Alarm of War

Skiffington smiled in wry acknowledgement of the well-deserved sarcasm. “I’ve never been one for hiding my light beneath a bushel, I’ll admit that, but Bob makes a good point. We’ve never fought the Tilleke. The fact is, we don’t know what they have, what their tactics are, how good their command and control is.” He looked at Kathryn Penn, then back to Admiral Giunta. “It might be best if we detach a small covering force to picket Windsor and send the rest of Third Fleet with me to Tilleke if the balloon goes up.”

Giunta was astonished. Oliver Skiffington was not known for this degree of caution. A big, burly, energetic man, Skiffington’s favorite saying, drummed into every Second Fleet officer, was: ‘When in doubt, be bold!’

“I will not give up command of Third Fleet and make it an adjunct unit of Second Fleet!” Vice Admiral Penn said sharply.

“Of course not, Kathryn,” Giunta assured her. “I’m sure Oliver wasn’t suggesting that. I do like the idea, however, of sending as large a force in as we can.” He smiled. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There is a very good chance nothing at all will come of any of this.”

No one really believed him.

As they were all filing out the door, Admiral Douthat caught Teehan’s elbow. “Jeffrey,” she murmured. “I don’t want this to sound like I am as offended as Oliver put on, but why are you using Lieutenant Brill to brief us? Isn’t he a little junior for this?” She smiled to take any sting out of her implied criticism.

Teehan nodded. “Normally, yes.” He pursed his lips and breathed heavily though his nose. “Remember five months ago, Emperor Chalabi demanded Arcadia practically give them free ziridium?” Douthat nodded. “Yes, well, the very next day our good Lieutenant Brill sent his superior a memo outlining what he considered to be a highly likely outcome of that demand. His superior sat on it until the second Arcadian freighter disappeared last month, then sent it on to me. Felt a little sheepish, I imagine.”

“Sheepish?” Home Fleet said inquiringly.

“Brill had laid it all out, you see. The Arcadian rejection of the Emperor’s demand, mysterious disappearances of Arcadian ziridium freighters, the Arcadian reaction to that. Did an analysis of Emperor Chalabi’s personality, the history of friction between the two Sectors. Nice little piece of work. The thing is, you see, he even suggested that this would be the perfect opportunity for one of the lesser Sectors to cement their supply of ziridium by providing military transport to Arcadian vessels while in Tilleke space.”

Douthat raised her eyebrows in surprise. “He actually predicted the Dominion would offer military escorts?”

Teehan chuckled. “No, not that good. Actually, he guessed it would most likely be Cape Breton, but I won’t hold that against him. I showed the report to Admiral Giunta, who told me to bring young Brill along for the briefing.”

“Well,” Douthat said slowly, “all honor to young Brill. And what does the prescient Lieutenant Brill predict will happen next?”

Teehan grimaced. “Yes, well, that’s the thing, you see. He says Tilleke will invade Arcadia. Quite emphatic about it.”

“Oh, crap!” said the Commander of Home Fleet.

Teehan gave a ghost of a smile. “From the mouths of babes, eh?”

Outside, Admiral Skiffington was walking with his newly appointed aide, his son, Lieutenant Grant Skiffington. The Admiral saw that his son was frowning. “What’s the matter?”

Grant shook his head. “I don’t know, I mean, what happens if the Tilleke do attack. We have no idea what we’ll be up against. Admiral Teehan said-”

“Teehan’s an old woman, afraid of his shadow,” Admiral Skiffington said dismissively. “Don’t worry, Second Fleet can take anything the Tilleke throw against us. Our ship building and design is years ahead of the Emperor’s.”

“But you just said you needed Third Fleet,” his son protested.

The Admiral was a little disappointed, but tried not to show it. “Every situation is an opportunity,” he explained patiently. “If the Tilleke attack Arcadia, I’ll see to it that Third Fleet is put under my command. At the end of the day, not only will I defeat the Emperor, but Third Fleet will be mine for good.”

Grant Skiffington digested this thoughtfully. The Admiral saw the expression on his face and barked a laugh.

“Always remember, son: Victory goes to the bold.”

Chapter 15

P.D. 952

In Victorian Space

It was during her third month aboard the missile cruiser New Zealand that Emily discovered she could be a devious bitch…and enjoy every minute of it. But before she got there, she was in constant torment.

Her chief tormentor was a short, fat, balding, cheerful lieutenant borrowed from the Destroyer Cape Town. He was the instructor for the twenty new Tactical officers aboard the missile cruiser New Zealand. His name was Alexander Rudd, and as he stood at the podium in the Training Room, he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He sweated. His cheeks were always flushed and he constantly mopped his brow.

How did this guy ever make it through Camp Gettysburg? Emily wondered in bemusement. Sergeant Kaelin would have eaten him alive.

Lieutenant Rudd unbuttoned his tunic and wiped his face. “Okay, listen up. Welcome to the Home Fleet. This is kiddy school for new Tactical officers. For the next three months, you will learn about basic tactics, weapons load outs, combat maneuvers, use of weapons and decoy combinations, and combat under a variety of scenarios, from one-on-one skirmishes to task force size engagements. For the next month or so, each of you will be the “captain” of your very own destroyer.” He smiled. “Your first task is to name your ship. Once you have done that, I want you to select a weapons load out, arm your ship and prepare to attack me.”

“One at a time or all of us?” Laura Salazar asked boldly. She was tall, with striking red hair and pale skin. She made Emily feel frumpy and too short.

“Entirely up to you,” Rudd replied. “You can coordinate with each other if you want to. In fact, I would urge you to do so.”

One of the students, Andrew Lord, stared dubiously at his screens. “How will we know which ship is yours?” he asked.

“For now,” Rudd explained, “all the ships are color coded: blue for friendly, red for hostile, yellow for unknowns and, of course, flashing orange for dead.” A bemused chuckle ran around the room. After their months at Camp Gettysburg, they were all too familiar with flashing orange. “Only here we don’t indicate a destroyed ship by using ‘FOF” or anything else cute and pretty. When a Victorian ship is destroyed, it automatically sends out a special, high speed courier drone that broadcasts a ‘Code Omega’ message. That means the ship is dead. Its crew is dead.” He paused for a moment to let this sink in. “The Code Omega drone will transmit the last hour of data from the ship’s bridge and sensor systems so that we can learn what happened.”

Each officer was assigned to his or her own “ship,” a cubicle filled with sensor screens and a simple control panel. Emily sat at a console that gave her control of a computer generated destroyer. By moving a joy stick she could “fly” her ship in any direction and fire its weapons. A screen showed her a simple sensor display, while another displayed the condition of her ship. It was about as simple as a computer game display. As an added feature, however, there was a large holographic display in the middle of the room, showing all of their ships suspended in three dimensional space. She put on a pair of headphones and worked out how to talk to the other trainees.

“Okay, here’s what we do,” Laura Salazar said crisply, assuming command of the ten trainees without