The Chosen

Angelika Borowitz's eyebrows rose. 'Sir. That will put us on an intercept course with the enemy fleet.'

Eberdorf smiled, and even the Chosen present blanched slightly at the writhing of the scar tissue. 'Exactly. If we meet the enemy on the way to the rendezvous, we can scarcely be faulted for engaging them. In my considered opinion, our squadron alone possesses the readiness necessary for a major night attack on the enemy fleet. The potential damage outweighs the importance of another twelve destroyers in a day action.'

When they would be pounded into scrap by the cruiser screens of the Santie Northern Fleet, probably. But the Pillars flotilla hadn't had their crews robbed of Chosen personnel and experienced Proteges for operations on the mainland the way the Home Fleet had been. Night action had a big potential payoff-the enemy's scouting advantages would be neutralized, and all action would have to be within effective torpedo range-but it required exquisite skill and long practice.

She laughed again and ran a hand over the place where her hair had been, once. 'I seem to make a habit of leading forlorn hopes. Although I doubt anyone will swim ashore with me from this one.'

* * *

'Sir.' Maurice Hosten saluted and came to attention before his grandfather. 'Sir, they beat us off. I doubt we sank so much as a fishing boat.'

There was a faint edge of bitterness in the young pilot's voice, even now, even on the bridge of the Great Republic.

'The flak was like nothing I've ever seen,' he went on. 'And their land-based air were waiting for us, three times our numbers or better. They were working over the minelayers pretty badly, too.'

The admiral nodded. 'It had to be tried,' he said quietly, more to himself than to his grandson. Aloud: 'Very well, Wing Commander. You may go.'

'Well, that was a fuckup,' Admiral Cunningham said mildly.

'Had to be tried,' Maurice Farr repeated. 'That's a dozen tin cans and a good modern cruiser, well crewed and too mobile by half.'

He looked out the windows into the darkness. 'Too mobile by half and probably-'

'Sir! Destroyer Hyacinth reports enemy ships in unknown numbers.'

Farr looked down at the map. 'Coming straight at us,' he said. 'Well, you can't fault their aggressiveness,' he said. 'Transports, carriers, and carrier escorts to maintain course. The remainder of the fleet will come about as follows.'

The orders rattled out. Cunningham raised his brows. 'Putting everything about to face twelve destroyers and a cruiser?' he said.

'We can't afford too many losses,' Farr answered. 'Particularly not of capital ships.'

Cunningham nodded. 'You're the boss. I'd better see to my own.'

Farr nodded, looking out through the bridge windows. The first shots were already being fired: starshells, to give as much light as possible. Bloody murthering great fleet, he thought. Be lucky if we don't sink a few of our own ships by friendly fire.

He considered sending out a 'caution on target' notice, then shook his head silently. More likely to lose ships that way, as gunners hesitated to the last minute and let the Land destroyers too close. Searchlights flickered over the water. Wish there was some way of seeing in the dark, he thought. Some sort of detection device. But there wasn't. .

'Cruiser Iway under attack,' the signals yeoman said tonelessly, translating the code as it came through the earphones in dots and dashes.

More than starshells lit the sky to the northwest. Gun flashes, eight-inchers. The thudding of the muzzle blasts traveled more slowly, but not much. It wasn't far. .

'Iway reports she is under gun attack by enemy heavy cruiser,' the yeoman said. 'Desmines and Nawlin are moving to support.'

'Negative,' Farr rapped. 'Cruiser Squadron A to maintain stations.'

That was probably what the Chosen commander was trying to do, punch a hole through the cruiser screen and send the destroyers in through it. Easy enough even if they maintained station; the destroyers wouldn't be visible long enough to get most of them.

'Sir, Iway reports-'

There was a flash of light on the northwestern horizon, followed almost immediately by a huge dull boom.

'God damn,' Farr said slowly and distinctly. I never liked the magazine protection on those City-class cruisers, he thought. They'd skimped on internal bulkheads to strengthen the main belt. .

'Sir.' This time the yeoman's voice quavered a bit, just for an instant. 'Desmines reports the Iway. . she's gone, sir. Just gone. The stern section was all that's left and it sank like a rock.'

'There's something wrong with our bloody cruisers today,' Farr said, and lit a cigarette, looking at the map again and calculating distances and times. The captain of the Great Republic was the center of a flurry of activity; searchlights went on all over the superstructure.

'Here they come,' he said, speaking loudly over the squeal of turrets training. Only the quick-firers and secondary armament; nobody was going to fire twelve-inch guns into the dark with dozens of Santander Navy ships around.

Long lean shapes were coming in, weaving between the cruiser squadrons, heading for the capital ships. Red-gold balls of light began to zip through the night, shells arching out to meet the enemy. The Chosen destroyers were throwing plumes back from their bows as high as their forward turrets, thirty knots and better.

'Here they come,' repeated the captain. The battleship heeled sharply as it came about, presenting its bow to the destroyers and the smallest possible target to their torpedo sprays. 'For what we are about to receive-'

'— may the Lord make us truly thankful,' the bridge muttered with blasphemous piety.

* * *

Heinrich Hosten blinked. 'He has said what?'

'Sir. Libert has announced that the Union is, ah, affirmatively neutral, as of one hundred hours today. Unionaise forces will not attempt to engage either Santander or Land forces except in direct self-defense. Sir, a number of our posts report that the Unionaise here in the Sierra are laagering and refusing contact. Shall I order activation of Plan Coat, sir?'

Heinrich stood stock-still for a full forty seconds. Sweat broke out on his expressionless face. 'Not at the moment,' he said very quietly. Plan Coat was the standing emergency option for the takeover of the Union.

Well, it looks like you were wrong for once, Gerta, he thought. Leaving Libert alive had been a mistake. . although justified at the time.

'No, I don't think we'll distract ourselves just yet. Libert has two hundred and fifty thousand men. The Santies first, I'm afraid, tempting as it is. Attention, please.'

His chief of staff bent forward. Heinrich looked down at the map. 'Pending clarification from central HQ, the forces on the Confrontation Line are to stand in place.' Selling their lives as dearly as they could. 'All other forces in the Union are to retreat northward, destroying communications links behind them as far as possible, and catch us if they can.'

'Catch us, sir?'

Heinrich tapped one thick finger on the center of the Sierra. 'We're the only concentrated force the Land has left on the mainland. It's obvious what the Santies are doing: they've taken Corona, they're shipping their First Corps there as fast as they can, and they're going for our Home Fleet in the Passage.'

His hand moved to the western shores of the Republic, and then swept up towards the Chosen homeland.

'Bold. Daring. It all turns on us, and on the Navy. If we can break their fleet and destroy their First Corps, then even losing the Union and the Sierra will be meaningless. We can retake them at our leisure and crush Santander next year.'

And if we lose, or the Navy loses, the Chosen are doomed, he knew. By their faces, so did everyone else in the room.

'Sir, the communications grid is in very poor shape,' the logistics chief warned.