Battlecruiser Alamo: Operation Damocles Page 16

   Nodding, Kilquan said, “I presume the local government has proven so supportive of this mission that they have delegated all responsibility to you.” With a thin smile, he added, “I further presume that you will have no objection to my contacting them to discuss certain strategic details.”

   Orlova looked at Ixtab for a second, before replying, “I have discussed this plan with the government, and they rejected it. Their concerns are for the safety of their fighters, I understand.”

   “Cowards,” Deveraux said, shaking his head. “We're willing to risk our necks. All they have to do is sit in their office and claim all the credit later. That's not so damned hard, is it?” Looking at Kilquan, he said, “We're going anyway. Regardless of what they said. Is that clear?”

   “Crystal clear, Lieutenant,” Kilquan said with a smile. “I take it this explains the shipment of Koltoc components to Alamo over the last few hours?”

   “It does,” Ixtab said. “I've authorized our involvement in this mission, Colonel, and will take all the responsibility for it.”

   “I don't care about the responsibility,” he replied, shaking his head. “Have you thought this through?” Gesturing at Orlova, he added, “They're not going to blame the Confederates for this, but us. President Wulf will use this to push her agenda.”

   “If she does,” Orlova replied, “I will make it clear that this mission was originated by my personnel, and that our people flew on the mission.” Looking at Salazar, she added, “That's the main reason I'm letting you go, Pavel.”

   Shaking his head, Kilquan said, “You amaze me, Captain. Most would attempt to use this situation for their own advantage, or simply walk away and allow another to solve this problem. I confess I would find the latter solution especially satisfactory in this case.”

   “Captain Orlova,” Ixtab said, “has suggested that a trade treaty between the Commonwealth and the Confederation is highly likely. That would open up many new possibilities, expand our trade routes as never before. I think that the Guilds would be more than happy to take a few risks with such a substantial reward on offer.”

   Nodding, Kilquan replied, “I agree.” He looked at Orlova, and said, “I must confess, against my better judgment I confess that I have found your strategic and tactical instincts good so far. My squadron will take its place in the battle plan.” Turning to Ixtab with a smile, he added, “And I will station a few engineers to assist you in the maintenance schedule on the fighters. It will be rather less likely for anyone on the ground to realize what we are planning that way.”

   “And what of the Neander, Colonel Skeuros,” Orlova asked.

   “You have to ask?” he said. “Captain, my people have been living on a knife-edge for decades. Sooner or later, someone will bring us down, whether it be the Xandari, the Koltoc, or the Coalition. Anything that can improve the odds of our survival is work taking a risk.” He looked at Kilquan, and said, “I can work with you, Colonel, at least this far. Though if the situation deteriorates, I will have to think of my people first.”

   “I understand,” Orlova replied. “In your place, I'd feel the same way.”

   The Koltoc frowned for a second, then held out his hand. The Neander grasped it, and the two former enemies stared at each other, as though hunting for a trace of weakness, a sign of deception, before nodding and releasing their mutual grip.

   “Already you have done what I considered to be impossible,” Ixtab said. “After that, I think bringing down the Xandari base will be simple indeed.”

   “When do we launch the attack?” Kilquan asked.

   “In fifty-two hours,” Deveraux replied, shaking his head. “More wasted time. If those fools down there had approved the mission, we'd be sitting in our cockpits right now. Instead we've got to sneak around.”

   “That won't necessarily do any harm,” Skeuros replied. “If we can lull the Xandari into a false sense of security, so much the better. It'll buy us time to get the Random Walk ready for battle, as well.” He shook his head, and said, “You've got some good engineers, Captain, though I admit I've never seen a ship in such a tangled mess. I'll be glad to get her back to our shipyards.”

   “Once the base has been reduced,” Orlova added, “We'll leave a small garrison behind, and Alamo will head back to Confederation space...”

   “With representatives from both of our governments,” Ixtab interrupted.

   “Certainly, as well as those from Copernicus if they wish.” Shaking her head, Orlova added, “I understand they're still working on narrowing down the shortlist.”

   With a smile, Kilquan said, “An assignment that would make the appointee's career. I'm not surprised there's a lot of competition for the job.”

   “In any case, we'll head back to Yeager Station and bring up our attack fleet. We expect to return in four months, give or take.” Shaking her head, she added, “Naturally, we'll come as quickly as we can.”

   “And you are confident that your government will approve the mission?” Skeuros asked.

   “I know Commodore Marshall,” she replied. “He'll come. You can bet your life on it.”

   “We are. That's why I'm nervous. Nevertheless, I'll accept your word.” Looking at the Koltoc, he added, “I recommend one from each of our squadrons remain as garrison, to supplement the squadrons. And that we agree to return here in four months, to meet the Triplanetary Fleet, with all the strength we can muster.”

   “Agreed,” Kilquan said, shaking his head. “And I never thought I'd be making such an undertaking with a pirate.”

   Nodding, Orlova tapped on her datapad, and said, “Now that we have an agreement, we'd better get to the fine detail. Lieutenant, perhaps you would begin with your projected mission plan?”

  Chapter 19

   The bride looked both beautiful and nervous, walking towards her fiance at the altar, her father by her side. Salazar glanced down the row of seats, looking at the other pilots of Lieutenant Ryan's squadron, all wearing the blues of their dress uniforms. He stood out in the stark black Triplanetary dress, Harper sitting on his right. When he'd arrived at the church an hour ago, he'd been astounded to find that he'd been seated with the other pilots, well away from the Triplanetary contingent.

   While he waited for the priest to continue, he glanced around the room. Most of the right side of the church was filled with Koltoc, a scattering of uniforms amid the civilian suits. The marriage of the daughter of the leading representative of the Commonwealth on Copernicus was enough of an event to have brought them all out, even at such short notice. A pair of Neander sat at the back, Colonel Skeuros and General Kelot, invited largely as a diplomatic gesture.

   Triplanetary uniforms almost outnumbered Copernican on the other side of the room, Orlova, Cooper, Bradley and Duqusene all present with a gaggle of crewmen, including the entire medical staff. Salazar frowned, realizing that this was the first time he'd ever seen the doctor wearing her dress uniform. She caught his eye, flashing a scowl at him, but somehow he got the sense that she didn't really mean it.

   Commander Ryan, the groom's father, was nowhere in evidence. Nor were any other senior members of the local military, though the cluster of empty chairs at the rear, the aftermath of some hasty rearrangement of the guest list, testified to the ignored invitations. Not that this was affecting the groom's enjoyment of the event. He'd never seen anyone smile quite so widely before, and he glanced at Harper, shaking his head.

   He still wasn't sure quite how they'd drifted into a relationship. Certainly they'd grown close, and certainly he admired and respected her, knew that they made a good team. She glanced at him, and he smiled. It didn't matter how it happened. He was just glad that it had. Somehow it felt right. Reaching across, he took her hand, gave it a slight squeeze, and settled back into his chair.

   “And now,” the priest said, “we can proceed to the reading of the vows.”

   The door burst open behind th
em, and Commander Ryan stepped in, a panic-stricken aide by his side. Salazar glanced at Cooper, who gestured at a few of his troopers to stand ready. None of them would be armed, of course, not here, but Triplanetary unarmed combat training was the envy of local space.

   “Stop this at once,” Ryan demanded. “I haven't given any approval for this farce.”

   “You don't have to,” the priest said, stepping forward, fury on his face. “Michael is twenty-three, his bride nineteen, both of them over the age of majority. I have known both of these people since they were born, christened them both right here in this church, and in my judgment they are ready for matrimony.”

   In the distance, Salazar could hear rhythmic chanting, and turned in his seat to see a crowd gathering outside, placards and banners waving in the breeze. He glanced at Harper, and the two of them rose to their feet, along with all the other Triplanetary, Koltoc and Neander military in the room. A toothy grin appeared on Skeuros' face as he balled his hands into a fist, stepping from his seat towards them.

   “None of you have any rights here,” Ryan said, looking around the room. “This is my son, and he's making the greatest mistake of his life in marrying that...” he glared at Itzel, “thing.”

   Looking at her intended, Itzel stepped forward, and said, “You vicious, brutal, savage fool. Can't you understand that this is meant to be a joyous day, a celebration?” Looking at Michael, she continued, “I love your son, and he loves me. Both because of our similarities and our differences. If you think your mindless bigotry can keep us apart, you're mistaken.”

   Nodding, the groom said, “I didn't invite you, and this is why. Perhaps one day you'll be able to celebrate what we have here, but I don't care. I never want to see you again, and as far as I'm concerned, I have no father.”

   “Captain,” Ryan said, turning to Orlova, “in the name of my government...”

   “If your actions are in the name of your government, then the Triplanetary Confederation will have nothing to do with it. I wouldn't intervene if the President herself arrived.”

   “Please leave,” the priest said. “I expect to see you for confession soon, Eric, and if I were you, I would expect it to be a long session.”

   Ryan looked around the room, guests closing in on him, before shaking his head and walking out of the door, muttering something under his breath. Outside, the crowd grew louder, and the priest quietly whispered something to the bride and groom before turning back to the assembled guests.

   “Hopefully there will be no further interruptions, and we can continue with the ceremony.” Turning to Michael, he said, “Michael and Itzel, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage? Will you love and honor each other as husband and wife for the rest of your lives?”

   “I will,” he said.

   “I will,” she added.

   “Michael, the next step is for you,” the smiling priest said.

   “I, Michael, take you, Itzel, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

   Looking up at him, her eyes twinkling, Itzel replied, “I, Itzel, take you, Michael, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

   Deveraux passed a small box to his friend, who opened it to reveal a pair of identical silver rings, writing in two languages inscribed upon them. The priest took the box, looked down, and passed them to the couple, who carefully placed them on each other's fingers. The growing chanting outside drowned out the words, but that didn't seem to spoil the moment, and as the couple kissed, he joined the surging applause, roaring away in a bid to defeat the hateful noise from outside. The two turned to the crowd, and the applause grew, louder and louder, until finally a gesture from Michael silenced them.

   “Normally I'd say this at the reception,” he began, “but I don't think we're going to be having one today. Thank you all for coming, and for being a part of this special day.” Turning to his wife, he continued, “The happiest day of my life.”

   “Our lives,” Itzel corrected.

   “It means a lot to me that you, friends old and new, were here, and I,” he paused, then said, “I mean we, thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”

   Salazar joined in the second wave of applause, then rose to his feet, making his way to the rear of the room, looking through the doors. Cooper joined him, the two of them sharing a look of concern before turning to the approaching Orlova.

   “I make fifty people,” Salazar said. “None of them armed, at least not obviously, but it's a messy situation, Captain. Has anyone called the police?”

   “As soon as that crowd started to gather,” Cooper replied. “The dispatcher suggested that there might be a delay in their arrival.” Shaking his head, he said, “Odds are he never even passed the message on. Someone got to him first. Ryan, probably.”

   The priest stepped forward, and said, “Is this a private conspiracy, or can anyone join in?”

   “I'm sorry, Father,” Salazar said. “We're trying to work out how we can get everyone out of here. I don't think the police are coming any time soon.”

   “Who needs them?” he replied. “Open the doors, lad. I'll talk to them myself.”

   Cooper looked at Salazar, and said, “Father, if they rush us, we can't guarantee your safety.”

   Turning to him with a smile, the priest said, “Son, I've got someone with a lot more firepower than you watching my back. Take my word for it, or His. Now please, open the doors.”

   Shaking his head, Cooper pushed the door open, and the father stepped forward, the crowd screaming their chants as he emerged, those at the front starting to surge towards them. Salazar took a cautious step towards the priest, ready to pull him back, no matter what he might say.

   “What do you think you are doing?” the priest shouted, his voice booming across the street. “This is a house of God, you miserable sinners, and it is he you are attacking today.” Looking at a woman near the front, waving a placard in the air calling for 'Koltocs Out', he said, “Magda, I christened your daughter in this church three months ago. What sort of an example are you setting for her?” Pointing at a shame-faced man, he said, “Raul, I was with your father when he died. Do you think he would be proud of you today?”

   From somewhere in the crowd, a voice replied, “We just fought off one bunch of invaders, and these vermin are worse than they are! They're stealing our world, corrupting our children, and they won't rest until they enslave us all!” The crowd cheered, a noise that chilled Salazar to the bone.

   Pointing inside, the priest said, “Do you think the young couple in there are enslaving you? A boy who serves in the Orbital Guard, fighting to defend you, and the young woman who helped to build the ships he flies? Are these your enemies?” Shaking his head, he said, “You're letting your fear override your own good sense, and you're better than that. All of you.”

   The crowd fidgeted, shuffling around, and Salazar stepped forward, saying, “The real enemy is still out there, up in orbit. The Xandari are your enemies, not the Koltoc. They've helped build your cities, given of themselves. Some of them live among you, have fought alongside you. Is this really the time to tear yourselves apart?”

   “What do you know, outworlder?” a voice asked from the rear.

   “I know what I've seen with my own eyes. People like Lieutenant Ryan putting themselves on the line to protect you from attack.” Shaking his head, he said, “If all you can do with the liberty the Guard gave you, paid for in blood, is spout hatred and fear, then they've given their lives in vain, and all of their sacrifice was for nothing.”

   “Go home,” the priest said, shaking his head. “Go, and sin no more.”

   Slowly, cautiously, the crowd dispersed, breaking and heading b
ack down the streets, a low murmur of protest as they went. Those who had spoken loudest were the first to leave, agitators placed in the crowd, more than likely, hoping to create an incident. Michael stepped forward, shaking the hand of the priest, then turning to Salazar.

   “I owe you both,” he said, shaking his head. “We both do.”

   “Buy me a drink the next time we're in the bar,” Salazar said.

   “And that goes for me as well,” the priest replied, turning to him. “I don't think we've actually met, have we? Father Sean Flannery.”

   “Pavel Salazar. Lieutenant. And Gabriel Cooper,” he said, “and Kristen Harper. Also Lieutenant.”

   “A pleasure to meet such redoubtable warriors,” he replied. “Don't judge these people too harshly. They're being misled by a group of miserable demagogues who care more about winning an election than the chaos they're leaving in their wake.” With a sigh, he said, “I fear for the future, gentlemen, unless they can be brought to heel. At least the election will be over with soon, and perhaps this bunch of worthless fools will be cast down to where they belong.” He looked around, and smiled, “Out of office, of course. I wouldn't presume to judge any further.”

   “Mike, I'd like to suggest that you take your honeymoon up on Alamo,” Cooper suggested. “There's a shuttle at Outpost Three, and my wife's got to go up anyway to join the squadron. It might be safer than staying down here.” Looking at Itzel, he added, “Besides, we need every engineer we can get up there.” Salazar locked eyes with Michael, both of them knowing what that would mean. The strike would be launched in two hours, and if all went well, Alamo would be leaving the system a few hours after that. The pilot glanced at his wife, biting his lip, until the priest placed his hand on his shoulder.

   “It would be for the best, I think,” Flannery said, looking at the pilots. “I presume you'll be going into action soon, then.”