighed. "When you read a little further, you'll see that I'm expecting you to land all but a handful of your sick-bay personnel, too. Plus the ordnance Rabbits. And all their associated gear."

Harlowe blinked. "But sir! I'll have—"

"Nothing left," I interrupted. "Except the empty assault vessels themselves, of course, which are of considerable value in their own right. That's why I'm entrusting you with their return. I'll be providing you with what destroyers I can as an escort."

"Think of the training schedules, sir!" Harlowe continued. "And the leave rotations, and everything else! This'll throw
everything
out of balance! The administrative shock waves will affect every marine depot everywhere!"

"The service will recover," I predicted, crossing my arms. I'd expected Harlowe to be unhappy, but I'd also hoped that at least he'd at least be more honest with me about the real reason why. The fact was that he'd just recently been promoted early into the dream assignment of an officer of his specialization, but when I sent his force back home minus its marines and aerospace fighters he'd suddenly find that, as the commander of a hollowed-out shell, his meteoric rise was over. It'd be at least months and maybe
years
before his assault team was reconstituted as an effective fighting force, and in the meantime he as the assault-group's commander would be stuck with long hours of the most tedious and unexciting sort of hard work putting everything back together. Harlowe would never have snapped back at an admiral, or even a commodore. But we were nominally of equal rank—I had several more weeks of seniority than he did, was all. Yet here I was, dashing his elevated hopes and in general raining on his career. "I'll be taking personal command of the landing force," I continued, still staring him directly in the eyes. "Just as soon as we've gotten everyone dirtside and the situation is stabilized."

This time, Harlowe visibly paled. From his point of view, now I was stealing all the glory as well. "Y-you… You don't have the—"

I turned away and spoke to Commander Mane before my fellow captain could say something he might regret. "I'm holding you back, Jessie," I explained to him. "As a second despatch-vessel.
Cataract
is our fastest destroyer, and I've been very impressed with your engineering reports. So she's probably the most reliable as well—this is why you were chosen. Your job will be to stand by, maintain readiness for anything, and react to a changing situation without orders if need be. Do you understand?"

"Thank you, sir!" a beaming Commander Mane replied. As well he might; I'd just placed enormous trust in him.

"Sir!" Captain Harlowe objected. "S-s-sir!

Once again I ignored him, hoping that he'd have sense enough to calm down and accept what was in fact a perfectly honorable bit of duty. Not just honorable, even—because he'd be in command of his escort as well as his own assault ships, it'd count as being in charge of a task force under combat conditions. This would look excellent indeed on his resume, if he'd just give it a chance. Not as good as continuing in command of his marines, granted. But still better than just okay. "Josiah," I said, turning towards him, "will be taking command of
Javelin
. I'm sending her on a deep raid." Even though I'd already warned my old friend, he still seemed to be slightly shocked as he read the single page of instructions that were all I'd felt necessary. 

"Sir!" Harlowe objected again, this time rising to his feet. "You have no authority! Neither to give up your own command
nor
to take my marines from me! It's against regulations, sir!"

He was right, of course. Only a flag officer could remove a captain from his command—even his own—save for medical reasons. And while his assertion about the marines was arguable—to my knowledge no one had ever attempted such a thing before—it did at least have a basis in fact. "Sit down!" I ordered, a slight growl entering my voice. Was the man a big enough fool to force me to make it official? Didn't he understand how close James and I were? Did I have to rub everyone's noses in it?

"You have no authority!" Harlowe shouted again.

And that was that. Scowling hard, I picked up my portfolio and slammed it down on the table. Then I leafed through a whole series of documents, all of which carried an entirely authentic Royal Seal. Some of them even Nestor didn't know about. Frankly, it'd be better if no one ever did. One last time I looked into Harlowe's eyes, silently appealing for him to show the common sense I'd always known he was so bereft of. But instead of backing down, he just returned my glare.

Which approach would be most appropriate, I asked myself as I leafed through the pages. Certainly not the document that named me an ambassador extraordinaire, if I ever needed to become one. Nor the one that made me a Royal Herald, able to lawfully speak in James's own name—that'd be overkill, and dangerous for a Rabbit in any event. Nor did I wish to become a Royal Governor or Constable or Revenue Agent just yet, and certainly I hoped I'd
never
need the blank but signed-and-sealed death warrants… Then I came to the very last one. In some ways I hated the thing even more than the death warrants—I hadn't wanted to join the navy in the beginning, but since then I'd come in many ways to love and respect the king's service more than anything else in my life. It felt wrong, even a little perverted, to do what I knew must come next. But in truth my rank had been mismatched to my duties ever since I'd founded the fencibles, and the resulting need for workarounds had always been a major headache. So, I chose
that
envelope, yanked it out of the portfolio, and tossed down in front of Captain Harlowe. "Open that!" I demanded. "Read it!"

He blinked at James's personal mark, then paled.

"You
demanded
this," I reminded him. "Now, open it and tell everyone what's inside."

He kissed His Majesty's seal as was traditional before ripping the packet open. Then he read the order that, had he not been so lacking in imagination, he would've guessed I'd be carrying with just this sort of difficulty in mind. "Congratulations, Commodore Birkenhead!" he finally whispered.