Alarm of War

The room fell into an abrupt silence. Hudis nodded in satisfaction. The Tilleke were ready to go to war! They did not have to be convinced or bribed. They were ready, even eager. Then Elizabeth Dreyer spoke.

“The Victorians will stop you,” Dreyer said flatly. “Their fleet is twice the size of yours and its ships are newer and more powerful. If you attack Arcadia, the Vickies will come running and when they are finished, your fleet will be a smoking ruin and you still won’t have the ziridium.”

Hudis cast a cautious glance at the Savak bodyguard standing against the wall and cleared his throat. “Unless…unless of course the Empire has the support and help of its allies. As the Assistant National Security Advisor said, the Victorian fleet is twice the size of the Tilleke fleet. But it is not twice the size of the Tilleke fleet, the Dominion fleet and the Cape Breton fleet combined.” He smiled. “Perhaps we can accomplish together what no one of us could accomplish alone.” He glanced at Dreyer, who nodded imperceptibly. “We have been thinking of a way to distract the Vickies, forcing them to divide their fleet. It is still risky, Prince RaShahid, particularly for your Empire. The Victorian fleet is formidable.”

Prince RaShahid nodded thoughtfully. “What you say is true, Citizen Secretary, but perhaps the Victorian fleet is not as formidable as you think. We have developed…ah, a device that could help us in our effort.”

Talk suspended while servants brought in refreshments. When the last of them had left, Hudis outlined his plan for conquering Victoria. When he was done, he sipped his wine and looked at the beautiful woman from Cape Breton and the haughty prince from Tilleke. “There are many details, of course, but first we must make a collective decision: Will our three nations join together in this crusade or not?”

Elizabeth Dreyer nodded once. “Cape Breton will join.”

Prince RaShahid stood. “His Most Sovereign Majesty, the Emperor of Tilleke, welcomes your allegiance in his war against the Arcadians. He will cooperate with your effort against Victoria.” He tilted his head and made a clicking noise with his tongue. The two Creche-born Savak stepped forward and flanked the Prince as he swept from the room. Hudis was mindful to keep beyond the proscribed ten feet.

For a long moment after the Tilleke had left, neither of them spoke, then Dreyer combed her hair back with her fingers. “You realize, don’t you, that the Tilleke will turn on us once the Vickies are destroyed?”

“The Tilleke want Arcadia and the ziridium,” Hudis replied neutrally. Make her show her hand first.

Dreyer nodded. “And once they have it, fifty percent of the known ziridium reserves in the Inhabited Universe will be in the hands of the most xenophobic, psychotic race in the League of Human Nations.” She cupped her chin in her hand, pursing her lips in a mime of thought. “Tell me, Citizen Secretary, do you think that is a good idea?”

Hudis sighed. Cards on the table, then. “The Tilleke are vicious attack dogs. We can use them, but we can never trust them. I don’t know what this new weapon is that they have, but I am satisfied that they will make the Vickies pay dearly. Will the Tilleke win?” He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, as long as they hurt the Vickies badly. We need either a victorious Tilleke or a victorious but badly battered Victoria. In either case we will have our prize.”

Dreyer studied him, her eyes wide and unmoving. He realized wryly that she was no political neophyte. More like a very sleek, dangerous cat. “Ah, yes, our prize. Victoria, its planets and its resources.” She smiled lazily. “And of course, its location — the very center of the human universe. All that commerce passing through every day.” She straightened and clasped her hands together.

Here it is, thought Hudis. Now comes the hard bargaining.

“Thanks to the Vickies, Cape Breton is a poor nation. When we defeat Victoria-” She paused, inclining her head to Hudis. “When we and the Dominion defeat Victoria, we want something to repay us for the harm they have caused.”

Hudis frowned. “We have already agreed that we will jointly govern the planets-”

“We want the Titans,” Dreyer said firmly. “Independent control and exclusive rights to their total output.”

The Titans. Victoria had built two enormous ship building and repair facilities, each one larger than any ship building yard in any other sector. They named them after the early Greek gods, Atlas and Prometheus. A third facility, Hyperion, was under construction, but years away from completion. In their smug belief of their own superiority, Victoria used the Titans to produce mostly freighters and merchant ships, but whoever held the Titans would be able to build more warships than the rest of the worlds combined. It was a staggering logistical advantage and would make them invulnerable from attack.

Hudis smiled wryly and held up one finger. “One,” he said. “We’ll each take one.”

Dreyer considered for a moment, then smiled in return. “Very well, Citizen Secretary. Cape Breton will take Prometheus.”

She had played it well, Hudis thought. Prometheus was the newer of the two, with more advanced computer aided manufacturing capability than its older brother. Still, each of the Titans was a treasure beyond measure.

“Done!” he said warmly. We can always take it back later.

Chapter 8

P.D. 948

Emily’s Personal Journal

At Victorian Fleet Training Facility on Aberdeen

Another three weeks without an entry. I can only plead exhaustion. Years of sedentary living did not get me ready for this! Some days I think they intend to run us to death, then other times they throw us into a four day combat maneuver where we are lucky to get three hours of sleep a night. Funny, everyone gets real macho about staying awake for thirty hours straight, but the fatigue kicks in. People start making mistakes, tripping, forgetting to bring extra battery packs for their rifle. “Friendly fire” incidents go up. We actually had one recruit fall asleep while he was on a night march and walk into a tree. Broke his nose. Sergeant Kaelin field-packed it with toilet paper and made him continue for the rest of the maneuver. “If the soldier is combat effective, he fights,” he told us. “The mission comes first.” On the other hand, maybe if the soldier were allowed a little more sleep, he wouldn’t walk into trees. Dream on, Emily.

Other lessons as well. Every day they select one of us to be a squad leader, platoon leader or company leader. No training or instructions on how to be a leader, just, “You’re it. Take this position” or “Hold this hill.” As my statistics professor would have said, the results are ‘variable.’ What is interesting, though, is how quickly you learn who is good and who isn’t. First lesson: The bad ones get more of us killed than the good ones. Second lesson: the tough, swaggering guys often can’t plan their way out of a paper bag. No feints, no maneuver, no psychology, just charge straight in and damn the torpedoes, or machine guns, or whatever. Enormous casualties. Sometimes they take their objective, more often not. When they do win there seems to be a perverse pride that they won the battle despite the dire losses suffered by their men. Stupid, just stupid. And God help us if the idiot wins like this, it makes him more prone to do it again in the future. Foolhardy bravery + lack of imagination = disaster.

Which brings me back to Grant Skiffington, the Admiral’s son. I know he is smart enough to plan a decent, imaginative attack, but he doesn’t bother. He just likes to fight and isn’t too concerned with actually winning. He doesn’t seem to care much if people get wounded (which hurts like a sonofabitch). After one skirmish I told him he was a jerk and that a lot of his people had been killed for nothing (he didn’t even take the objective). He laughed and called over one of the FOFs. “How you feeling?” he asked the guy. “Fine,” replied the soldier. Then Skiffington leaned over to me and said sotto voce, “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Tuttle; he’s not really dead.” Then he laughed and walked away. I told Cookie about it and she said I should have shot him in the ass. “He feel some pain then, girlie. He most certainly will.” Cookie is ambivalent about Skiffington. She admires him for his ferocity in battle, but doesn’t like the casualties. “He’ll take the hill that needs takin’ real bad, but he might be the only one left standin’.” Sergeant Kaelin just shakes his head and asks Skiffington