It would have been nice to make contact with the locals and promise support, maybe collect some information from them, but they’d been specifically ordered not to attempt anything of the sort. The Imperial Navy didn’t seem to be paying attention to a damaged bulk freighter that was limping towards Jackson’s Folly — perhaps assuming that they could deal with her long before she reached the planet — yet that could change, if the Imperial Navy felt that it had a reason to look. The stealthed platforms and probes they’d launched, if they were detected, would mark the Sidonie out as an espionage ship. His lips twitched. Besides, there was no hope — as far as the enemy knew — of escape. The bulk freighter design took hours to power up its flicker drive.
Ninety-nine percent of combat operations, he’d been told when he’d started to train at the Academy, was nothing, but solid boredom. The life of a gunboat crew was normally anything but… yet now, he was bored. It was, by any standard, the most successful recon mission of his life… and yet, it wasn’t exciting. He hadn’t jumped into the system and weaved a random evasive course while using his sensors to plot out targets, leaving enemy pursuit in the dust when he triggered his flicker drive and jumped out again. Markus looked over at Carola and smiled to himself. They’d known that when they qualified as a gunboat crew — and as husband and wife — that they might die together. It had been considered better than one of them living to mourn the other.
“The monitor is flickering back to the world,” Carola said, suddenly. They’d noted the arrival of a monitor in the asteroid belt, something that had puzzled him until they’d realised that it was visiting the fabrication ship for resupply. How many KEWs had they dropped? He’d never heard of a monitor shooting itself dry before, even during the most intensive combat operations. And there were no less than six monitors — perhaps more — in orbit around Jackson’s Folly. How much fighting was there on the planetary surface?
The thought made him wince. The human race had largely abandoned armies since it had climbed into space, for no organised army could survive when the enemy controlled the high orbitals. The First Interstellar War had been fought out in space, with worlds bombarded with everything from asteroids to radioactive bombs and biological weapons. Even the Blackshirts were more of an occupation force than a real army, while the Marines were a precision unit. Just how bad was it down on the surface? He shook his head. The Blackshirts, he knew, deserved little sympathy. They deserved death, or worse.
“I think we’ve pushed our luck far enough,” he said, finally. The Sidonie was on the verge of crossing the security line surrounding the planet. The Imperial Navy would definitely send a ship to investigate their arrival now. “Shall we go?”
The Geeks had also redesigned the interior of the freighter, reasoning that they might be able to prevent the gravity compression caused by the flicker drive from destroying the ship. Markus settled down in his chair, checked that Carola was ready, and then powered up the drive. A moment later, they were gone from the system, leaving a mystery behind for the Imperial Navy. It wouldn’t puzzle them for long.
From three light years away, Jackson’s Folly was completely indistinguishable from any other star, just another steady pinprick of light shining out in the darkness. The sight left Colin feeling oddly homesick, even though he had never been back home since he’d taken the oath at the Academy. He still remembered the child within who had gazed up on the stars and wanted to be out there among them.
His wristcom buzzed. “Sir, we have a full download from the gunboat,” his Flag Captain said. “The targeting patterns have not changed significantly, but there are some additional targets in the system. I request permission to deploy the battlecruisers to go after their manufacturing ship.”
“Granted,” Colin said. He smiled as a thought struck him. “Tell them to try to take it intact if possible.”
He took one last look at the stars and turned, heading out of the observation blister. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Order the fleet to begin jump preparation. It’s time to go to war.”
Chapter Thirty
“So I have sent to Camelot for additional support,” Angelika concluded. The conference had only been going on for ten minutes and she was already sick of it. Imperial Navy regulations insisted on all squadron commanders holding a conference with their subordinates regularly, yet she much preferred social gatherings on her flagship. At least they could have shared a meal as well as a long chat. “I’m sure that Admiral Percival will see the justice of our cause.”
There were some hastily-hidden smiles. No one seriously expected Admiral Percival to be motivated by anything resembling justice. It was more likely that he would consider how each possible decision would affect his own career before making up his mind. Angelika would have condemned that, but then… every Imperial Navy officer would probably make the same calculation. She probably would too, if she ever reached such rarefied heights. It was such a long way to fall.
“Until then, we will continue to support the troops on the ground and patrol the asteroids, hoping to locate their hidden bases,” she said. “I think that…”
She looked up in alarm as the GQ alert echoed though her ship. “All hands to battle stations,” her XO said. “Set condition one throughout the ship. Captain to the bridge; I say again, Captain to the bridge.”
Angelika scowled. She had chosen to hold the conference in her cabin as it allowed her to chance to be more relaxed and informal. She should have known better, she told herself as she broke the link and grabbed for her jacket, pulling it on and following it with the white hat that signified supreme command. The wags in the fleet called it the Worry Hat. The bastards, in her opinion, were quite right. She checked her appearance quickly and walked swiftly — not running, the ship’s commander could not be seen running — onto the bridge.
“I have the bridge,” she said, as the hatch hissed closed behind her. No one saluted or stood to attention, something that was not permitted during battle stations. “XO; report.”
“We have multiple hostile starships flickering into the system,” her XO reported. Angelika took the command chair and studied the main display. The glowing red icons representing nine superdreadnaughts — and a handful of supporting ships — were positioned in front of her. For a moment, she wondered if Brent-Cochrane had been permitted to return to Jackson’s Folly, but the IFF signals didn’t match. She was looking at the rebel superdreadnaughts. “I confirm nine superdreadnaughts, nineteen cruisers of varying design and four ships of unidentified purpose.”
Angelika pulled the data up on her personal terminal and frowned. The rebel superdreadnaughts were the ones Commander Walker had successfully hijacked, but the battle computers couldn’t put a name to the other ships. That suggested that they were from the Rim or the Beyond, where the Imperial Navy had lost quite a few smaller ships to mutiny — or perhaps they had simply been sold off by corrupt Imperial Navy contractors. She had urged Admiral Percival to hold a full investigation into the contractors within the system, but nothing had come of it, probably because the contractors were closely linked to the Roosevelt Family and it would only cause embarrassment. Or, perhaps, the Admiral himself was stealing the ships and selling them off. The irony made her smile. Admiral Percival was actually less corrupt than some of the other officers nearer the Core Worlds.