Cauldron of Fire (Blood on the Stars Book 5) Page 24

  Stockton was almost disappointed she hadn’t taken the bait. He didn’t want any relationships. No anchors. He would avenge his friend, or he would die in the attempt. Jake Stockton no longer existed, save as the memory of a fool who thought he could be both a man and the angel of death.

  “Stara…” He turned and looked at her. “The Commodore wants to see me…I’m perfectly capable of attending that meeting without a minder.” He wanted her to go away, to leave him to his misery. She was trying to help, he understood that, but her kindness mocked him, and her soft, caring words clawed at his ears. He wasn’t fit to deal with others, and certainly not her.

  He could see in her expression that he’d hurt her, but he also knew she’d never admit it, nor even give him the satisfaction of angrily lashing out. “Fine,” she said simply, clearly making a herculean effort to keep the emotion from her voice. “I’ll see to prepping the shuttle for the return trip. Unless you plan to float back.”

  “Thank you,” he said, trying to soften his tone, with somewhat mixed success.

  He turned away and walked across the bay, toward the lift doors, stepping inside as they opened. He made his way as he’d been directed, to the office Barron had been using when aboard the massive station. A pair of Marines stood outside the door, at rigid attention. Probably posing for the Alliance officers. Any Palatian commander worth his salt had guards posted at his door, as much a sign of rank and status as a true security measure. Though with all the talk of traitors on Sentinel-2…

  “Commander Stockton,” he said to the Marine with sergeant’s stripes. “Commodore Barron sent for me.”

  “Yes, Commander. We have orders to admit you at once.” The bulky Marine moved to the side as the door opened.

  Stockton stepped inside. The room was large, with a high ceiling, certainly a bit of plush luxury in the usually cramped confines of a spaceship or space station. No doubt the Alliance is trying to impress the cap…commodore. Barron was seated at a desk on the far side, his face focused on one of the three screens.

  Barron remained where he was for perhaps fifteen seconds more. Then he looked up and saw Stockton.

  “Oh, Jake…please, come in.” He stood up, moving around the table and interrupting Stockton’s clumsy attempt at a salute with an outstretched hand. “No salutes, not now. Let’s just talk, two old comrades. Friends.” He gestured toward one of the guest chairs as he returned to his own seat.

  Stockton hesitated for a few seconds. Then he replied, “Thank you, sir.” He sat down, looking rather uncomfortable, he suspected.

  “Jake, there are no words. I grieve with you. Kyle Jamison was an extraordinary man, and no one will ever replace him.”

  “No, sir. No one could ever take his place.”

  Barron let out a breath, suddenly looking uncomfortable himself. “Nevertheless, I do have to replace him.” He paused. “It’s perhaps the hardest part of command, but mourning friends is a luxury…and keeping Dauntless at full combat readiness is a necessity.”

  “Yes, sir…I understand.” He did, too, at least intellectually. But he was glad he didn’t have to worry about picking someone to fill Jamison’s shoes so soon.

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, Commander. Because there is only one choice for the job in my mind—and Commander Travis agrees.”

  Stockton hadn’t been entirely focused on the subject, but suddenly his stomach tightened. He’d had no idea what Barron was suggesting…until suddenly it hit him. “Sir, I…”

  “I need you to take over the strike force command, Jake. Dauntless needs you.”

  “Commodore, I’m honored, I really am, but I can’t. I just can’t.”

  Barron took a deep breath and exhaled. “You have to, Jake. You know it.”

  “I can’t, Commodore. I just can’t watch more of them die, not while executing my commands. Ice, Typhoon, Thunder…and dozens of others. All gone.”

  “And how many more will die if I have to appoint someone less qualified, less capable? Yes, pilots will die under you if you’re strike force commander…but how many might live, who would otherwise have died? You know it in your heart, Jake. And you know this is how Kyle would have wanted it.”

  The last sentence hit Stockton like a sledgehammer. How could he refuse now? He couldn’t even lie to himself. Kyle would have wanted him to have the job. He’d said as much.

  “Sir, I’m not command material. A squadron, yes, but the whole strike force?” But even as he still argued, he knew it was over. Barron had cornered him, the instant he’d brought Jamison into it.

  “I have known few men who are more fit for command than you, Commander. You may be a bit unorthodox, but you have what it takes.” He paused. “Consider yourself strike force commander, effective immediately. I will let you announce it to the pilots, but if you want me to say something to them, you only have to ask.”

  “Yes, sir,” Stockton said, trying to hide the despair he felt. With little success, he knew.

  He took a deep, ragged breath. He would do what Barron had commanded. He would lead the squadrons the best he could. But he would still hunt down that pilot. He would still blast Jamison’s killer into dust.

  Or end up dust himself.

  * * *

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I wanted to discuss…”

  “You wanted to discuss Commander Tulus. I could see you were distressed from the start of this whole sorry affair, Commodore Barron, though I must confess to some surprise. Tulus gave you nothing but grief. I would have thought you’d find his treason easy to believe.” Vennius’s tone was somber. It was clear he was still upset by the whole business.

  “That is true. Vian Tulus did not easily accept me, but we came together in battle. Tulus came to me, sought my forgiveness, confessed his error. It takes a man of strength and honor to behave that way. We came to know each other rather well on the journey back. Though I do not use this term lightly, and almost never on those of such short acquaintance, I came to call him my friend.”

  “You’re a good man, Commodore. You and I made our way through our differences as well, to something I daresay is also friendship. Vian Tulus was my comrade through many battles. I do not easily accept his treason…but I do accept it. The evidence is damning, and Tulus has offered no defense. There were only six of you in that room, assuming we can all agree that I, myself, am not sabotaging my own cause. The Union is your enemy, and they back Calavius, which places you beyond suspicion… So, who then? Longinus turned up no evidence pointing to anyone else. And Tulus contacted Palatia just before he departed.” Vennius looked down, a sad look coming over his face. “I executed the death warrant this morning. We must make an example of him, and there can be no other punishment for betrayal, no thought of mercy.”

  Barron shifted back and forth on his feet. He couldn’t challenge Vennius’s decision, and he had no argument to make, save he simply didn’t believe Tulus was guilty. But a death sentence, so quickly? “Sir…”

  “Not now, Commodore. I know you find it difficult to accept this sorry incident. But there is no arguing with the facts.” A short pause. “And we have no time to discuss this further now. I have more important matters to speak of to you.”

  Barron’s head snapped up, his eyes finding Vennius’s. He had no idea what the Imperator was talking about.

  “You know, Commodore, that I also have my sources in the enemy camp. Though they are sadly less well-placed than Calavius’s was, they are still useful. I have received intelligence reports. Calavius’s forces are on the move, massing for a major attack.”

  “Sentinel-2?”

  “Yes.” Barron suddenly fully heard the fatigue in the Imperator’s voice. “He is planning to end the war in a single massive battle…and he will succeed. I am too old a soldier to lie to myself. My people will fight with great courage, I have no doubt of that. But the mathematics of war will assert themselves.” He looked up. “Even the new Confederation ships you haven’t told me about ye
t will be insufficient to alter that reality.”

  Barron shook his head slowly. Vennius never ceased to surprise him. He’d only gotten the communique from Striker hours before, and he’d planned to tell the Imperator as soon as he’d made his plea for Tulus. But clearly there is no need…

  “Yes, sir…four more battleships, two of the new ones, and two older ones, of similar specifications to Dauntless.”

  “Very few ships are similar to that battleship of yours, Commodore.”

  Barron had to hold back a smile. He didn’t particularly care for personal praise, but kudos directed to his crew and his ship—and though he would soon command a fleet of seven battleships, Dauntless would always be his—were a weakness.

  “Thank you, sir. But if Calavius has managed to consolidate control over the rest of the Alliance fleet, you are right. Even my reinforcements will be inadequate.”

  “You strike at the heart of it, Commodore. I have considered every tactic I know. Unless Calavius’s forces fight very poorly—and they are Alliance warriors all, so that is a very unlikely scenario—we are doomed.” He paused. “I do not say what I am about to say to impugn your honor in any way, my friend, nor to suggest that the desperation of our plight is too much for you. But, perhaps you should lead your ships back to Confederation space, Tyler. The help is welcome, and greatly appreciated, but if they cannot make the difference, keeping them in the line is little better than throwing them away. You may find them better utilized to begin building a defense against Calavius’s ultimate invasion of the Confederation.”

  Barron bristled at the idea of running off and leaving his ally. If anyone else had said the words, he’d have been offended. But he knew Vennius was only speaking the truth. Tactically, strategically…it made no sense to throw his ships away, and especially not when their loss would leave the Rim frontier naked to invasion.

  “I will not leave you, Tarkus. Not while you draw breath or a single ship remains under your flag.”

  “I have begun to suspect your parentage, my friend. You grandfather’s renown of course preceded you here, but I have become convinced there is Palatian blood in you somehow. You have the true spirit of a warrior, my friend, but I must repeat—there is nothing to be gained by the loss of your fleet. And if you remain here, alongside my ships, you will only succeed in being overwhelmed.”

  Barron opened his mouth, but then he closed it. There was an idea, a wild, crazy gambit, one he’d tried to discount. But it grew despite his efforts, and as it did, in those few seconds of silence, he became convinced. It was the way out, the desperate gamble that offered at least some scant hope of success. Of victory.

  “Calavius achieved his dominant position because he has Palatia, because he dominates all the communications lines emanating from there, correct? That is how he was able to discredit you, to spread propaganda and rally the other commanders to his cause.”

  “Yes. He knew that, of course, which was why his resources were all deployed in the capital. That’s why it’s taken him so long to consolidate. He was able to use his control of communications to discredit me, to rally fleet units to his side, but it took much longer for him to get truly loyal followers in position from Palatia.”

  “So, if you’d been able to hold Palatia, you would likely have the upper hand now?”

  “If I had been able to hold Palatia, this entire sorry affair would have been over before it began, and Calavius would be a dead traitor instead of a victorious usurper.” Vennius looked confused. “But what does that have to do with our current situation? I was barely able to escape from Palatia. Holding the planet would have been impossible.”

  “I wasn’t talking about what has already passed.”

  Vennius stared back. “So, what are you proposing?”

  “That we take it back.”

  Vennius’s gazed was fixed on Barron for a few seconds. Then he leaned back and let out a deep laugh. “This is no time for humor, my friend, but it has been long since I’ve laughed.”

  “I intended no humor.” Barron’s stare was cold, his voice firm. “I am deadly serious. I propose that I lead my fleet there, that I take control of the planet, and we retask the communications networks to get your message out. No doubt it is too late to persuade everyone, but I have no doubt there are officers out there prepared to believe what you say…if only they can hear it. They are operating on one side’s story only. Perhaps we can change that.”

  “Tyler, that’s impossible. First, an attack force would have to consist of Alliance forces. If a foreign fleet attacked the capital, everyone there would fight to the death…children, the old and infirm. Even the dying in the hospitals would rise from their beds to fight a foreign invader. But all of that is moot, because we don’t have the capacity to launch such a strike. Calavius has taken the better part of a year to mass his superior forces against Sentinel-2. You would have us attack an even stronger target with less than one third the ships he will hurl at us here?” Vennius paused, looking as though in spite of all he’d said, he was considering what Barron had proposed. “No, it’s just not possible. Even apart from the massive fleet units stationed there, Palatia’s orbital defenses are massive. Attacking battleships would be destroyed before they could close to attack range.”

  “Alliance battleships would be destroyed.” Barron waited, watching as the dawn of understanding appeared in Vennius’s gaze. “Palatia’s defenses outrange your battleships’ guns, not mine. I’d wager my primaries can hit those orbital platforms before they can fire. If I’m right, we can chop them all to scrap before they even get a shot at us.” He stared right at Vennius. “And with your Alliance ships massed here, giving all signs to any remaining spies that you are preparing a last-ditch defense, Calavius will come here with all he has to finish this thing between you. He will leave Palatia lightly defended. In his arrogance, he will never imagine that we would make such a bold strike. We can surprise him, and take Palatia by a coup de main.”

  Vennius didn’t say anything for a long while. He just looked back at Barron, as if he was struggling to wrap his head around all he had heard. Finally, he nodded. “I considered every plan I could conceive, my friend, even ordering battleships to make suicide runs. But your bit of pure audacity never occurred to me. It’s insanity, a wild gamble…but it offers us something no other strategy can. A chance.”

  “Then, you will give the authorization?”

  “Yes.” Vennius paused. “Though never in my life did I imagine I would ever allow, even aid, a foreign force to take the capital.” Another hesitation. “I will have to keep most of my ships here to maintain the deception, and to lure Calavius in…but you will have to have an Alliance contingent with you. If you send Confederation Marines down alone to seize key objectives, they will face fanatical resistance at every turn. This must be a joint operation. You must have Alliance troopers with you. It is the only way.”

  Barron nodded. “I agree.”

  Vennius looked down, frowning suddenly. “But how will we explain the disappearance of your ships? Calavius’s spies will surely be watching them. As arrogant a fool as he is, he surely knows by now how capable your vessels are in a fight.”

  “That is the simplest part of the plan, my friend.” Barron smiled. “We will use Calavius’s arrogance against him. We will employ the stratagem you, yourself, suggested.”

  Vennius look at Barron, confused.

  “My ships will leave. Defeat here is assured, and we have a border to protect. My forces will withdraw through the transit point leading toward home, then we will double back and set a course for Palatia. Calavius will assume we have abandoned you, and he will be even more eager to finish things…and more assured of success.”

  Vennius nodded, a big smile on his face. “Brilliant, my friend. Just brilliant.” He took a breath. “I never expected to be at such long odds that so desperate a plan would seem like salvation. But we are where we are.” Another pause. “By all means, Commodore. Put your preparations in
motion.”

  Barron nodded. “Yes, sir…” He hesitated. “I have one request…”

  “Anything, Tyler. What do you want?”

  “I want to see Vian Tulus. I want to see if I can convince him to explain his communication.”

  Vennius frowned. “Your faith in a comrade does you proud, my friend. But…”

  Barron waited, but Vennius’s words died out, and none followed. “Sir, just allow me to see him one time. There is little to lose, and it is all I ask from you.”

  “Very well,” Vennius said, still not sounding happy about it. “I will make the arrangements for you to speak privately with the trai…with Tulus.” A few seconds later: “I hope you understand how this will look, Tyler, how much blowback I will get from my officers.”

  Barron smiled. “It’s a good thing you’re the Imperator then, isn’t it?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Captain’s Log, Andromeda Lafarge, Free Trader Pegasus

  We are approaching our destination, I am sure of it. I have reviewed the data and plotted the system three times. I cannot say if we will find the treasure that we seek, for I have seen too many journeys end in frustration.

  I have tried to remain focused on our expedition, but my thoughts continue to drift to the devastated site we found. Though I still have no convincing evidence to support my conclusions, I am more certain than ever that what we saw were the remains of a Union operation.

  I know their efforts might have been as fruitless as mine may yet prove to be, but my gut tells me otherwise. The scope of the operation, the vastness of the resources deployed—at a time when they have little, if any, to spare—speak of a well-founded lead. I have become convinced they have found something significant, something dangerous.