Then they turned sharply and dove to two hundred feet off the ground. Twenty miles away, the Palace sat brilliantly lit under a glowing summer sun. The missiles accelerated, separated until they were half a mile apart, and sped on. A mile from the Palace, one climbed to two thousand feet while the other stayed low.
They both exploded simultaneously.
When the dust and firestorm finally settled four hours later, there was no trace of the Palace or its inhabitants.
Chapter 40
Victorian Space
H.M.S. New Zealand
The comm screen came alive with an emergency override message from H.M.S. Lionheart.
“New Zealand, this is Captain Eder of the Lionheart. What in Christ’s name is going on?” he asked angrily.
“You were attacked by a Dominion freighter,” Emily answered with difficulty. “We destroyed the freighter, but not before it launched one missile. We managed to knock it off course.” She felt utterly spent. As soon as it was clear that the missile had missed, the adrenalin roiling in her bloodstream made her tremble so violently that she had to sit down. Chief Gibson glanced at her solicitously, but she waived him back.
Captain Eder gaped at her. “You destroyed a Dominion freighter!”
“It was either that or let it destroy you, Captain!” Emily snapped.
Eder’s face flushed scarlet. “Who are you?” he demanded.
Emily drew herself up. “I am Second Lieutenant Emily Tuttle, temporarily in command of the New Zealand.”
Eder’s jaw worked. “And you fired on a Dominion ship?”
Emily worked her own jaw. “Captain, I don’t think you understand. It fired on you.”
“Where is Captain Grey?” he asked icily.
“Captain Grey is on Atlas.”
“Well, dammit, I’m pretty sure that she didn’t leave a Second Lieutenant in charge of a Victorian missile cruiser, so where is your superior officer?”
On the screen Emily could see an aide take Captain Eder’s elbow and thrust a report slate into his hand. Eder glanced at it irritably, looked back at Emily, but then his eyes darted back to the report.
“My superior officer is Senior Lieutenant Bishop.” She paused, then plunged on. “I had him arrested for dereliction of duty when he refused to fire on the Dominion vessel.”
Eder looked up slowly from the report slate. “Yes, Lieutenant Tuttle, I’m sure you did.” He waived the report slate in the air. “My staff tells me that the battleships Isle of Man and Invincible have both been destroyed, apparently by missile pods launched from Dominion freighters.”
On the screen the aide suddenly appeared again. He leaned down and spoke urgently into the Captain’s ear. Eder looked at him. “Has this been confirmed?” he asked sharply. The aide nodded. Eder fell back in his chair, then looked at the camera. He looked as if he had aged ten years.
“Tuttle, I think it would be a good idea if you found your Captain and got her back on board. The Palace has been hit with at least one nuclear weapon. The Queen is dead.”
Chapter 41
Atlas Station, Fleet Intelligence Center
“My God, they nuked the Palace!” the Communications Officer shouted.
The entire FIC fell silent. Hiram leaned forward. “Nina, check for reports about the Queen.” She raced to comply, her fingers dancing over the console.
“Many confirming reports,” she said. “At least two nuclear warheads…the Fleet attache is reporting that the Queen was at a meeting with all of the senior admirals and their staff.” Her shoulders slumped. “The Palace was totally destroyed, everyone inside is dead.” She looked up, tears streaking her cheeks. “Queen Beatrice is dead, along with the senior admirals of Home Fleet and Fleet Administration.”
Part of him wanted to cry, but part of him had to stifle a laugh of rueful appreciation. Sweet Gods, somebody on the other side of this had balls and brains! It was a classic coup de main. Kill the leadership, then sweep in and attack amidst the confusion and chaos. But the timing was a little off, the attack on the Palace was a little too soon. The two fleets were still a day away. He wondered idly whether the arrival of the courier drones from the Bawdy Bertha had forced them to spring their attack early.
The sound of hysterical sobbing brought him back to the present. Got to focus, Hiram. And then: The odds are more than two to one. We’re beaten.
Then: Only if they catch us!
He remembered one of his old high school history teachers, talking about the decision to flee Old Earth during the Third Plague. “Sometimes,” he had told the bored class, “the right decision at the right time is the difference between salvation and utter catastrophe.” Then he had peered at them through his rheumy eyes. “Most of you will never be faced with making such a decision, and for that you will be fortunate. But if you are, pray to God you get it right.”
Gods of Our Mothers, help me now, he thought.
“Nina! Do we have a line into the Port Authority?”
She looked at him, barely able to understand his question in the midst of her grief.
“Nina,” he said softly but firmly. “I need you. We don’t have much time, so pull yourself together.” She nodded gamely, wiped at a tear and hiccupped. He raised his voice so everyone in the room could hear. “Everybody listen up. We’ve got a lot to do and damn little time to do it, so shake it off and pay attention!”
He turned back to his Communications Officer. “Get me a line to the Port Authority. Tell them — ” he hesitated. “Tell them that you have a message from Admiral Douthat of the highest urgency.” Nina blinked at him, then turned to her console.
Next he called up the holograph display of the entire Victoria Sector. “Gandalf, label this fleet-” he touched the fleet of 80 ships from Cape Breton — “as ‘Bogey One” and this fleet — ” he touched the 70-ship fleet from the Dominion — “as ‘Bogey Two.” He turned to two warrant officers. “You two, find two Navy ships, one that’s close to Bogey One and the other as close as you can get to Bogey Two. If you can find a scout vessel or a frigate, all the better, but find something that can move fast. Tell them to vector in on the Bogeys, assess their ship types and report back by laser com or courier drone ASAP. Then-” he paused, “then tell them to run like hell.”
Now what? he wondered. In twenty four hours, one hundred and fifty enemy ships would reach Cornwall. Second Fleet and most of Third Fleet were gone. The Queen was gone; all of the senior Fleet admirals were dead. Home Fleet had just lost two of its three battleships. All Victoria had left to meet the enemy fleets were fifty eight war ships and a bunch of tugs. Hell, the two space stations weren’t even armed. What they desperately need was time, time to rebuild their fleet and even up the odds.
He waived at the room to get everyone’s attention. They stared at him from hollow eyes. “Quickly, who is Victoria’s best ally?”
“Arcadia,” someone muttered.
“Not a chance!” another retorted. “Arcadia would sell us down the river for a gold coin and a promise of trade if they had the chance.”
Not that it mattered, Hiram thought. With Second Fleet gone, Arcadia would be nothing more than a Tilleke province.
“Who else?” he shouted.
“Refuge,” Nina said. “We saved them from the plague and helped them get settled. “The Am HaAretz have long memories, they’ll help us.” The others nodded in silent agreement.