Dawn Read online

  If regrets could bring back slain officers and soldiers, the brass should be shedding tears by the kiloliter. But ultimately, they would be doing nothing more than playing at sorrow, wouldn’t they?

  “All ships, open fire!”

  Whether that order came before or after, no one could tell. A flash of light strong enough to make people think their retinas had been fried stole the vision of all who were on the bridge.

  With a lag of half an instant, Patroklos’ body was jostled by an explosive burst of energy, then tossed and turned in every direction.

  Noises of things falling over and objects colliding overlapped with screams and shouts of anger. Not even Yang was able to avoid falling down. He took a hard blow to the back and had the wind knocked out of him. As his helmet communicator picked up a chaotic jumble of noises and voices and a fierce flow of air from the surrounding area, Yang straightened out his breathing and covered his sightless eyes with the palms of his hands—protecting them, albeit after the fact.

  And who needed a dressing-down over that one? Failing to adjust the screens’ photoflux capacity was not an easy blunder to forgive. If this kind of thing kept happening, it would be a wonder if they didn’t lose.

  “… this is aft turret! Bridge, please respond. Awaiting orders!”

  “—engine room. This is the engine room. Bridge, respond please …”

  At last Yang opened his eyes. An emerald fog hung over his whole field of vision.

  He sat up and noticed the person lying next to him. A thick and sticky, deeply hued fluid covered everything from his mouth down to his chest.

  “Commander,” Yang said in a low voice, staring closely at the vice admiral’s face. He planted both his legs firmly and got to his feet.

  A fissure now ran through one section of bulkhead, and the air pressure was dropping rapidly. It looked like a few who hadn’t had their magnetic boots switched on had been sucked out. The opening, however, was being rapidly sealed by a vaporized bonding agent blown against it from the self-repair system’s operations gun.

  Yang looked around the bridge. This was a mess; hardly anyone was still standing. After confirming that his helmet communicator still worked, Yang started giving out instructions.

  “Commander Paetta is injured. Would a navy surgeon and paramedics come to the bridge, please. Operations officers, find out how badly we’re damaged and begin repairs—you can report in later. Please hurry. Aft turrets, all ships are already in combat, so you shouldn’t need any particular instructions—perform your assigned duties. Engine room: did you say something?”

  “I was worried about things on the bridge, sir. No damage here.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that.” There was a note of sarcasm in his voice. “The bridge is operational, as you can hear. Now I want you to calm down and focus on your duties.”

  He took another look around the bridge.

  “Is there an officer here who isn’t injured?”

  One man stepped forward with a slightly perilous gait. “I’m all right, Commodore.”

  “You are, um …”

  “Lieutenant Commander Lao, of the staff officer team.” The small-eyed, small-nosed face peeking out of the space suit’s helmet looked about the same age as Yang. In addition, two astrogators and one operator raised their hands and stood, but that was all.

  “Nobody else?”

  Yang slapped his helmet over where his cheek was. The Second Fleet’s leadership had been essentially wiped out.

  A naval surgeon came running in with a team of paramedics. Quickly and efficiently, they checked out Vice Admiral Paetta and told Yang that a broken rib had punctured his lung when his chest slammed into the corner of a control panel.

  “He’s had some pretty bad luck,” the doctor opined unnecessarily. On the other hand, one couldn’t deny that Yang’s luck had been good.

  “Commodore Yang …” Vice Admiral Paetta called his young staff officer, assailed by torments both physical and mental. “You take command of the fleet …”

  “Me, sir?”

  “You’re the highest-ranked officer who’s still in one piece. Show me … what you’ve got as a tactician …” The vice admiral stopped speaking suddenly—he had lost consciousness. The navy doctor called a robot car that served as an ambulance.

  “He thinks highly of you, doesn’t he?” said Lieutenant Commander Lao, impressed.

  “Does he? I wonder.”

  Lieutenant Commander Lao, unaware of the clashes of opinion between the vice admiral and Yang, gave a doubtful glance at that answer. Yang walked over to the comm board and flipped on the switch for external communication. It seemed the machines were built more sturdily than the people.

  “Attention, all ships. This is Fleet Commander Paetta’s next-in-command, staff officer Commodore Yang.”

  Yang’s voice raced through the empty spaces, piercing the void.

  “The flagship Patroklos has taken a hit, and Commander Paetta is seriously injured. On his order, I’m taking over command of the fleet.”

  Here he paused for the space of a single breath, giving his comrades the time they needed to recover from the shock.

  “Don’t worry. If you follow my orders, you’ll be all right. If you want to get back home alive, I need you to remain calm and do as I say. At the present moment, our side is losing, but the only thing that matters is to be winning in the last moment.”

  Hoo-boy, even I’m talking awfully big. Yang was smiling wryly, but only on the inside; he didn’t let it come to the surface. In the position of commander, you had to puff out your chest even when you felt like hanging your head.

  “We’re not going to lose. All ships: concentrate on destroying your targets one by one until I send further instructions. Over.”

  That transmission was being monitored by the imperial forces as well. On the bridge of the flagship Brünhild, Reinhard raised his finely shaped eyebrows slightly. “You’re not going to lose? If they follow your orders, they’ll be all right? It seems the rebel forces have people who can spout a lot of bluster, too.” A cold glint like that of a shard of ice sheltered in his eyes. “At this point, how do you intend to make up for your weaker force? … Hmm, never mind. Let’s just go with ‘Show me what you’ve got.’ Kircheis!”

  “Sir.”

  “Regroup our ranks. Tell all ships to assume spindle formation. You understand why?”

  “You intend a frontal breakthrough?”

  “Correct, as I’ve come to expect from you.”

  Through Kircheis, Reinhard’s order was transmitted to every vessel in the imperial force.

  But for his helmet, Yang would have taken off his beret to scratch through his black hair at that moment. When there was little difference in force strength, the most effective tactic for the attacking side was either the frontal breakthrough or the partial encirclement. He’d been guessing they would choose the more aggressive of the two, and it looked like he’d managed to hit the nail on the head.

  “Lieutenant Commander Lao.”

  “Yes, Acting Commander, sir.”

  “The enemy’s assuming a spindle formation. They’re going to go for a frontal breakthrough.”

  “A frontal breakthrough!”

  “They’re in high spirits after wiping out the Fourth and Sixth Fleets. The imperial force probably won’t even think of anything else.”

  Lieutenant Commander Lao glanced forlornly toward Yang as he provided his commentary. The faintheartedness in the alliance force—of which Lao’s expression was representative—was the real fruit of the empire’s aggressive tactics, Yang reflected.

  “How do you plan to counter it?”

  “I’ve got something in mind.”

  “But how do we communicate with the other ships? There’s a danger that the enemy’s listening to our transmissions. Flash signals ha
ve the same problem, and shuttles would take too long.”

  “Don’t worry—use multiple channels and tell all vessels to open the C4 circuits of their tactical computers. That’ll be enough. If that’s all we say, the enemy shouldn’t understand even if they pick it up.”

  “Acting Commander, sir, does that mean … Your Excellency had already worked out a plan and input the data … long before this battle even started?”

  “Though I’d rather have seen it go to waste,” said Yang. Perhaps in his tone of voice there was a slight note of self-justification. Icy glares had been standard recompense for prophets of defeat, even when Cassandra was queen in Troy. “Never mind that—hurry up and relay my instructions.”

  “Yessir, right away.”

  Lieutenant Commander Lao hurried off at a jog toward the reoccupied communications officer’s seat. With only five officers left unharmed, running the bridge was impossible, so about ten men were summoned from other departments. Warships didn’t carry excess personnel, so that meant Patroklos would be shorthanded elsewhere. It couldn’t be avoided, though.

  Taking its time, the imperial force prepared its spindle formation and then began its charge. The alliance ships met them with guns blazing, but the imperial ships paid them no mind. As the distance between the two narrowed, erupting beams began to weave countless patterns of crisscrossing bars.

  Commanded by Fahrenheit, the empire’s vanguard squadron didn’t slow as it came plunging into the ranks of the alliance.

  “All enemy ships are charging us!”

  The operator’s voice was shrill and sharp.

  Yang looked up at the panel on the ceiling. A 270-degree wide-angle monitor was inset there. As the enemy vessels accelerated and closed the distance, they seemed to be leaping ferociously toward the throat of the alliance. Their movements were dynamic and precise. In the face of that, the alliance forces intercepting them couldn’t help appearing sluggish and lackluster.

  Well, let’s see what happens.

  In the command chair, Yang crossed his arms. He wasn’t really as composed as he appeared to be. At present, the enemy’s actions were within the bounds of Yang’s predictions. The problem was what his allies would do. All would be fine if they went along with his plan, but one misstep and things would likely spin out of control, and the whole force would be put to flight. And what would he do then?

  Scratch my head and pretend to look embarrassed, Yang told himself, answering his own question. He couldn’t predict everything, nor was there an infallibly correct move he could make. He wasn’t responsible for things beyond his power.

  VI

  The projection panel that made up the ceiling was covered in pulsating lights. The battleship Patroklos was now in the midst of a whirlpool of particle beams. Beams came at them from fore and aft, port and starboard, up and down, in thickness resembling clubs more than lances.

  Patroklos itself had opened fire as well, sending out exhalations of death and destruction that slammed against its enemies. An immense waste of human energy—or material energy—was being justified as the path toward victory and survival.

  “Enemy battleship closing! Judging by its model, it’s probably Wallenstein.”

  Wallenstein had already taken considerable structural damage, having apparently charged straight through the fire. Its half-ruined main battery took aim at Patroklos from straight ahead, but Patroklos’s response, this time, came swiftly.

  “Fire all main cannons! Target is right in front of us!”

  The order came from Lieutenant Commander Lao, who was temporarily doubling as gunnery chief.

  Patroklos’s front cannons spat out synchronized beams of neutrons, scoring a direct hit on Wallenstein, dead in its midsection.

  After an instant’s agonized buckling, the Imperial Navy’s gargantuan battleship blew apart. Cheers rang out in the comm circuit of Yang’s helmet, but their end notes transformed into cries of renewed horror. Crashing haughtily though the shining white whirlpool of the fusion explosion, the next enemy vessel, Kärnten, revealed its stately form. Yang acknowledged anew the dignity and grandeur of the Imperial Navy’s formation, as well as its strong fighting spirit.

  It was clear that their powerful will to fight was one born of their overwhelming victories. For a moment, Yang was captivated by the thought that he might be witnessing the moment in which a great general was born.

  “Some generals are called ‘wise’ and others ‘fierce,’ but a commander who transcends those categories—who inspires in his men a faith unbreakable—is one whom I call ‘great.’ ” Yang had read those words in a history book. Reinhard von Lohengramm must still be quite young, but at the very least, he’s on his way to being ‘great.’ He’s a threat to alliance forces, and to the old power structures in the Imperial Navy, he’s most likely a threat as well.

  Yang crossed his arms the other way and savored what small satisfaction he could in the thought that he was probably sitting right in the midst of history’s current.

  Even during that interval, the state of the battlefield was changing moment by moment.

  Kärnten and Patroklos had exchanged fire, but amid the confusion of battle, they had moved apart, with neither having delivered a killing blow.

  Yang shifted his gaze to the simulated-battlefield model that the tactical computer displayed on his monitor. Simplified shapes showed the distribution and condition of both forces.

  Backward rippling motions were occasionally running through the alliance fleet, but overall the display showed the imperial force’s advance and the alliance force’s retreat.

  Those movements were gradually increasing in velocity. The empire advanced, the alliance fell back. The tiny, reverse-propagating ripples vanished, and the more the simulated image was simplified, the more the effect was amplified. To most anyone’s eyes, the empire appeared ready to take victory by the hand, and the alliance defeat by the tail.

  “Looks like we’ve won,” murmured Reinhard.

  Meanwhile, Yang was also nodding toward Lieutenant Commander Lao.

  “Looks like it’s going to work,” he said, not vocalizing his relieved Thank heavens!

  What had been worrying Yang was whether or not the ships on his own side would follow their instructions. He had confidence in the planned operation itself. At this point there was no longer any way to win. It was, however, still possible to finish this without losing. But that could only happen if the other ships followed the plan.

  There were no doubt obstinate squadron commanders who scorned the idea of obeying a young and inexperienced commander like Yang, but in the absence of any other effective battle plan, there was little choice but to accept Yang’s orders. If the desire for survival motivated them more than any sense of loyalty, though, Yang had not the slightest objection.

  A hint of puzzlement began to appear on Reinhard’s face.

  He stood up from his seat, put both hands on the command console, and glared up at the overhead screen. Irritation was beginning to boil up all through his body.

  His allies were advancing, and his enemies retreating. Hit by the frontal breakthrough attack, the alliance’s fleet was being split to the left and right. The scenes on the screen, the simulation that the tactical computer was reconstructing on his monitor, the status reports coming in from the vanguard—all were describing exactly the same situation.

  Yet even so, a sound of distant thunder was beginning to rumble faintly in the back of his mind. He became aware of a sick feeling eating away at his nerves—the kind you get right before you realize that some dirty trick has just been played on you.

  He put the fist he’d made with his left hand up against his mouth, resting his teeth lightly on his index finger’s second joint. And in that instant, for no reason whatsoever, he intuited what his enemy had in mind.

  “No!”

  That low cry, drowned ou
t by the shouts of operators, reached the ears of no one.

  “Their force has split apart to port and starboard! They’re—they’re going to rush past us along both flanks!”

  Amid a shocked stir, Reinhard cried out for his red-haired adjutant. “Kircheis! We’ve been had. The enemy wants to separate on both flanks and come around on our back side. They’re using our frontal breakthrough against us. Damn them!”

  The golden-haired youth slammed his fist down against the command console.

  “What shall we do? Reverse course and intercept?”

  Kircheis’s voice had lost none of its cool self-possession. That had a calming effect on the nerves of his momentarily enraged commanding officer.

  “Don’t be absurd. You want me to be a greater imbecile than that Fourth Fleet’s commander was?”

  “In that case, all we can do is advance.”

  “Exactly.” Reinhard nodded and gave orders to his communications officer. “All ships, full speed ahead! Clamp on to the back side of the enemy rushing past us. Bear to the right. And hurry!”

  VII

  Thirty minutes later, both formations were spread out in the shape of a ring. It was a strange sight. The alliance’s vanguard was engaged in a blistering assault on the imperial fleet’s tail end, while the imperial vanguard was attacking one tail end of the forked alliance fleet.

  Viewed from far away in the depths of space, it might have looked like two glittering, gargantuan serpents trying to swallow one another, each from the other’s tail upward.

  Staring at the simulated model on the screen, Lieutenant Commander Lao said admiringly in Yang’s direction, “I’ve never seen a battle formation like this.”