''Play it for me, son.''
The Admiral listened. Yes, things were happening. More than just loaded passenger liners getting away from his target.
Saris came to stand by his elbow. ''They are not letting them boost for Jump Point Adele.''
''No surprise. They want them to swing around Wardhaven.''
''And make a suicide dive at us?'' the Duty Lieutenant said.
''Did you message our Captains?'' the Admiral asked. Saris presented a message board to read. The message was clear: nip the engines, don't slaughter the passengers. ''Even an iron-headed dofbert could understand that. Good.''
The Admiral settled into his chair at his battle board and eyed the space around Wardhaven. ''Plot a course for Jump Point Adele from High Wardhaven with an orbit around Wardhaven.''
The board did.
''Lieutenant, talk to me about that station.''
''The defensive lasers are charged. A dozen passenger liners are powered up. Also merchant ships. Private yachts. The entire station has merged into one huge magnetic flux, sir.''
''Radar.''
''Jammed, sir.''
''Visual? Laser? Can't anybody see anything?''
''Nothing, sir, the station has been venting water, intel assumed from its sewage system, for the last twelve hours.''
''Before the ultimatum was issued?''
''Yes sir. We assumed, with the evacuation, that there was a problem and no one to look at it and, well, it was just venting.''
The Admiral shook his head. ''And with the evacuation, who was pissing to create a sewage problem to vent!'' He snorted. Did you have to be brainless to be assigned to intel?
Then again, hindsight was so much better.
''Should we power everything up, sir?'' Bhutta asked.
''I don't know what they have. Why should I let them know what I have? No, we are just standard President-class battleships. Let them assume that is what they face until it serves our interests to tell them different.''
The Admiral studied the board that told him no more now than it had four days ago. ''No. Now we hurry up and wait.''
Contact: -6 hours 45 minutes
Kris watched as the line of transports grew longer. Now it included more than just huge passenger liners. There were hastily converted general cargo ships, some container ships rigged for human occupancy, and most of the yachts Kris hadn't walked off with. She'd heard online some rather nasty comments by owners who'd shown up to find their yacht not at its assigned berth. They'd been accommodated on other people's yachts, the converted ships, somewhere. And their complaints had been kept to a minimum. At least Kris hoped they had. No one had actually mentioned that their boat was armed. Not on net.
It was time to wake up the rest. ''Task Force Light Brigade, second inning. This is your five-minute warning. Prepare to detach from the station and join up in five minutes.''
''About time.'' ''Just a minute, our skipper's ashore,'' and ''But I so wanted to see who got the girl.'' ''Teach you to start a long vid,'' came back at Kris.
She waited four minutes, gave a one-minute warning, then ordered them to detach in the order she'd assigned. Fourteen of them made it away from the docks with only one minor bump. Just as Kris was about to order one of the Seventh Division boats into the missing slot, the dock spat out the missing boat.
''Sorry to be late,'' was all the excuse she got.
''Glad you could make it.''
By divisions, the yachts and system runabouts threaded their way through the line of transports, then the Navy ships, and joined up with Squadron 8. ''Remember, when we start this thing, you stay with us until we hit two g's. Then you fall back. We go ahead and knock some sense into the battleships.''
''And we pick up the pieces,'' they repeated together.
Kris prayed they were very little pieces.
Contact: -6 hours 35 minutes
Sandy glanced around the Halsey's CIC. Every station was manned and ready. Every face showed eager in the dim light. How did I let another Santiago get talked into following another Longknife into another mess?
Because there really is no other option, Sandy gave the answer her great-grandfather must have given.
''Well, at least I'm not opening a damn briefcase bomb,'' she muttered to herself.
''Ma'am?'' her XO said, beside her.
''All hands,'' Sandy said, mashing her commlink. ''This is the Captain. You know our mission. We're decoys to draw fire away from the little boys. And that's what we'll do. But I haven't forgotten, any more than you have, that the Halsey packs ten big pulse lasers of her own. Once we've done the job we came for, and once the fast stuff has done their tap dance, we're going to nail some of that battleship butt to our own yardarm.''
That got a cheer in the CIC that echoed through the ship.
''Transports, this is convoy lead. You are cleared to begin a deceleration burn on my mark. You will make one partial orbit of Wardhaven before accelerating for Jump Point Alpha or Beta.''
That got Sandy several different levels of remarks from sincere thanks to reeking sarcasm to ''Who'd be crazy enough to mess with Beta?''
When silence returned, she said simply, ''My mark is in five, four, three, two, one. Mark.''
Beside her, the transports began their burns. Ahead of her, the Naval task forces began the same burn even as the Halsey did likewise. As one, civilian, Navy, Naval volunteers, all slowed to fall away from the station into a lower orbit that would swing them around Wardhaven and out into space. While the transports applied straight deceleration vectors, the Navy ships did some fancy footwork. They not only slowed but tucked themselves in close to the civilians, much closer than the five kilometers allowed by defunct Society regulations and insurance companies. But there was a war on, and hard times called for hard risks.
There were exceptions. The last two ships in Task Force Custer, the half-loaded container ships, waited a moment to begin the descent burn, waited until the end of the transport column was even with them, then did their burn with a bit of a wiggle as well and fell in line, unnoticed by those busy keeping station.
Since Sandy wasn't looking in that direction, she failed to notice the other exception. Three armed runabouts, the ones Kris had designated Division 7, started their burn, but their club leader spotted the lack of burn by the two container ships and thought they might need help. Then he thought it might be fun to join them in whatever it was they were doing. Three more runabouts joining the mob of yachts and runabouts at the end of the transport line were hardly noticeable, even if these did have rocket launchers welded to their skin.
Kris watched the station fall away. She'd done that so many times as she rode the elevator down. This was different. Today, home wasn't at the other end of this ride. Today she was headed for a fight that would either leave her planet still free or slagged and enslaved. Either end might leave her and a lot of the people she loved dead.
There wasn't any other choice, she told herself. I hate that option, she added. If I live through this, I swear to God that I will do everything within my power to never be left with no other choice ever again. I will have choices. I will make my own decisions, and not because I'm in a box with no good place left to go.
Kris rode the PF-109 as Wardhaven's gravity swung it around and slung it at Milna.
Contact: -5 hours 25 minutes
''Admiral, the convoyed liners are coming around Wardhaven,'' the Duty Lieutenant announced.
The Admiral did not look up from his battle board.
''The convoy commander is authorizing the liners to start their burns for jump points. Note the use of the plural, sir.''
''Noted, Lieutenant. Do we know anything about this convoy commander? Where is he located?''
''He appears to be a she, sir. Wardhaven has one destroyer in system. The Halsey, sir, is commanded by a woman.''
''One of their Amazons, huh,'' grunted Saris. ''Maybe she will escort the liners right out of the system. Assure that they are safe, huh.''
''I would rather hear more about their use of multiple jump points. Is anyone heading for Jump Point Barbie?''
''We can not yet tell, sir.''
''Let me know immediately.''
The Admiral drummed his fingers on the battle board. It showed him his six battleships on a vector that now passed between High Wardhaven and the planet. He'd have to adjust his deceleration at some point. What held his attention was a formless glob of electromagnetic flux crossing the face of Wardhaven. ''Can you get me a visual or radar picture?''
''Radar is still being jammed, sir.''
''A convoy of luxury liners is jamming our radar!''
''So intel tells us, sir.''
''Get me the best visual you can on the screen. Have they started boosting? Can't we spot their engine burns?''
''They're boosting at a ninety-degree angle, sir.''
''Get me an infrared.''
''They're working on it, sir, but it comes back all fuzzy.''
''Fuzzy? Will someone put something on-screen for me to use my own MK I eyeball on? Saris, get that data up here.''
Minutes later, the Admiral stood, hands behind his back, and paced between two different screens.
''It is very confusing, sir,'' Saris said.
''Yes, it is. Infrared is all fuzzy. The laser range finders are confused. This looks like a string of merchant liners. First ship looks like a Sovereign-class. Next in line has to be a standard Pride series type. But the electromagnetic signals from the next ship are confusing. The laser return has strange echoes, and the infrared is off.''
''At least they are not headed for us, sir,'' the Duty Lieutenant said. ''They are all headed for Jump Point Adele.''
''And these,'' the Admiral said, pointing to a small group at the tag end of the line.
''They seem to be a bit off course, sir.''
''Let me know when you figure out what course they are on.''
The Duty Lieutenant nodded. Then his eyes went out of focus as he listened to his commlink. ''Say again,'' he said, then swallowing hard, ''Ah, sir, intel thinks the stray ships are heading for Jump Point Barbie.''