Last Measure of Devotion (TCOTU, Book 5) (This Corner of the Universe) (28 page)

Heskan
gratefully closed the gaming program and rose from his chair.  “What’s it look
like, Dennis?”

Cohen
gestured toward the holo-tank.  “Just like we counted, seventeen ships and none
of them are from Secure Solutions.”

Heskan
approached the display with a critical eye.  During the last half hour, the
Saden fleet had crept 7
lm
closer to the Ugrit tunnel point.  He tapped
commands into a console and estimated three hours remained until Wallace’s
ships would reach a point 10
lm
from the Seshafian fleet, the distance at
which Heskan planned to open negotiations with Wallace.  Although he had
initially held out little expectation for a resolution, the reduction in
Wallace’s forces promised to improve the chances. 
We’re still outmatched,
Heskan told himself in an attempt to tap down his optimism. 
They have more
ships and bigger ships.
  He looked over his fleet, orbiting near the tunnel
point in a formation designed to mask its ultimate arrangement. 
Our eleven
real warships against their seventeen, not to mention they have an extra line
ship and another brig. 
He thought of his strategy and the preparations of his
fleet. 
Still, this could work. 
Heskan mustered all his confidence and
ordered, “Erika, disseminate Wallace’s order of battle to the fleet and patch
me into the command channel.”

“Aye,
sir,” De Haas replied after a beat.  “You’re on.”

Heskan
rested against the rail around the holo-tank and watched a two-meter wide
screen divide into squares that held each of his ship captains’ faces.  A
linked screen below each portrait offered a detailed status of every captain’s vessel. 
Even in the heat of battle, the information on Heskan’s screen would be almost
as accurate as the displays the captains would have on their own ships.

Heskan’s
command ship was a scant 5
ls
behind his fleet, making real-time
conversations possible.  “Seshafi defense fleet, I’m sending Sade’s most recent
order of battle to each of you.  As you’ve no doubt already noticed, we have a
pleasant surprise.”

He
waited for the update to reach the fleet but enthusiastic expressions were
already on the screen before him.  Every captain had undoubtedly monitored the
Saden fleet since its arrival in-system and all were well aware of their
opponent’s composition.

“Admiral,”
Truesworth asked during the pause, “where’s the rest of their fleet?”

Seconds
later, Vernay answered the question for Heskan.  “Jack, seriously?  You haven’t
noticed that Secure Solutions is a no-show?  You grew up in SENS for God’s sake.”

Truesworth’s
head ducked playfully between his shoulders on Heskan’s screen.  “Whoops!  I,
uh, hadn’t noticed that.”  The man’s cheeks flushed red.  “We were a bit busy
trying to figure out which line ship might lead their rearguard.”

“Admiral?”
 It was Lieutenant Baldwin.  “Did you call in a few favors with your old
privateer firm?”

The
insinuation made Heskan bark out a quick laugh.  He shook his head while
smiling.  “Jaynee, it’s more likely that someone in the Commonwealth did us a
favor.”

Heskan
heard Vernay mutter, “I will never understand that woman.”

“It’s
all speculation right now, Jaynee,” Heskan added.  “Probably always will be.  What’s
important is that while the odds still favor them, we’ve got a real chance if
we fight hard.”

Lieutenant
Covington nodded forcefully in agreement.  “The van won’t let you down, sir. 
We may not last the entire fight but we’re going to take their section down
with us.”

“I
know you will, Clayton,” Heskan replied.  He did his best to look at all of his
ship captains at once.  “Our plan hasn’t changed.  Each of you knows your
ship’s job.  Do your job and we’ll win.  The next signal you receive from me
will be the one that disperses us into our battle line.  Sights tight.”

“Barrels bright!”
responded Vernay and Truesworth enthusiastically.

*  *  *

Lieutenant
William Merriweather watched
Falcon’s
captain shake his head in
annoyance.

“What
was that nonsense, Will?” Commander Tannault asked him.

Merriweather
shrugged.  “Dunno, sir.  Must have been a privateer saying.”  He looked over
the Saden order of battle and commented, “It’s nice to get some good news for a
change.”

“Yeah,”
Tannault responded apathetically before returning his attention to his chair arm
console.

Earlier,
Merriweather had walked by the captain’s chair ostensibly on his way to the
sensor station but, in reality, to see what had engrossed the captain’s
attention over the last hour.  He had been unable to read the screen but
discerned what might have been naval regulations.  “Master Chief, was that a
Secure Solutions saying?”

Chief
Brown looked up from his station.  “Yeah, sure,” he grunted.  “L-T, we’re gonna
want to depressurize the fire suppression system within the next thirty minutes
so we can purge the lines before fillin’ them up again.”

Merriweather
looked curiously at the master chief petty officer.  “Why would we empty the
lines only to refill them, Master Chief?”

The man
smiled knowingly.  “The ship’s atmosphere infiltrates the lines over time,
L-T.  By purgin’ them right before a battle, you can make the whole system two,
maybe three percent more efficient an’ that can make a big difference.”

Merriweather
felt his jaw drop open.  “I’ve never heard that before.  Why aren’t we taught
that at the academy?”  The old master chief’s transfer to
Falcon
had
been unexpected but the grizzled veteran had been a boon to the ship’s war
readiness since his first day aboard.  The man sat at the OPS station on
Falcon’s
bridge, a decision made by the Operations section leader that demonstrated
maturity well beyond that young sub-lieutenant’s grade.

“Just
stuff you pick up over time,” Brown dismissed.  “Now you know it too.  Pass it
on to yer next ship, L-T.”

Merriweather
nodded to the master chief before requesting, “Captain, permission to
depressurize?”

“What?”
Tannault asked.

“The
fire suppression lines, Captain.  Permission to purge them?” Merriweather
repeated with a look of concern.  The captain had been distracted ever since
his return from Nessus.

“Proceed,” Tannault
granted before refocusing his attention to his console.

*  *  *

“Say
that again?” Lieutenant Donovan asked over the rearguard’s channel.

“It
goes, ‘sights tight,’ and then you say ‘barrels bright,’” Truesworth
explained.  “Just an old gunner’s expression from long ago.”

“Not
bad,” Lieutenant Commander Soffe commented on the same frequency.  He had heard
other expressions uttered by his fighter crews but repeating them in the
command channel would be inappropriate.  Soffe had been expressly forbidden
from referencing his charges before battle although anyone with an optical
could clearly see his modified racing tender was different from the two pressed
freighters orbiting with him.

Soffe
was still coming to grips with his situation.  When
AV Nest
dove into
Seshafi nine hours ago from the Ugrit tunnel, Soffe and Sub-lieutenant Gables
held a frank but vital encrypted conference with Seshafi’s fleet commander. 
Garrett Heskan’s reputation had preceded him.  Given the events of the prior
two skirmishes between Sade and Seshafi and, now, the breaking news detailing Heskan’s
court appearance at Nessus, the admiral’s name was on the lips of every
corporate citizen inside the LMA.  Despite the fearsome and brutal reputation
the man possessed, Soffe was shocked at the fleet commander’s affability and
the almost familial relationship that existed between the admiral and Denise Gables,
a mere sub-lieutenant.

“Commander
Soffe,” the rearguard’s leader asked, “is Nest ready?”

“Plus
Five, Lieutenant Truesworth,” Soffe responded cryptically.  The relative ranks
between himself and the section commander made for some awkward conversations. 
Soffe outranked Truesworth… by a great deal.  However, Soffe understood and
accepted that he and his vessel would be under the command of a vastly subordinate
officer.  Subordinate did not mean inferior though.  Soffe had learned that
much by watching the amazing displays of skill and courage from the fighter
pilots over the last several months.

He rechecked the
status board for his fighters.  All of the pilots were in their cockpits,
waiting for the launch order.  The entire squadron of fifteen fighters could be
scrambled in five minutes, probably less.  That was a comforting fact.  Less
comforting was the position
Nest
would find herself in after the
fighters were spaceborne.  His modified tender, officially designated an
auxiliary carrier, was pathetically equipped to enter a line battle.  Unadex may
have offered him a handsome sum to volunteer for this duty but he had to
survive the battle in order to collect.

*  *  *

Commodore
Cohen looked at Heskan penitently.  “They’ll enter ten light-minutes in the
next twenty minutes, Admiral.”  His pleading eyes caught Heskan’s but darted
away shamefully.

“I
know,” Heskan relented.  “You’re right.  I’ve kept the media waiting long
enough.”  He sighed a final time before saying, “Dennis, hold down the fort
while I’m gone, okay?”

“Yes,
sir,” Cohen responded eagerly.  “I’ll page you when they hit eleven
light-minutes.  We need you back in time to greet them.”

Heskan
turned from the holo-tank and exited the bridge.  The trip to the media room
was a long one, its location two decks down from the bridge and near the bow of
the schooner.  As Heskan approached, a liaison exhaled in relief at the sight
of him. The petty officer tapped commands into his datapad while saying, “The
natives are very restless, Admiral.  Poor PO Barber is fighting them off with a
whip and a chair.”

Heskan
chuckled lightly at the comment as he stopped at the door.  “Sorry you guys had
to cover for me.”  He jerked his head toward the portal.  “Can I go in?”

The
liaison nodded.  “Yes, sir.  They’re ready for you.”

Heskan
waved a hand over the door sensor and the portal slid open.  From near the
podium, he heard someone announce his presence.

Although
packed with civilians, the compartment grew respectfully quiet.  Heskan drew in
a deep breath and moved into the room.  A petty officer stood at attention near
the podium and Heskan reflexively ordered, “At ease.”  When he reached the lectern,
he docked his datapad and looked around the room.

The
compartment was jammed full.  Members from every news outlet imaginable stood
shoulder to shoulder and merged into a sea of faceless humanity.  Once his
datapad synched with a computer inside the podium, Heskan read the first name
from the interview list. 
Wonderful,
he sighed and looked for Chase Fuller,
finding him standing just a few rows back.  “Greetings, everyone.  I’m sorry
for the unavoidable delay.  Since we’re running short on time, let me jump
straight to the questions.  Mr. Fuller?”

Chase
Fuller smiled jubilantly and started to speak but the bumpkin reporter he met
earlier overpowered his question.

“I
told you that you could never run far enough, Commander.”

Heskan’s
eyes darted from Fuller and found Agent Jennings standing next to the dumbfounded
media veteran.

The
deafening report of Jennings’ pistol punctuated Fuller’s high-pitched shriek of
“He’s got a gun!”  Heskan dropped behind the podium, twisting on his way down
to place his back against the narrow column.  A second report thundered through
the room, concurrent with more screams of terror.  The accompanying bullet
penetrated completely through the lectern, sending splinters of material over
Heskan’s right shoulder.  Heart racing, Heskan turned awkwardly to his left,
peering around his makeshift cover to assess his situation.

I’m
screwed
. 
Jennings was wrestling his way through the fleeing crowd and Heskan’s only avenue
of escape was directly through the Brevic agent.  Even more distressing, the
pain that coursed through Heskan’s shoulder as he had turned bespoke of a grim
reality: Jennings had already found his mark.

“The
Republic never forgives a traitor, Garrett!” Jennings roared over the din.  A
third shot entered the podium, but did not pass through.

Heskan
reached over his left shoulder to feel his upper back.  It was sticky and wet. 
The confirmation of being shot increased his suffering exponentially. 
First
bullet must have hit me up high and exited out my shoulder,
he thought in a
pain-filled stupor.  Heskan tore open his service coat, looking for the
entrance wound.  A small circlet of red marred his white shirt just below his left
clavicle.  Resting patiently below the crimson disc was the butt of his P-52A. 
My God!  I forgot I was armed!
  He shook his head. 
Get in the game,
Garrett. 
He turned his head to his right and shouted, “What has Brewer
promised you, Aaron?”  While he waited for an answer, he slid the weapon out of
the holster with a blood-covered hand.

Jennings
snorted.  “The old man doesn’t even know I’m here but Minister Fane promised me
redemption if I eliminated you.  I’m in no rush though, I want you to suffer.”

A
fourth shot followed his statement.  Heskan instantly felt a scalding iron
touch his lower back. 
Hiding here is a death sentence but I’m not sure I
can even get to my feet.
  He searched his side of the room desperately for
an answer. 
As soon as I move from behind the podium, he’ll kill me.  I’m
going to have to let him come to me.

The
room had grown empty and silent.  “You still alive?” Jennings taunted.

Don’t
say anything.  Let him wonder.
 
“Just peachy,” Heskan heard himself answer.

“Yeah. 
I can see your blood,” the agent said smugly.  “Bet you regret not killing me
now.”

“A
little bit,” Heskan admitted.  “How do you expect to escape from this ship,
Aaron?”  Heskan double-checked his pistol and remembered that he had holstered
it without charging it.  “I always knew you were a lapdog but I didn’t realize
you were a suicidal one.”  His left arm refused to move, forcing him to
transfer the pistol to his left hand and use his right to pull back the slide slowly. 
Once fully back, he let the slide ease silently forward to chamber the first
round.  The incredible effort required for such a simple action baffled Heskan. 
His breath was coming in gasps.

“I’m
not escaping,” Jennings answered.  “In fact, after I empty my pistol into you,
I’m placing it on the deck and surrendering.”

Jennings’
voice was alarmingly close.  Heskan shifted the pistol back to his badly shaking
primary hand.  The slide of the weapon was streaked in red. 
He’s circling
around now, I think to my right,
he guessed while ensuring the slide had
travelled fully forward and the gun was in battery.  Heskan swallowed to help
steady his voice. 
This is it.
 “So you’re incarcerated for the rest of
your life?  That’s what you call redemption?”

Jennings
laughed maniacally.  His voice was practically on top of Heskan.  “Fane
promised me a quick extradition back to the Republic.  I’ve been told my trial
there will be—”

The barks
from Heskan’s pistol came so rapidly that they blurred into one extended,
thunderous boom.

When
Jennings’ leg had come into view, Heskan had been shocked to find the assassin
a scant three meters from him.  At such proximity, Heskan had started firing
before he had even fully extended the weapon from his body.  The recoil of the
8mm pistol was negligible and Heskan had been able to subdue the bucking weapon
to place the front sight briefly over Jennings’ torso.  By the time the pistol’s
slide locked back, empty, his target was no longer upright.  Beyond the smoking
barrel, Agent Jennings lay on his side at the deck.

“You
talk too much, Aaron,” Heskan declared to no one.  He brought a blood-slicked
thumb to the slide release but struggled with the stubborn lever briefly. 
After several attempts, the slide clacked forward and he pointed the weapon at
Jennings’ still form. 
It may be empty but he won’t know that.

Heskan
sat for what felt like an eternity, leaning against the bullet-ridden lectern
before he heard salvation approaching.  He lowered his weapon to the deck and
waited until Seshafian marines, rifles at the ready, circled around his
podium.  It was the honor guard from the bridge.  Ears still ringing from the
gunfight, he almost shouted his words.  “I think he’s dead but I’ve been hit
too.”

“Medic!”
a marine bellowed instantly.  “Get us a medic!”  The horrified look on his face
sent shivers down Heskan’s spine.

The
marine assisted Heskan completely down onto the floor only to have the first
medic at the scene prop him back up and onto his side.  A jumble of medical
terms spewed from the technician’s mouth as he felt his service coat being cut
away from him. 
It cost me a fortune to tailor that,
he thought crazily
as he groaned.  As the adrenalin wore off, the pain kicked into full force.  In
the background, he heard a medic telling the infirmary to prepare a medical bed
for surgery.

“Wait,”
Heskan said while holding up his right hand.  “You can’t operate on me.  I’ve
got a battle to fight.”

“Sir,”
the medic said direly.  He pressed his hand to the wet floor and brought it up
to Heskan’s face.  It was dark red.  “This is you,” he said, waving his hand. 
“You’ve been shot twice.  One went all the way through your shoulder.  The
other partially penetrated your lower back.  You need surgery.”

I have to lead the
battle,
Heskan
thought frantically. 
Nguyen doesn’t have the timing down.
 Heskan
looked at the medic.  The man appeared to be leaning at a forty-five degree
angle.  Heskan felt his head beginning to wobble.

*  *  *

“He’s
what?”  Commodore Cohen’s face rapidly drained of color.  The tactician reached
out to his console to steady himself.  “Yes, I understand,” he finally answered
into his mic.  Cohen stared blankly at the holo-tank before ordering, “Erika,
open the command channel.”

The
man nervously pulled at his collar before announcing, “Attention, Seshafi
defense fleet.  By order of Admiral Heskan, command of the fleet will pass to
Captain Nguyen.”

Stunned
expressions filled each of the fourteen panels on the communications screen.

“What
happened to Admiral Heskan,” Commander Vernay demanded under a rapidly
furrowing brow.

“He’s
been shot,” Cohen answered in lingering disbelief.

“
Saden
bastards!
” Vernay spat furiously.  The commander’s face flushed a dark
crimson.  “I’m killing them all!  How bad is Garrett?”

Cohen
held up a hand to stem the flood from Vernay.  “Commander, the admiral’s
instructions were to inform you that it was a person named Aaron Jennings. 
Apparently, the admiral knew the attacker.”

Vernay’s
jaw dropped at the news.  After a moment, she closed her mouth and asked
through gritted teeth, “What’s Jennings’ status?”

“Quite
dead.”

A
single, spiteful nod was her only reply.

An
ashen Captain Nguyen asked, “Was there anything further from the baron?”

“Yes,”
Cohen answered.  “He ordered me to tell you to give Wallace absolutely nothing
during negotiations and that it was vital the fleet carries out the maneuvering
plan precisely as we’ve practiced these weeks.”

“I…
I understand,” Nguyen acknowledged.

“Commodore,”
Vernay interrupted.  Her insistent voice spoke deliberately.  “Is Garrett
Heskan going to be all right?”  Cohen judged from the woman’s fraught expression
that her composure balanced on a knife’s edge.

“I
don’t know,” he said.  He looked at Nguyen’s panel.  “Captain, Admiral Wallace
has already broken inside ten light-minutes.  He’s undoubtedly waiting for a
message from us.  We also must give him our updated order of battle.  I have it
prepared; shall I send it?”

Nguyen
began to nod but stopped.  “No.  Admiral Heskan said to give them nothing.”

“Surely
he wasn’t referring to the order of battle.  Sir, by corporate conflict laws,
we must give him the most accurate order of battle possible… we can’t break the
law.”

Nguyen stared blankly
at the screen as he weighed his options.  Finally, he answered, “No,
Commodore.  I’m following my orders as given to me.  Now, record the following
and send.”  Nguyen cleared his throat and stared directly into his bridge
camera.  “Seshafi welcomes your fleet to our system, Viscount.  I apologize for
the delay in our greeting but we’ve experienced some difficulties.  I beg your
forgiveness.  As the aggressing officer would you care to open negotiations or
shall you defer?”  After several seconds, Nguyen ordered, “Send that, Commodore,
and route his reply to me when we receive it.”  He then addressed his ship
captains.  “For now, we’ll hold at the rally point.  We have fifty-five minutes
before hostilities commence but we’ll be initiating pre-combat runs shortly. 
Nguyen out.”

*  *  *

“Very
peculiar,” Wallace commented.

“What
does it mean, Admiral?”

“Perhaps,
Damien, Seshafi has had enough of the outlander,” Wallace theorized.  “I know
Yon Nguyen.  He’s a traditionalist.”

Commodore
Ladd gestured toward their holo-tank.  “Well, his fleet’s composition could
hardly be considered traditional.”

Wallace
nodded agreement but it was the powerful man standing next to him that answered. 
“It’s clear that they’re desperate,” Archduke Dunmore observed.  He pointed
toward the three freighters holding near a corvette.  “They can’t possibly be
planning to place those civilian ships into the line.”

“Will
they even offer us a single pass?” Ladd wondered.

“It
will be the end of them if they do,” Wallace stated boldly.  “But Yon won’t let
it come to that.  He knows there’s no honor to be found in a slaughter.”  He
raised a finger upward.  “Record.”

Once
Wallace had straightened his red coat, he began.  “Thank you for your welcome,
Yon.  It is good to see you although rather unexpected.  Am I to understand
that Seshafi has decided to place a legitimate, accomplished commander in
charge of their fleet?  It warms my heart to see this.  I am open to
negotiation, Yon.  I can see the state of your fleet and there’s no need to
embarrass Sade’s brothers and sisters with pre-combat maneuvers.  Our terms
rest in the
casus bellum
but I will guarantee all titles of Seshafi’s
peerage, save one, if you accept now.”  Wallace motioned nonchalantly to his
communications officer.

“Very
gallant of you, Viscount,” his assistant said.  “May we form up our sections,
sir?”

Wallace
considered the request and slowly nodded.  “Very well.  Our sailors have
trained hard and they should, at least, have the honor of lining up for
battle.  It will give Yon an advance look at our formations but that hardly
matters now.”

Wallace
paced the bridge as his ships took their battle positions.  There were no
tricks hidden within his asymmetrical formations but plenty of opportunity for
superior tactics.  A line ship led each section. 
Triumph
, Sade’s
third-rate, had the honor of leading the vanguard while, predictably, Admiral
Lane’s second-rate anchored the main. 
Courageux
, the smallest of the Saden
line ships, would command the rearguard.  A single brig followed the line ships
in each section, with the main enjoying a second brig behind its first.  Snows
rounded out the rest of the fleet.

While
the main was seven ships strong, he had allocated the standard six ships to his
rearguard.  Upon hearing that Secure Solutions would not appear, Wallace had
decided to use his vanguard as a light, skirmishing force to lure his opponent
into the jaws of superior, trailing sections.  He had known the plan could
change based on how many ships Seshafi mustered, their order of battle was
infuriatingly vague, but his initial formations offered him flexibility against
a foe that might equal or outnumber him.  Wallace held great dissatisfaction that
his vanguard would only muster four ships.  It was the regrettable consequence
of Secure Solutions’ absence but shameful nonetheless.  His vision blurred red
at the thought of the privateer company even though now he knew his native
fleet would be more than enough to carry the day.  Wallace was confident of
that.  Still, attacking with less than a full complement of ships in each of
his sections lacked dignity.  He cast a hidden look of annoyance sideways at
his CEO, realizing such was the price of rising up the military ranks in a
small corporation.  Resources were always at a premium.  Taking AmyraCorp today
would solve IaCom’s issues and his future fleets would reflect the new order.