was going to be required. But Hera was the closest of their targeted systems to Nouveau Paris, and this was the only attack going in without any carrier support at all. So she'd brought along Alistair McKeon's entire squadron... in no small part to make the point to Thomas Theisman that the Alliance could-and would-operate even its most modern superdreadnoughts aggressively this deep behind the front line systems. But, unlike Jaruwalski, Honor wasn't really looking forward to what they were about to do.
Or to killing all the men and women who were about to die.
'Ambuscade's upload is complete, Commodore Jaruwalski,' one of the ops officer's plotting team's petty officers announced.
'What does it show?' Jaruwalski asked, as she and Honor both moved closer to the plot.
'CIC sees no changes from Skirmisher's data, Ma'am. It still looks like two battleships, four battlecruisers or big heavy cruisers, and less than a hundred LACs.'
'I still find that hard to believe,' Jaruwalski muttered, then grimaced as Honor cocked a sardonic eyebrow at her. 'Sorry, Your Grace. I don't mean to suggest Daniels and Estwicke didn't do a good job. I'm just surprised their system picket is that light, even this close to Nouveau Paris.'
Honor shrugged, never taking her gaze from the icons of the ships trapped between her own incoming forces. Skirmisher's report had allowed her to plot her own alpha translations perfectly, and the defenders found themselves caught squarely between the two prongs of her attack.
They'd obviously realized the system was being probed and brought their mobile units-such as they were-to a high state of readiness, because they were already underway. In fact, they were accelerating hard, almost directly towards her flagship and its division mate, HMS Intolerant. Clearly their commander had realized she could never get outside the attackers' MDM envelope and had elected to attempt to stay as far away as possible from the four SDs of McKeon's first and third divisions. The defenders' outclassed, obsolescent ships and sparse LAC force stood no chance of survival against a pair of Invictus-class superdreadnoughts, but they probably had a marginally better chance of inflicting at least some damage on her single division before they died.
'They can't be strong everywhere, Andrea,' she said after a moment. 'That's the whole point behind Cutworm. And don't forget that Ambuscade and Skirmisher probably didn't get reliable reads on any system-defense pods they may have deployed.'
'Agreed.' Jaruwalski nodded. 'Still, they're hanging all but naked. And I've got to say, I didn't expect to see any battleships still in commission.'
'I didn't either. On the other hand, this is an awful long way from the front. I suppose if they've got one or two left, it makes more sense to use them here than somewhere more likely to be attacked. Of course,' Honor's smile was knife-blade thin, 'they're going to be reevaluating where attacks are 'likely' very shortly now.'
'It's confirmed, Sir.' Captain Beauchamp's expression was grim on the com screen connecting Milligan's flag bridge to the system's planet-side Defense Headquarters. 'Bogey Alpha is two superdreadnoughts and three big heavy cruisers-they look like the new Saganami-Cs. Bogey Beta is four SDs and three light cruisers. From the emissions signatures, two of Beta's wallers are Medusa-class SD(P)s. We don't have positive IDs on Beta's other SD, or on either of Alpha's, but all three of them are even bigger than a Medusa.'
'Invictuses,' Tucker said bitterly. 'They've got to be.'
'Here?' Milligan shook his head. 'According to NavInt, they can't have more than a handful of them. Why in God's name would they send three of them this deep into the Republic to hit a target as secondary as Hera?'
'At a guess, Sir, they're sending a message,' Tucker replied. Milligan looked at him, and the chief of staff waved one hand at the ominous light codes in the plot. 'We've all been assuming they'd have no choice but to pull in their horns and fort up after Thunderbolt, and especially after Grendelsbane.' He shrugged. 'Well, Sir, I'd say they intend to suggest we were mistaken.'
'Harper.'
'Yes, Your Grace?'
'Record a message for the system commander.'
'Of course, Your Grace.' If Lieutenant Brantley thought there was anything odd about sending a message to the commander of a naval force one intended to destroy momentarily, no sign of it showed in his voice or expression.
'Live mike, Ma'am,' he said after a moment, and Honor looked directly into her pick up.
'This is Admiral Honor Harrington, Royal Manticoran Navy,' she said levelly. 'By this time, you must be aware of the disparity of combat power between your forces and mine. I am here to destroy the industrial infrastructure in this star system, and I will do so, however regretfully. I have no interest in killing anyone when that can be avoided, however. I submit to you that the forces under your command, even assuming-as I do-that they're backed by a substantial number of previously deployed missile pods, can't hope to seriously damage my own units. Your vessels, on the other hand, are little more than targets. Courage alone cannot substitute for tactical inferiority on this scale. You are already inside my powered missile envelope; you won't survive to bring us into your shipboard range. Nor will your LACs survive to reach attack range of us.'
She paused for just a moment, then continued in that same level, measured voice.
'It's obvious from your maneuvers to this point that you're prepared to do your duty in defense of this star system, however hopeless you must know that defense to be. I respect that, but I also implore you not to throw away the lives of the men and women under your command. If you continue to close, I will fire on you. If, however, you choose to abandon ship and scuttle at this time, I will not fire upon your small craft or life pods. Nor will I fire upon your LACs if you order them to withdraw and stand down. I'm not asking you to surrender your vessels to me; I'm simply asking you to allow your personnel to live.
'Harrington, clear.'
'Clean recording, Your Grace,' Brantley said, after replaying it to be certain.
'Then send it,' she said.
'Do you think it will do any good, Ma'am?' Mercedes Brigham asked, leaning close to Honor's command chair and speaking quietly into her ear.
'I don't know,' Honor replied bleakly, rubbing Nimitz's ears as he curled in her lap. 'I like to think I'd be rational enough to abandon in her shoes, but, to be completely honest, I'm not certain I would. I just know I don't want to slaughter people who can't even shoot back.'
'... asking you to allow your personnel to live. Harrington, clear.'
Tom Milligan watched the message from the tall, level-voiced, exotically attractive woman in the black-and- gold uniform and white beret silently, his eyes hard. There was no doubt in his mind that Harrington-God, it would be Harrington, wouldn't it?-had summarized his command's chances of survival with agonizing accuracy.
Of course, she did wait until-as she herself just pointed out-she'd trapped us into entering her missile envelope, whether we'd wanted to or not, didn't she? Obviously, however concerned she may be with sparing people's lives, she's not especially concerned about what's likely to happen to my career!
He surprised himself with a chuckle, but it was short-lived.
'Sir?'
He turned his head. Commander Tucker stood beside his bridge chair, where he'd viewed the message along with his commodore, and his expression was profoundly unhappy.
'Yes, George?' Milligan asked, his voice remarkably calm.
'Sir, she may be right about our relative combat power. But we can't just blow up our own ships!'
'Even if she's going to do it for us sometime in the next ten or fifteen minutes?'
Milligan nodded his head at the implacably advancing icons in the plot. Harrington's converging superdreadnought divisions were already up to a velocity of over twelve thousand kilometers per second, forging straight ahead, like twin daggers plunged directly into the heart of the Hera System. He felt a spike of pure, burning rage at the complete-and completely justified-confidence of their unwavering approach.
Harrington. 'The Salamander' herself, coming straight down his throat with a pair of SD(P)s while four more came right up his backside, and armed with the advantage of detailed tactical scans of the star system and his own defensive forces. No wonder she was 'confident!'
'But, Sir-!' Tucker protested, and Milligan smiled grimly.
'George, for what it matters-and, at this particular moment, it doesn't matter a whole hell of a lot-my career crashlanded the instant those ships came over the hyper wall. I realize that, unlike the previous management, Admiral Theisman's unlikely to have me shot for something that obviously wasn't my fault, but someone's still going to have to carry the can for this one, and I'm elected. Under the circumstances, it's not going to make things much
