They Shall Not Pass

(The Empire’s Corps – Book XII)

Christopher G. Nuttall

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Series Listing

Book One: The Empire’s Corps
Book Two: No Worse Enemy
Book Three: When The Bough Breaks
Book Four: Semper Fi
Book Five: The Outcast
Book Six: To The Shores
Book Seven: Reality Check
Book Eight: Retreat Hell
Book Nine: The Thin Blue Line 
Book Ten: Never Surrender
Book Eleven: First To Fight
Book Twelve: They Shall Not Pass

Cover Blurb

Despite the escape from Meridian - and a strike at the heart of Wolfbane - enemy forces are still advancing on all fronts.  The Commonwealth, worn down by a year of hard fighting, is reaching the end of its tether, while Admiral Singh - having secured control of Wolfbane - is searching for the breaking point that will shatter the Commonwealth once and for all.  Time is needed, time to bring new weapons and tactics into service, but time is the one thing the Commonwealth doesn't have.

Now, with enemy forces closing on the industrialised world of Corinthian - Admiral Singh’s former base of operations - Colonel Stalker decides to make a stand.  The Commonwealth will meet its enemies on the ground and destroy them - or die trying.  They will not pass as long as a single marine remains alive.

But how much of Corinthian - and the Commonwealth - will survive the nightmare to come ...?

A Note From The Author

They Shall Not Pass is the direct sequel to Never Surrender, but features several characters from Semper Fi.  Their backgrounds are detailed there.

As always, I would be grateful for any spelling corrections, grammar suggestions, nitpicking and suchlike.  Please send reports directly to my email address or through Amazon.

Thanks for reading!  If you liked the book, please write a review.  They help to boost sales.

CGN

Prologue (I)

From: The Day After: The Post-Empire Universe and its Wars.  Professor Leo Caesius.  Avalon University Press.  46PE.

Brigadier Jasmine Yamane’s escape from Meridian - and her attack on Wolfbane itself - was a significant tactical and strategic victory for the Commonwealth, in that it both boosted morale and crippled Wolfbane’s ability to regenerate its naval forces and out-produce the Commonwealth.  Certainly, the Commonwealth was quick to point to the daring prison escape and subsequent raid of enemy territory as a sign the tide was turning against Wolfbane.  However, that was not entirely true.

It was true enough, to be fair, that Wolfbane would have difficulty keeping its fleet supplied with everything from replacement components to reinforcements.  But it was also true that Wolfbane significantly outnumbered the Commonwealth in almost every category of starship.  Indeed, if the Commonwealth had not enjoyed a significant technological advantage, Wolfbane would probably have crushed the Commonwealth in the first year of open warfare.  The shortages would slow Wolfbane’s ability to regenerate its forces, true, but would the crunch come in time to save the Commonwealth?

There was also a further problem that needed to be taken into account.   No one, absolutely no one, had any real experience with a long-duration interstellar war.  Interstellar conflict was almost unknown during the final years of the Empire, no matter how many planets fell to insurgents or declared independence as the Empire’s grip started to weaken.  Even Admiral Singh, one of the most capable officers in the Empire’s final years, didn’t appreciate what it meant to be fighting a long-term war.  Why should she?  She had no experience in handling anything more complex than brief and violent encounters between the Imperial Navy and a bewildering array of rebel and pirate forces.  

It was inevitable, therefore, that both sides would make mistakes.  The decision to send the Commonwealth Expeditionary Force to Thule, for example, was one such mistake, even though the logic made sense at the time.  But the decision to attempt an over-clever envelopment of the Commonwealth Navy in the opening moves of the war was also a mistake, one less justified by then-current political concerns.  In war, as has been noted for centuries, the simplest thing is difficult.  Both sides failed to grasp the sheer complexity of what they were attempting to do.

But, despite its recent success, the Commonwealth knew itself to be in trouble.  Wolfbane could bring attacks to bear along multiple axis of attack, while the Commonwealth - with far more limited resources - was forced to switch its forces from place to place rapidly, enduring the wear and tear on both equipment and personnel.  (If Wolfbane had had access to any form of interstellar FTL communications, the Commonwealth would have lost fairly quickly; as it was, only the inability to coordinate offenses on an interstellar scale saved the Commonwealth from defeat.)  The situation did not look good.  

It was at that moment that Colonel Edward Stalker decided to gamble.

Prologue II

Admiral Rani Singh, Governor-Admiral of Wolfbane, stood in her private observation blister, staring down at the blue and green planet below.  It was hers, thanks to the death of Governor Brown, but she knew it seethed with resentment at how she’d claimed her role.  She knew, from her network of spies, that far too many powerful people believed that she had killed the Governor, even though she’d merely managed to take advantage of his death.  And some of them were only waiting for her to slip up before trying to take advantage of her weakness.

But they can't blame the destruction of the shipyards on me, she thought, darkly.  No one in their right mind would allow an entire shipyard complex to be destroyed, even if it did propel her into the Governor’s office.  But that won’t stop them from trying, if I show weakness.

Rani clenched her fists in irritation as she turned her gaze away from the world and up towards the endless darkness of interstellar space.  She was a naval brat, pure and simple; she’d understood the military long before she’d formally signed up for a tour of duty.  The navy was organised, people knew their place and did what they were told ... not something that was common on Wolfbane.  Governor Brown had ruled over a shifting morass of competing interests and power bases, allowing them to bicker amongst themselves while directing their energies towards the ultimate goal of galactic power.  She knew how to win a battle or give orders, but managing so many different factions was far harder.  And if she slipped, the knives would come out, aimed at her back ...

The doorbell chimed.  “Come.”

She turned as the hatch opened, watching as Paula Bartholomew stepped into the chamber, the hatch hissing closed behind her.  Paula was loyal, she had to be; her betrayal of her former superior would not be forgiven by anyone else.  Using her was a risk - a person who betrayed once might betray again - but it had to be endured.  Governor Brown had had years to put together his patronage network, the men and women who owed and served him; she’d barely had two weeks since the attack on Wolfbane.  There were times when she wondered if it wouldn't be wiser to loot Wolfbane, then vanish as the world collapsed into chaos ...

... But it wasn't in her to give up.

“Admiral,” Paula said.  “I have the final report for you.”

Rani nodded as she turned back to the window.  “And it says?”

“In the short run, we can continue to maintain the current operational tempo for the next six months to a year,” Paula said, shortly.  “But after that we will run into increasing difficulties in resupplying our forces.  We’ll have to slow the operational tempo quite significantly.”

“So I feared,” Rani said.  

She shook her head slowly.  No one had fought a war on such a scale in living memory; indeed, there had been no large-scale interstellar war for centuries.  It was small wonder, she considered, that there had been more than a few hitches along the way.  She and her personnel were learning as they went along.  The only consolation was that the Commonwealth had the same problem.

“The industrialists did suggest suing for peace,” Paula added, when Rani said nothing.  “They argue that we could use a couple of years of peacetime to put the new weapons into production.”

Rani shook her head, again.  There were advantages to peace - particularly if she could keep everything she had captured over the last year of hard fighting - but peace would significantly undermine her position.  The factions knew there was no other candidate to lead the military, no other candidate who could command the respect of the officers and crewmen.  Removing her from power in the middle of a war would be disastrous.  But in peacetime, anything could happen.

“The Commonwealth would grow stronger as they put their new weapons into production,” she said, curtly.  It was true enough.  The Commonwealth had shown a truly distressing ability to innovate, something Wolfbane couldn't even begin to match.  “Give them long enough and they’ll find a silver bullet.”

“There’s no guarantee they will,” Paula reminded her.

“There’s no guarantee they won’t,” Rani snapped.  Everyone had known that the Imperial Navy’s technology was the peak of military potential, right up until the moment the Commonwealth had introduced shield generators.  Who knew what certainty would be the next to fall?  “What happens if they invent a weapon that can wipe out our entire fleet overnight?”

“That’s absurd,” Paula insisted.  “Surely ...”

Rani snorted, rudely.  She would have thought the same, once upon a time.  She’d clawed her way to office rank without selling herself to her superiors, even if said superiors had tried to punish her by exiling her to Trafalgar Naval Base.  And she’d had the very last laugh when Admiral Bainbridge had been shot trying to escape.  But now, the government and naval bureaucracy that had stifled innovation was no longer in existence.  Who knew what would become possible in the future?

“We know very little for sure,” Rani said.  She turned to face the other woman.  “Inform my senior officers that we will be proceeding with Operation Slam.”

Paula bowed, then withdrew.  Rani sighed as she turned back to the window.  It was a gamble - life itself was a gamble - but there was no choice.  Time was not on her side.  The dice had to be rolled once again.  If she won, she’d have the power and prestige to bring the industrialists and all the other factions to heel.  And if she lost ... she shook her head.  She wasn't going to lose.  Her life had been built on refusing to surrender when the odds seemed massively stacked against her ...

And this time the odds are on my side, she thought.  Supreme power will finally be mine.

She smirked.  Empress Rani.  She liked the sound of it.

Chapter One

The real world is a messy place.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  The Role of Randomness In War.

Jasmine Yamane gritted her teeth as the wind picked up strength, fighting to hold on to the sheer cliff face.  The temperature plummeted rapidly, snowflakes drifting through the air, as she carefully let go with one hand and searched for the next handhold, an inch or two higher up the cliff.  Grabbing hold, she tested it carefully before inching upwards, refusing to let the climb beat her.  Maybe it had been a mistake, part of her mind noted, to attempt the climb without support, but she’d gone through worse on the Slaughterhouse.  She firmly refused to allow something lesser to defeat her.

She inched her way up the cliff as the snow fell faster, cold flakes of ice brushing against her suit.  The Mystic Mountains were known for sudden changes in the weather, just like the badlands to the south.  She’d checked the forecast before setting out from the hut, but even the military-grade system assigned to monitor the planet’s weather patterns hadn't been able to offer a reasonable prediction of what she might encounter.  A civilian might have turned back, yet Jasmine had no intention of surrendering.  Marines on deployment didn't have the luxury of abandoning a mission when they ran into a little snag.

But this weather might not be a little snag, she thought, as she finally reached the top of the cliff and pulled herself onto the ledge.  The wind was growing stronger, so she secured herself to a rock before sitting down and staring at the view before her.  How many missions have run into trouble because of bad weather?

She dug a ration bar out of her pocket and chewed it slowly as she took in the view.  Giant mountains, rising up to vanish somewhere within the darkening clouds; great waves of snow hiding the rock beneath a layer of whiteness.  The air was cold, but fresh and sharp.  And nothing within view, save for Jasmine herself, to suggest that there was any human settlement nearby.  Avalon really was a beautiful planet, at least in the regions untouched by human settlement.  She hardly recognised Camelot these days, let alone some of the cities that had been towns when she’d first arrived on Avalon.  The planet’s population had almost quadrupled in the seven years since the marines had arrived, since the Empire had abandoned them, since Avalon had become the hub of a new interstellar civilisation ...

And now we are at war again, she reminded herself.  The sight before her could be destroyed, easily, if Wolfbane bombarded the planet.  No one had deliberately targeted planetary populations from orbit for centuries, but that might change.  All the old certainties had died with the Empire.  Who knows what will happen in the future?

She looked down at her gloved hands, feeling a twinge of ... uncertainty.  The Colonel could say what he liked, but Jasmine blamed herself for the surrender on Thule.  Even in the clear light of hindsight, it was hard to see what she’d done wrong, yet she was sure she had done something wrong.  An entire military unit had surrendered in the opening hours of the war and she had been the one to issue the order.  And even successfully escaping a POW camp and wreaking havoc in the enemy rear wasn't enough to wipe the slate clean.  How could it be?

The Colonel said that everyone has a crisis of confidence eventually, she thought.  But how did he overcome his?

It was a bitter thought.  She’d gone through Boot Camp with flying colours, then survived the Slaughterhouse ... only to discover, when she’d been assigned to her first company, just how much she still had to learn.  And she’d survived that, only to discover that there was still much more to learn.  By the time she’d been tortured on Corinthian, she’d been pushed right to the limits.  And yet ...

I never gave up, she told herself, firmly.  Too many lives were depending on me.

She wished, as she carefully returned the remainder of the ration bar to her pocket, that she’d had a chance to go to OCS.  Perhaps it would have made life easier for her, to learn the trade of an officer before taking marines into battle.  But she was hardly the only person forced to learn on the job, after Avalon had lost contact with the remains of the Empire.  Rumour had it that the Slaughterhouse had been destroyed, along with the infamous Death Zone.  Even if she did manage to make it back to the Core Worlds, she would never be able to return to the Slaughterhouse.

You can't go home again, she thought.  And that was literally true, for her.  There was no way she could return to her homeworld, even if it had still been a matter of booking a ticket on the next ship.  She knew there was no way she would have fitted in.  And you can't just stop either.

She rose to her feet, testing the rope carefully, then took one last look at the white-covered mountains.  Part of her was tempted to stay, to carry on exploring.  She’d never really been tempted by the Survey Service, long before the Survey Service had been eviscerated by a dozen nasty budget cuts, but she could understand - now - the desire to see what lay on the other side of the hill.  There were parts of the Mystic Mountains that had never been explored, even by the Mountain Men.  It wasn't as if anyone wanted to settle in the mountains when there was good farmland to the south or west ...

Unless they wanted to be alone, she thought, as she carefully tested the rope before starting to abseil down the cliff.  Going down was always harder, she’d found; she preferred to abseil rather than attempt to climb down without precautions.  If she injured herself so badly she couldn't trigger the emergency beacon, she would die up amidst the mountains, her body never to be found unless someone stumbled over her by sheer luck.  Being up here would be very far from everyone.

Her lips quirked as she reached the bottom, then jerked the rope free.  There had been a settlement on the Slaughterhouse, home to retired marines and their families.  She’d often wondered if she’d wind up there, if she survived long enough to retire; now, she knew she would never see it again.  But perhaps the handful of survivors might set up a new home in the mountains, miles from anywhere civilian.  Merely getting there would provide the kind of challenge retired marines approved of.

Shaking her head, she turned and peered into the distance.  A faint plume of smoke could be seen, rising up into the sky, as the snowfall trickled to a halt.  She smiled - clearly, she was more resistant to the cold than her boyfriend - and started to walk, allowing the smoke to guide her back to the hut.  It was the sort of thing, she noted as the hut came into view, that would never have been allowed on the Slaughterhouse.  What sort of idiot expected a holiday hut in the middle of the Crucible?

The same sort of idiot who thinks he can pass the Crucible without a year of intensive training, she thought, wryly.  And the same sort of idiot who drinks himself into a stupor the night before entering Boot Camp.

She pushed the thought to one side as she tramped up to the hut, opening the door and stumbling into the antechamber.  The heat greeted her at once, sending sweat trickling down her back as she hurried to take off her shoes and remove her outer layer of clothing.  She dumped the shoes by the door, then pushed open the inner door and stepped into the hut.  A faint smell - she had never been able to identify it - greeted her as Emmanuel Alves rose to his feet, leaving a datapad on the table beside him.  Jasmine gave her boyfriend a tight hug, then kissed him lightly on the lips.

“I heated up some soup,” Emmanuel said, as she let him go.  “Do you want some now?”

“Yes, please,” Jasmine said.  She’d spent the last week pushing her limits by climbing up and down the nearby mountains, but Emmanuel didn't have anything like the training he needed to accompany her.  She didn't really begrudge it, even though it would have been nice to have the company.  “It looks like it’s going to snow again, later in the day.”

“Joy,” Emmanuel said.  He walked over to the wood-burning stove and checked the heavy pan on top.  “Should we be worried?”

Jasmine shrugged.  Truthfully, the prospect of being trapped in the hut, buried under tons of snow, didn't bother her as much as it should have done.  Years of training and experience had removed any tendency she might have had towards claustrophobia; months spent on various starships in cramped sleeping compartments had taught her how to endure even unendurable people.  They could dig themselves out, if they wished, or signal for help.  But she knew he might feel differently about it.

“Probably not,” she said, finally.  The hut’s owners had sited it carefully, according to their brochure.  Their guests could enjoy being in the midst of the mountains with minimal risk, although there was no way the risk could be eliminated entirely.  “But it’s worth keeping an eye on things if the snow starts to fall faster.”

Emmanuel nodded as he ladled the soup into two bowls, then carried them over to the wooden table.  Jasmine followed him, glancing around the hut and silently admiring the effort the original builder had put into his work.  There wasn’t anything that wasn't handmade, even the knives and forks.  Even the water came from a stream and had to be heated on the stove, rather than warmed in a boiler.  And it was more comfortable than anywhere she’d slept on the Slaughterhouse.

“Thank you,” she said, as she sat down and started to sip the soup.  “It’s very good.”

“All my own work,” Emmanuel preened.  “I opened those packets and mixed them myself.”

Jasmine laughed.  Trying to make military rations taste better had excited the imagination of countless soldiers, but there were limits to how much the addition of hot sauce or other flavours could improve the taste of recycled cardboard.  She’d disliked marine ration packs until she’d tasted army ration packs, which were worse, and Civil Guard packs, which were unspeakably vile.  It explained a great deal about the Civil Guard, she felt, that their officers couldn't be bothered attempting to source food from their postings, although they might well have a point.  The Civil Guard was so loathed that it was quite possible that anyone selling them food would poison it first.

“You could probably get away with adding more sauce,” she said, as she opened the breadbin.  “It would add a little more kick.”

Emmanuel rolled his eyes.  “This isn't a Tabasco-swigging contest.”

“A good thing too,” Jasmine agreed.  “I lost the last one.”

She shook her head, feeling a strange mixture of pride and grief.  Blake Coleman had challenged a trio of Imperial Navy crewmen to see who could eat the hottest sauce, just after the deployment to Han.  She had no idea how he’d managed to swallow an entire bottle of Extra-Strong Chilli sauce, but he’d won the contest handily.  She’d had to give up after trying to swallow something made of green chillies.  And then Blake had died ... she missed him, more than she cared to admit.  It wasn't right that he’d died on a shitty little world, ruled by shitty little people who lorded over peasants who were just waiting for a chance to take power for themselves.  No doubt the peasants had purged the aristocracy and then started fighting over the scraps of remaining power.

Emmanuel met her eyes.  “Are you all right?”

Jasmine shrugged.  Death was a fact of life.  Blake Coleman had died well, unlike so many others she could mention.  She knew he wouldn't want his friends to mourn him indefinitely, although he would have taken a perverse pride in the number of women who’d appeared, afterwards, to claim they’d been his soulmate.  And yet, she missed him ...

Maybe I shouldn’t have let the Colonel promote me, she thought.  He wouldn't have counted it against me later on, would he?

She snorted and pushed the thought aside as she finished her soup.  Blake wouldn't have wanted her to be morbid either, she knew; he'd have teased her, endlessly, about taking a reporter to bed.  But Emmanuel wasn't one of the paid shrills who’d blighted military operations from Earth to Han, getting soldiers killed by revealing classified information ahead of time.  Indeed, Jasmine had to admit that Emmanuel was a genuine reporter, more interested in ferreting out the truth than spreading lies to push a political agenda.  He always put his news in context.

“I think so,” she answered, finally.  She made a show of glancing at her watch.  “Are you ready to go out this afternoon?”

“I suppose we might just find a decent restaurant somewhere up here,” Emmanuel said, deadpan.  “Snow for starter, rocks and ice for the main course, iced snow for pudding ...”

“I meant going for a long walk,” Jasmine said.  Emmanuel was surprisingly fit, for a civilian, but he couldn't keep up with her.  And yet he was light years ahead of the reporters on Han, who’d eyed her as if she was a dangerous animal permanently on the verge of breaking her leash.  “A very long walk.”

Emmanuel groaned, theatrically.  “Must we?”

“There’s a big reward on the far side,” Jasmine said.  “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I’d be happy to chase you over the mountains,” Emmanuel said.  “But catching you might be tricky.”

Jasmine smiled.  Her mother had once told her that the secret to catching the right sort of man was to run away, yet not to run very fast.  She’d never been quite convinced of the logic, personally, but she’d been a tough little scrapper even before she’d joined the marines.  And her homeworld had a thoroughly practical attitude towards both firearms and personal defence.  If she was caught by the wrong man, she could castrate him before she shot him ...

Her wristcom bleeped, once.  Jasmine frowned, then keyed the switch.

“Yamane,” she said.  “Go ahead.”

“Brigadier,” a calm female voice said.  Jasmine straightened automatically.  Technically, she outranked Command Sergeant Gwendolyn Patterson now, but she wouldn't dare to take liberties with the older woman.  “I trust you had a pleasant vacation?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Jasmine said.  She had the feeling her vacation had just come to a sudden halt.  “The mountains are quite challenging, even in summer.”

“Good, good,” Gwendolyn said.  “I’ve dispatched a Hummer to pick you and your boyfriend up for immediate transfer to Castle Rock.  The colonel wants you back here ASAP.”

“Understood,” Jasmine said.  She felt a flicker of the old excitement, despite her concerns about the past and her fears for the future.  This was another deployment, she was sure.  It couldn’t be anything else.  “ETA?”

“The Hummer should be with you in thirty minutes,” Gwendolyn said.  “Be ready to depart when it arrives.”

The connection broke.  Jasmine stared at the wristcom for a long moment, then looked up at Emmanuel.  “We’re being recalled,” she said.  “Both of us.”

“It sounds that way,” Emmanuel agreed.  He didn't sound angry, but she knew he understood the realities of the job.  Both of their jobs.  “We’d better pack.”

Jasmine nodded and hurried into the bedroom, picking her rucksack off the floor and dumping clothes and equipment into it willy-nilly.  A lifetime in military service had taught her to travel light, thankfully.  Emmanuel didn't have the same experience, but he’d learned rapidly.  There were strong weight restrictions on what could be counted as personal baggage, at least on Commonwealth Navy starships.  The Imperial Navy had been so keen to please the reporters that officers had often classed overweight reporter baggage as essential requirement, even though it was nothing of the sort.  A reporter who tried that on the Commonwealth Navy would be lucky if his baggage was shipped home from the terminal, instead of merely being dumped.

“I don’t suppose we have time for anything special,” Emmanuel said, as he finished stuffing items into his bag.  “Do we?”

“Not when we have to shut the hut down,” Jasmine said.  She’d had the same thought, but duty came first.  “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Emmanuel  said.  “You come far too close to breaking my bones.”

Jasmine gave him a one-fingered gesture, then hurried back into the living room and turned off the water pipe, then glanced around to make sure they’d left nothing lying around.  It was unlikely they’d have time to return to pick up anything, once the Hummer collected them.

“I thought we had another two days,” Emmanuel added.  “What do you think this is about?”

“The colonel said that his staff were working on a plan,” Jasmine said.  She’d been surprised when the colonel had agreed to her taking a week’s leave, even if it did suggest he had a mission in mind for her.  “It might be something very interesting.”

Emmanuel leaned forward.  “And decisive?”

Jasmine frowned.  She’d hurt the Wolves badly, she knew, even if it had come at a terrible cost.  She still had no idea what had happened to either Carl Watson or Paula Bartholomew - and killing Governor Brown had only elevated Admiral Singh to power.  Jasmine had no illusions about the future.  They might have won a battle, and embarrassed the Wolves, but the war was far from over.

“We will see,” she said, as she heard the sound of the approaching aircraft.  New-build Hummers weren’t quite as fast as Raptors, but they’d be back at Castle Rock in less than thirty minutes.  “We will see.”

Chapter Two

This is perhaps best illustrated by an observation by the Imperial Marshals, in their handbook.  A story that hangs together perfectly is almost certainly a premeditated alibi.  The very flawlessness of the story is its flaw!  
- Professor Leo Caesius.  The Role of Randomness In War.

Colonel Edward Stalker sat in his chair in the War Room and studied the starchart as he waited for his guests to pass through security and enter the compartment.  There was no way to avoid realising that the situation was dire.  The red and orange stars - stars owned or occupied by Wolfbane - were closing in on the green stars, despite savage and desperate fighting around a dozen stars at the edge of the Commonwealth.  No matter how frantically Ed switched forces from star to star, Wolfbane had a very definite advantage.

They can pull their ships from the line for repairs, if necessary, while we have to keep our ships in combat, he thought, darkly.  He’d never commanded a naval force, but the basic principles were identical to infantry warfare.  A regiment, if pushed to the limits of its endurance, would eventually break under constant enemy attack.  And some of our ships are starting to break down.

He scowled at the datapad containing the latest - highly classified - reports.  The newer starships were holding up well - they’d been built by designers who no longer needed to stay within the limitations set by the bureaucracy - but the older ships were starting to break down under the pressures of warfare.  A dozen ships needed urgent repairs, which they weren't going to get.  They were irreplaceable along the battle line ...

And yet, if they break down in combat, we lose them anyway, he thought.  We need some way to tip the balance in our favour.

He looked up as the door opened, allowing his guests to hurry into the room.  Gaby Cracker, President of Avalon and First Speaker of the Commonwealth, gave him a tired smile as she took her seat, all professional despite the fact they’d been lovers for the past four years.  She was followed by Brigadier Jasmine Yamane - looking better after a week’s leave - and Colonel Kitty Stevenson, Commonwealth Intelligence.  And, running a few minutes late, Commodore Mandy Caesius and Command Sergeant Gwendolyn Patterson.  Ed had been surprised when the two women had developed a friendship - two more different women would be hard to imagine - but he was glad of it.  Gwendolyn’s position had always isolated her from the other marines.

“Close the doors,” he ordered, as Commander Hiram Simpson entered the compartment.  “I shouldn't have to tell any of you that this is a secret meeting.  No one is to hear the details until we are ready to release them.”

He glanced from face to face, knowing they would understand.  Gaby had been an insurgent leader before she’d become part of the government.  She understood the value of keeping information to a very limited circle, particularly when it was of tactical or strategic importance.  The others were all career military, even Mandy.  She might have started life as a bratty teenage daughter, but she’d grown up on Avalon.  They’d all changed a great deal since they’d been cut off from the Core Worlds.

“First, a briefing,” he added.  He concealed a smile at their reactions.  Gaby looked irked - she received too many briefings - while the others leaned forward, ready to hear just what Ed had in mind.  “Commander?”

Simpson nodded, shortly.  Ed could practically taste his nervousness.  He was the lowest-ranking officer in the room and knew it.  But he also knew his duty.

“As of the last report, Wolfbane has halted its offensive against Taurus to consolidate its position in the wake of Governor Brown’s death,” Simpson said.  “Long-range scouts report that they have been bringing repair ships forward, trying to prepare as many ships as possible for the next offensive.  Fighting continues on a number of worlds, but we consider it unlikely that any of the insurgencies can push Wolfbane off their world.”

Ed frowned.  They’d worked hard to arm and train stay-behind forces, but he was under no illusions about their chances of success.  Wolfbane could call down fire from orbit on any insurgent position, if the insurgents showed themselves so blatantly.  Holding an entire world didn’t require vast numbers of troops, merely a starship or orbital bombardment platform ready to hammer targets at a moment’s notice.  The stay-behinds could sting, but it wouldn't be enough to do more than annoy their enemies.

“Our own forces are in critical condition,” Simpson continued.  “Our pre-war planning greatly underestimated the operational tempo we have to maintain and our supplies are starting to run out.  Only our technological superiority gives us any advantage at all and ... and that might come to an end, if Wolfbane obtains samples of our technology or has a breakthrough of its own.  They now know that a great many things believed to be impossible are actually possible - and knowing is half the battle.”

“True,” Ed agreed.  “We cannot assume we will maintain technological superiority indefinitely.”

He waited patiently, silently gauging reactions as Simpson continued the briefing.  Gaby looked concerned, despite herself; Jasmine was leaning forward, as if she was eager to get to grips with the enemy.  Mandy looked worried - she’d skirmished with Wolfbane’s fleet too many times - while Gwendolyn showed no visible reaction.  But then, she wouldn’t.  A sergeant could not afford to show the slightest hint of doubt to subordinates, either in her own abilities or in the competence of superior officers.  And then the briefing finally came to its inevitable conclusion.

“Assuming the operational tempo continues at its current pace,” Simpson stated, “we will lose the war within the next two years.”

Gaby choked.  “That can't be right!”

“It is hard to predict the course of a war, Madam President,” Simpson said.  “There are too many random variables involved.  One of our older ships might suffer a critical failure in combat, allowing Wolfbane to win a battle they would otherwise have lost.  Or we may develop something that negates Wolfbane’s numerical superiority.  But, in many ways, two years is quite optimistic.  If they push the tempo harder in the next six months, we may lose the war by the end of the year.”

“We need a game-changer,” Ed said, calmly.

“We could strike directly at Wolfbane,” Mandy suggested.

“We’d never get a fleet through their defences,” Ed said.  “And we’d have to nuke the entire world.  Quite apart from any moral considerations, Wolfbane would certainly do the same to Avalon and every other Commonwealth world.”

He shuddered at the thought.  For all of its flaws, the Empire had managed to prevent separatists, terrorists and insurgents from using weapons of mass destruction on a regular basis.  The bastards had known that the Empire would stop at nothing to hunt them down, if they committed mass murder.  But the Empire was gone and who knew if the successor states would uphold the old rules?  Some of them might even see advantage in slaughtering entire planetary populations.

Not us, he told himself, firmly.  He’d been far too close to one nuclear blast and he had no intention of being close to another.  Even if it costs us the war.

He cleared his throat for attention.  “I believe we have an option,” he said.  “It will be chancy, and perhaps quite costly, but it may be the only option we have.”

The display altered at his command, focusing in on a single green star.  He winced inwardly as he heard Jasmine’s sharp intake of breath.  She’d been captured and tortured on Corinthian, after all, and such treatment always left scars.  He would have left her out of the mission entirely, if that were possible, but he was terrifyingly short of experienced and capable officers.  If the devil had come to him and offered an entire regiment of marines, in exchange for his soul, he would have accepted without a second thought.

“Corinthian,” he said.  There would be time to chat with Jasmine privately later, if she had concerns of her own.  “Once the home base of Admiral Singh, our old and new enemy; now, a loyal Commonwealth world.”

“I should have killed her,” Jasmine said, quietly.

“You couldn't have known what she’d manage to do,” Ed said.  Privately, he was more than a little impressed.  Admiral Rani Singh’s remaining formation should have rapidly run out of supplies and died, somewhere in the inky darkness of space.  Instead, they’d made their way to Wolfbane and taken up high position in the government.  “I wouldn't have expected her to be so quick to take Brown’s place.”

But it might just work in their favour, he told himself.  Governor Brown was competent enough, but he’d worked hard to stack the deck in his favour before starting the war.  He hadn’t had the drive for power and military conquest that Rani Singh possessed in spades, or the sheer bloody-minded determination to win that characterised many of the marines.  Ed had doubted Brown would take the bait, when it was waved under his nose, but Admiral Singh was another story.  She’d be looking for weakness in his position and, if she saw a weakness, she’d try to take advantage of it.

“Over the next two months, we are going to have to consolidate our defence lines around the original Commonwealth stars,” he said, simply.  “We simply don’t have the mobile firepower necessary to hold our current positions for much longer.  This will place Corinthian outside our defence lines, a temptation to Admiral Singh.  I believe, based upon reading her profile, that she will very much want to recover her former base, if only to prove that she cannot be permanently beaten.  Right now, we don’t have the firepower to keep her from recapturing the world.”

Jasmine scowled.  “That will be bad for anyone who worked with us, back then.”

“Yes, it will,” Ed agreed.  That was, if anything, an understatement.  Admiral Singh was known to be vindictive.  “We’ve been evacuating much of the trained personnel to hidden shipyards and manufacturing complexes, but we haven't been able to strip the planet bare, simply because we need to keep those production lines running as long as possible.  We cannot keep the world, but we can force her to expend her resources taking it by force.”

He tapped the console, bringing up a map of the planetary surface.  “The principle problem in holding a planet after losing control of the high orbitals is that the enemy can simply bombard the planet into rubble from orbit, well out of range of most planetary defence weapons,” he stated.  “The Empire was never keen on allowing planets to deploy weapons that might force the Imperial Navy to keep its distance.  Now, however, we have our shield technology.  We can project a force field over Freedom City and the surrounding environs, forcing the Wolves to land troops and take the planet from the ground.”

“It sounds chancy,” Jasmine observed, into the silence.  “Can the shield hold?”

“As long as it has the power, it can hold,” Mandy said, quietly.  “But she’d still be able to bombard the remainder of the planet.”

“She needs to capture Freedom City,” Ed said.  “Bombarding the remainder of the planet would be pointless and she'd know it.  And if she did, her officers might well mutiny against her.”

He tapped the map.  “The point is that Singh will want to recover her former capital, want it very much,” he added.  “If everything goes according to plan, she will land troops herself and fight a conventional land campaign to seize the city.  And we’re going to be there to bleed her white.  She will concentrate more and more of her resources on Corinthian, trying to dig us out without doing too much damage to the facilities.  It should buy us time to get back on our feet and counterattack, trapping her forces against the planet.”

“And even if she wins, it will cost her dearly,” Gwendolyn observed.

Gaby frowned.  “Will she survive?”

“I don't know,” Ed said.

He studied the map for a long moment.  In his experience, infantry campaigns tended to be long and drawn out, mainly because their enemies were smart enough not to come to grips with the marines directly.  A more organised force would be smashed from orbit, but the force shield would ensure that was no longer a possibility. And if Singh committed herself to a ground campaign, the casualties would be horrific.  But would they be enough to weaken her position on Wolfbane?

The Empire rarely cared about casualties, if the media wasn't involved, he thought.  But Wolfbane doesn't even begin to have the same level of resources.

“It wouldn't be an easy campaign,” Jasmine said, slowly.  “It’ll make Lakshmibai look easy - and we know she has data on that campaign.”

“She’s a naval officer,” Ed said.  “To her, eighty kilometres might as well be eight.”

He smiled, remembering Admiral Valentine’s insistence that the marines - and soldiers - could march over three hundred miles in a day.  A distance that was tiny on an interplanetary scale, a distance that a starship could cover in less than a second, was immense on a planetary surface.  Even without hostile forces doing their level best to stop the march, it would have taken days to complete it.  And, on Corinthian, his forces were going to be very hostile indeed.  

And there’s no such thing as terrain in space, he thought, dryly.  Skimming through an asteroid field or punching it out with an enemy ship in a nebula only happened in bad entertainment flicks.  She isn't going to grasp how hard it can be to push through a mountain pass, even without the enemy making life interesting.

“It is definitely not going to be easy,” he warned.  “Quite apart from the CEF, we’ll be turning Corinthian into a battleground.  The civilians will be evacuated, of course, but large parts of the region will be devastated.”

“The planetary government will not take that well,” Gaby warned.

“The planetary government isn't going to survive if Admiral Singh returns,” Jasmine said, bluntly.  “I think the leadership were all part of our little coup, weren't they?”

“Yes,” Ed said.  “They were all involved in the coup and purging her supporters from the planet, afterwards.  They even renamed their capital Freedom City.”

“She’s not going to shower them with love,” Jasmine said.  “We may want to start thinking about evacuating them.”

Ed shrugged.  It was something to bear in mind, although he wasn't particularly keen on evacuating a government if the entire planet couldn't be abandoned.  Far too many of the brushfires he’d had to deal with before their exile had been caused by planetary leaders who’d fled, the moment they realised they’d gone too far, leaving their people to deal with the consequences.  He couldn't recall any governor who’d actually faced the consequences himself.

“We will consult with the government, of course,” he said.  “But the operation will need to begin as soon as possible.”

Mandy leaned forward.  “Colonel,” she said, “how do you intend to lure Singh into the trap?”

Ed exchanged a glance with Kitty Stevenson.  Only a handful of people knew about Hannalore Roeder and he wanted to keep it that way, even though he trusted everyone in the compartment implicitly.  And yet, it was a good question.  Admiral Singh might miss the preparations entirely, if there wasn’t a direct link between Avalon and Wolfbane ...

“Wolfbane has a number of intelligence-gathering rings operating on Avalon,” he said, finally.  “We believe they are all under our control.  They’ll be told that we will be pulling back from the defence lines, which is true, and that we will be stripping Corinthian of everything vital before we go.  That’s the message that will reach Admiral Singh.”

“Unless there’s a spy ring we don’t know about,” Jasmine said.

“True,” Ed agreed.  “But we will be spreading the story fairly widely.  No one outside this room will know the truth until it’s too late.”

He smiled.  “Officially, the CEF and a number of starships will be looting Corinthian,” he added.  “Admiral Singh will expect as much, of course.  It will give her a strong incentive to move quickly.  Unofficially, we will be digging in, preparing to resist her offensive when it comes.”

Jasmine frowned.  “We?”

“I’ll be taking personal command of the operation,” Ed said, firmly.  “It was my idea.”

He kept his face impassive.  Jasmine might have expected it for herself, despite her doubts over her fitness for command, but the whole operation was his idea.  He’d already sent far too many officers and men into combat without being there himself.  And how many officers on Earth had agreed to ill-planned deployments and crazy tactical plans because they weren't the ones charged with making them real?  The day he stopped being willing to take the field, to turn his plans into reality, was the day he should resign.

“I don’t promise the plan will work,” he concluded.  “But I think it’s the best chance we have to catch her with her pants down.”

“It looks workable,” Gaby said.  “Is it?”

“If Admiral Singh takes the bait,” Jasmine said.  “A lot depends on her even noticing the bait being waved in front of her.”

“We can take care of that,” Kitty said.  “And we can make sure that rumours spread, just to confuse any spies we don’t know about.”

“It may cause political problems,” Gaby said.  “If the other worlds get the impression that we’re planning to loot Corinthian ...”

Ed scowled.  “Can you keep it under control?”

“Maybe,” Gaby said.  “But we will have to pay a price for it later.”

“We will,” Ed agreed.  He tapped the table, thoughtfully.  “We now move to the tactical planning for the operation ...”

Chapter Three

Writers find this perplexing, of course.  This is why most mystery stories tend to be very clear, with every last detail accounted for.  The real world is a great deal more messy.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  The Role of Randomness In War.

Jasmine kept her private thoughts to herself as the small planning team hashed out the tactical details of the operation, although she offered her thoughts and opinions based on her experience on Corinthian and Lakshmibai.  She was, she suspected, the sole officer for a hundred light years who had commanded a fast-moving force trying to break through enemy defences, certainly the only one in the Commonwealth.  But the warrior caste on Lakshmibai hadn't been anything like a competent enemy ...

She pushed the thought aside as the meeting came to an end.  The plan was a little vague, compared to the thousand-page outlines she’d seen before their exile to Avalon, but there was no way every possible variation could be planned for in advance.  War was a democracy in the truest possible sense; the enemy got a vote.  It was far better for the commander on the spot to have authority to react to the situation as it changed, rather than have to send for new orders from Avalon.  The Empire had lost a dozen minor campaigns because the CO didn't have the authority to wipe his ass without orders from Earth, in triplicate.

“Jasmine,” Colonel Stalker said.  “Please remain behind.”

Jasmine nodded and remained seated, feeling torn between anticipation and an odd kind of fear.  Was she ready to go back into the field?  Or was she about to be told that she was being permanently relegated to REMF status?  Someone would have to remain on Avalon, after all, if Colonel Stalker was going to Corinthian.  Normally, she wouldn't have a hope in hell of getting the post, but nothing had been normal for the past seven years.  Her career path was a crooked mess.

“Jasmine,” Stalker said.  He sat, facing her.  “How was your leave?”

“It was cold, sir,” Jasmine said.  She had always liked and respected the colonel, but they’d hardly been friends.  He’d been her first commanding officer, after her graduation; there’d always been a distance between them.  “But I managed to do plenty of climbing.”

“I keep meaning to go climbing myself,” Stalker mused.  “Would you recommend it?”

“We could train mountain troops up there,” Jasmine said.  Marines were meant to be well-rounded, but some of the mountaineering troops she’d encountered on Han had been strikingly good, as long as they were in their element.  “But I wouldn't climb some of the nastier mountains without another marine by my side.”

“It would probably be wise,” Stalker agreed.  He leaned back in his chair, a movement that didn't put Jasmine at her ease.  “What do you think of the operational plan?”

Jasmine took a moment to gather her thoughts.  “It hinges on the assumption that Admiral Singh will fall for our trap,” she said, finally.  “The odds are in our favour, but she may have different ideas.  Corinthian is simply less important than Wolfbane.”

“Her profile makes it clear that she hates to lose,” Stalker said.  “Would you agree with that?”

“I hate to lose, sir,” Jasmine said.  “But I’m not sure I would walk deliberately into an elephant trap because of my wounded pride.”

She rubbed her shaved head, thoughtfully.  “It will look simple to her from orbit, I suspect,” she added.  “But it really is a gamble.”

“Life is a gamble,” Stalker said.  “Right now, the alternative is to dig in and fight to the last or find a way to strike at Wolfbane directly.  And that isn't going to be easy.”

Jasmine nodded, shortly.  The Wolves could muster the forces necessary to stop any deep-strike offensive, while launching an all-out attack on Avalon themselves.  Trying to punch out Wolfbane might just cost the Commonwealth everything, yet hunkering down and hoping for the best wasn't a strategy either.  Luring Admiral Singh into a minefield was the best of a set of bad options.  She didn't like it, but she couldn't think of anything better.

“It should be workable, sir,” she said.  “If worst comes to worst, the CEF can go to ground and scatter until the navy recovers control of the system.”

“That’s one of the possible options,” Stalker said.

“There's another concern,” Jasmine added.  “Is Admiral Singh going to be ready to launch a ground invasion?  It isn't as though they’re expecting to have to fight on the ground.”

“Corinthian has been distributing weapons ever since the liberation,” Stalker said.  “They’ll know that everyone and his wife is armed to the teeth, which will give them some incentive to bring a larger force.  But you’re right.  They may have to delay matters long enough to summon additional forces from their nearby bases.”

Jasmine nodded, slowly.  The Imperial Navy had plenty of experience in landing occupation forces and then supporting them, but they had never considered a long conventional campaign without orbital supremacy.  They’d simply never faced a peer power since the Unification Wars, so long ago that they’d passed well out of living memory.  And now so much had to be relearned.  It was frustrating, even though she suspected Admiral Singh had the same problem.

She looked up.  “Is there anything we can do about that?”

“Probably not,” Stalker admitted.  “We’re rolling the dice here, Jasmine, and the odds are pretty much stacked against us.”

“I thought that was how we rolled, sir,” Jasmine said.  She couldn't help feeling a twinge of ... concern.  She’d never realised just how much commanding officers sweated bullets for the safety of their men until she’d become a commanding officer herself.  “We can do anything, if we put our minds to it.”

Stalker smiled.  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” he said.  “What do you think of yourself, right now?”

“The job needs to be done, sir,” Jasmine said, ducking the question.  Two years at the Slaughterhouse and eight years on duty had taught her that whining and moaning helped no one, particularly not herself.  “If you have a role for me in this operation, I will be happy to take it.”

Stalker nodded.  “I can't give you the CEF,” he said, flatly.  “The original formation has been almost completely rebuilt, with new officers in important positions.  General Crichton Mathis currently holds command; he’ll be my second on Corinthian.”

Jasmine wasn't too surprised.  She’d commanded the CEF in two campaigns, but the second had ended with surrender and a trip to a penal colony for her and her senior officers.  And, of course, everyone she hadn't managed to get off Thule in time.  She rather doubted that any of the surviving officers had much confidence in her after that.  Mathis was a knight, rather than a marine, but he was a good man.  A little unseasoned, perhaps, yet that was true of far too many officers these days.

“I understand, sir,” she said.  It hurt more than she’d expected, but it definitely wasn't a surprise.  “He’ll do a good job.”

“I certainly hope so,” Stalker said.  “I have something different in mind for you.”

He tapped a hidden switch, throwing up a holographic map of Landing City - no, Freedom City.  Jasmine studied it, remembering how she and her men had sneaked into the city and brought down an entire government ... and how she’d been captured, tortured and forced to escape under her own steam.  She'd done well, she knew, but the whole experience had left scars on her soul.

But I escaped, she told herself, firmly.  It would be a great deal worse if I’d been rescued - or if I’d broken.

The map wasn't too accurate outside the city, she noted.  Corinthian had been settled long enough for accurate maps to be composed, but the drawers hadn’t been too concerned with the unsettled regions to the north.  The farmlands she recalled from her last visit existed only in outline, faint sketch marks that probably bore little resemblance to reality.  Admiral Singh hadn't paid too much attention to the farmers either, only making sure they supplied enough food to keep the city alive.  She’d been much more interested in establishing her power base and building an empire.

The colonel is right, Jasmine told herself.  She’d studied Admiral Singh’s file before the first mission.  The older woman had been ambitious as hell, determined to make a name for herself ... reading between the lines, it was clear she’d been exiled by her superiors, just for being too threatening to their careers.  Admiral Singh will want to recover her former base and wreak revenge on her enemies.

“The map needs work,” she said, pushing the thought aside.  “We may need to get more up-to-date ones when we arrive.”

“We will,” the Colonel said.  He altered the map so it showed the force shield, a spinning disc of energy hanging in the sky, ten kilometres above the ground.  Jasmine had wondered if it would touch the ground, making it impossible for Singh to force her way into the city, but it didn't even curve into a bowl.  “I believe she will try to land forces a safe distance from the force shield.  She may assume that the force shield can actually be extended on command.”

Jasmine frowned.  “And can it?”

“Not without additional projectors, which we don’t have,” Stalker warned.  “We did hope to produce a shield that covered an entire planet, but there are ... problems ... in how the different shield discs interact with one another.  This piece of technology is a game-changer, but it needs to have the kinks worked out first.”

“And if it fails midway through the operation,” Jasmine said, “we all die.”

“We would have to scatter very quickly,” Stalker confirmed.  He tapped the map again, pointing to a handful of possible Landing Zones.  “I want you to take command of 1st Platoon, once again.  Your job is to harass the enemy’s rear, once they start landing in force.”

Jasmine felt a flicker of excitement, mixed with an odd kind of regret.  1st Platoon - the 1st Platoon she’d joined and then commanded - no longer existed.  The unit that bore its name consisted of newcomers, with hardly any continuity between them and their predecessors.  A century or two of history was being lost ... but what choice did they have?  The Slaughterhouse was gone, if the rumours were to be believed.  There would be no new marines to replace those who had died in the line of duty.

She pushed her feelings aside and leaned forward.  “I have tactical command?”

“You have complete freedom to plan your operations,” Stalker said.  “Just make sure you hit them hard enough to keep them from bringing all their firepower to bear against us.”

Jasmine smiled, relishing the challenge.  “Yes, sir,” she said.  “I look forward to it.”

“You’ll meet up with the remainder of the platoon tomorrow,” Stalker said.  “Assuming the loading goes as planned, you’ll have at least two weeks to brush up on your tactics and work your way through a number of possible options.  Make sure you train hard too.”

“Yes, sir,” Jasmine said.  It had been too long since she’d served as part of a fire team, although she had managed to improvise the escape from Meridian.  “I’ll make them regret ever hearing my name.”

Stalker’s lips twitched.  “Admiral Singh may know you personally,” he warned.  “You probably don’t want to be taken alive.”

“Again,” Jasmine said.  Even if Admiral Singh didn't connect her with the person who’d sparked off a revolution on Corinthian, she’d know that Jasmine was an escaped POW.  And an escaped POW could be shot out of hand, quite legally.  “I won’t let them capture me.”

“Good,” Stalker said.

He paused.  “There is another issue,” he added.  “Your boyfriend will be accompanying the CEF to Corinthian, again.  It’s vitally important that we explain to the Commonwealth just what’s going on - and why.”

Jasmine looked down at the map.  “May I ask why, sir?”

“Politics,” Stalker said.  He made the word a curse.  “When we started, it was assumed that all worlds that joined the Commonwealth would be equal, once they signed the charter.  In practice, worlds like Avalon - and Corinthian - are moving to dominate the Commonwealth, both because they have some degree of industrialisation and because they have room for immigrants with various skills.  In doing so, they are accidentally crippling the other worlds in the Commonwealth by hampering their ability to industrialise.”

“I thought they all had cloudscoops now,” Jasmine said.  “Surely ...”

“They do,” Stalker confirmed.  “But there’s a great deal more to industrialisation than merely having an effectively-endless source of fuel.  They need experienced personnel who can help turn their dreams into reality, personnel who are in short supply because they can get better-paid jobs here.”

He shrugged.  “And then there’s the problem of the war,” he added.  “There’s a growing party within the government that believes we can come to terms with Wolfbane, if only to avoid losing what we’ve built over the past few years.  And one that considers the entire war Avalon’s fault.  My screw-up on Lakshmibai gave the dissidents a chance to organise, which creates more problems for us.  Without the war, things might have gone better, but right now we need our economy running at full power.”

Jasmine put the rest of the picture together.  “And that means a number of worlds are being screwed,” he said.  “And not in a good way, either.”

“No,” Stalker agreed.  “If we’re lucky, we can end the war and matters will normalise themselves before something explodes.  But if we’re unlucky, there will be a nasty explosion at the worst possible time, ripping the Commonwealth apart.  We’ve learned too many bad habits as we struggled to prepare for the war.”

He cleared his throat.  “Back to the original subject, your boyfriend will be accompanying us to Corinthian,” he said.  “I trust this won’t be a problem?”

“No, sir,” Jasmine said.  She doubted she could have talked the colonel out of it, even if she’d wanted to.  Emmanuel would not have thanked her for denying him the chance to win the scoop of a lifetime.  In his own way, he was as dedicated and daring as herself.  “I assume we wouldn't be seeing too much of one another anyway.”

“Probably not,” Stalker confirmed.  “He’ll be briefed in on the operation tomorrow, then he’ll go into the box.  Make tonight count.”

Jasmine nodded.  It wouldn't be the first time she’d had to leave him behind when she went on deployment.  Hell, she was hardly the only marine with a lover back home.  She was too experienced to be embarrassed at the colonel’s droll remark.

“If there are problems, I expect to hear about them,” the colonel warned.  “Once we depart, there will be no time to fix anything.”

“Yes, sir,” Jasmine said.  “Do you anticipate any problems with the government of Corinthian?”

“They are going to be in deep shit if their world is ... repossessed,” Stalker observed.  “They’re not ruling over a planet that doesn't materially affect the balance of power ...”

Jasmine nodded in grim understanding.  Corinthian was rich, both in pre-established industries and human capital.  Admiral Singh had good reason to want it, even if she hadn't already had a long history with Corinthian.  And she would make sure to bring along enough firepower to cow the defenders, forcing them to surrender rather than fight or destroy their facilities.  But she would run right into a trap.  If, of course, everything worked as planned.

And if it doesn't, she told herself, we’ll just have to improvise.

She looked back at the map and shuddered, inwardly.  She’d spent weeks on the ground, getting to know the people; she’d met good men and bad, resistance fighters and criminals ... and countless civilians who’d wanted nothing more than to keep their heads down and stay out of the fighting.  And many of those people were going to die, when the storm of war raged over their heads.  She had no illusions about just how badly Corinthian was going to be hammered.  Lakshmibai had been devastated by the fighting, during the brief campaign ...

But their society was permanently on the verge of collapse, she reminded herself.  This society had a chance to recover after Admiral Singh was forced to flee.

“This will be a challenge, sir,” she said, keeping her doubts to herself.  “And if we can make her pay ...”

“We need to bleed her white,” Stalker told her.  There was no give in his voice at all.  “She has to suffer badly, Jasmine.  She has to feel the losses.”

Jasmine nodded.  She’d heard enough about Wolfbane to be fairly confident that a failure - or even a partial success - would badly weaken Singh’s position.  But it would come at a terrible cost, for Corinthian, for Avalon ... and for the young men and women who served Admiral Singh.  She knew better than to think they were all evil, yet she knew many of them had to die ...

“I understand, sir,” she said.  

Stalker held her eyes for a long moment.  She wondered, absently, just what he thought of her.  She’d offered to resign, twice.  Would he have accepted if he hadn't been so terrifyingly short of experienced officers?  She wasn’t sure what she would have done if their positions had been reversed.  But she didn't dare ask him.  She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

The colonel smiled, very briefly.  “Good luck.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jasmine said.  She rose, catching sight of their reflection in the wall-mounted computer monitors as she moved.  They were very different and yet ... there was something about them that was identical.  Shared experiences, perhaps, or a shared outlook on the world around them.  “I won’t let you down.”

Chapter Four

The Battle of Camelot is a better example, at least for the military.  On the face of it, the Crackers took a suicidal gamble and lost, badly.  Their decision to attack Camelot - to attempt to cripple the remains of imperial governance on Avalon - was not only foolhardy, it was unnecessary.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  The Role of Randomness In War.

“Is it wrong of me,” Gaby asked as she climbed into bed, “to wish I was going with you?”

Ed considered it for a long moment.  “Are politics finally starting to get you down?”

“Yeah,” Gaby admitted.  “Too many different factions, too many different opinions on just what we should do ... it’s not quite what I envisaged during the war.”

“Nor I,” Ed said.  “I never expected all of this.”

He waved a hand at the wall, indicating Castle Rock and Camelot, on the other side of the Sea of Dreams.  Gaby had flown back to Camelot shortly after the briefing, while he’d stayed to talk to Jasmine and a dozen other officers.  Piece by piece, the operational plans were becoming reality.  It wouldn't be long before the CEF was assembled, ready to board its ships for the trip to Corinthian.  And then he’d be leaving her behind while he went on yet another deployment.

“Everything was a great deal simpler during the first war,” Gaby said.  “This one ... this one is complicated.”

“You love it,” Ed said.  He’d never seen Gaby happier than when she was organising a political campaign, gathering support for her causes and bargaining cheerfully with her fellow politicians.  It helped, he supposed, that so few of her fellows had any real long-term experience with politics.  They hadn't yet ossified, unlike the Grand Senate.  “Don’t you?”

“I just wish this war was over,” Gaby said, flatly.  “Right now, the balance of power is skewing out of control.”

She took a breath.  “And there’s something else I need to tell you,” she added.  “Something that might change everything.”

Ed met her eyes, trying to read her expression.  She sounded nervous, as if she wasn't quite sure how to talk to him.  That was odd - and worrying.  They’d been lovers for the last five years, after she’d become President.  She knew him as well as anyone outside the marines, save perhaps for Professor Caesius.  What was she so reluctant to talk about?

“I’m pregnant,” Gaby said.

Ed felt his mouth drop open in shock.  It took him several moments to form a coherent word or two.  “Really?  Pregnant?”

“I checked with the doctor this afternoon,” Gaby said.  She looked down at the bed for a long moment.  “I wasn't feeling so good, you see.  The doctor confirmed I was pregnant.  I wasn't expecting it.”

Ed stared at her, trying to wrap his thoughts about the concept of being a father.  His father had been an unknown - and, now that Earth was gone, Ed knew he’d never know just who had fathered him.   It wasn't as if he’d had many decent role models either, in his early life; he hadn't met anyone worthy of respect until he’d entered Boot Camp.  What would his Drill Instructors have thought of him now?  If they were still alive, where were they ...?

I’m going to be a father, he thought.  But how?

Glee and panic rushed through his mind.  He had no experience with decent fathers, with men who set good examples for their children.  The less said about his so-called stepfathers the better and as for the others ... no, he couldn't think of them as anything other than monsters who’d deserved worse than to die when the city-blocks tumbled.  No, he would have to learn from the Drill Instructors, but he couldn't treat a baby like they’d treated new recruits ...

“That’s wonderful,” he said, finally.  “How ...?”

Gaby made a face.  “The doctor said that my implant had expired ahead of time,” she said, after a moment.  “They didn't fill the reservoir completely back then, apparently.  There was a shortage of contraceptive drugs.”

“Or they were hoping you’d get pregnant and settle down with children,” Ed said.  The Old Council had probably thought a population boom was exactly what they needed.  “I ... it’s wonderful, isn't it?”

“I think so,” Gaby said.  She smiled, rather tiredly.  “There will be some tongues wagging, of course, but I don’t think it’s really much of a secret.”

Ed nodded.  Their relationship was one of the worst-kept secrets on Avalon.  No one really cared enough to object, in any case.  Gaby’s father was long-dead, along with most of his family after the first rebellion had been brutally crushed.  The handful of survivors thought the idea of Gaby having a relationship with Ed strengthened the settlement that had ended the war.  There were a handful of traditionalists who would probably raise their eyebrows, but no one would really object.

“We should get married now,” he said.  He had never had much respect for marriage, after how the concept had been perverted on Earth, but it meant something on Avalon.  “We can have it done right away ...”

“It would be better to wait until my term in office ends,” Gaby said.  “I have another year to go.”

Ed frowned.  “Can you serve when you’re pregnant?”

“I had better be able to serve,” Gaby said.  “If I resign now, Ed, there will be one hell of a power struggle over who replaces me.”

“True,” Ed agreed.  Gaby had started her career as the post-war president of Avalon, enjoying the backing of almost all of the planet’s factions.  But now she held a position in the Commonwealth ... and she didn't enjoy quite so much backing there.  “We really do need to end this war.”

He scowled as a thought struck him.  “I can't stay.”

“I wasn't going to ask you to stay,” Gaby assured him.  She sounded annoyed, rather than amused or angry.  “I understood when I started dating you that you might have to leave for months or years.”

Ed sighed.  It was the old dilemma, rearing its ugly head all over again.  A woman who married into the military might find herself alone, trying to bring up her children, while her husband was deployed elsewhere for months or years.  Even the corps had problems keeping husbands and wives together, although it had offered living space on the Slaughterhouse to women who married active-duty marines.  He’d been lucky, really; he’d gone to Lakshmibai, but otherwise he’d stayed on Avalon ...

But he couldn't stay this time.

He cursed under his breath, torn between two imperatives.  Part of him wanted to stay behind, to put command in the hands of Jasmine Yamane or General Crichton Mathis.  He could do it, too; no one would question his orders.  But the rest of him knew he had to go, he had to be with his men when they faced their gravest challenge.  And yet, that meant leaving Gaby alone when she was pregnant ... and taking the risk he might never return.  He’d survived over fifteen years as a marine, but that conferred no immunity to death.  A stray bullet could end his life as surely as it could end the life of the rawest of recruits.

Gaby rested her hand on his.  “You can't stay,” she said, softly.  “You’d torment yourself, ever after, over what might have happened if you’d been there.”

“I’d be worrying about you too,” Ed said.  It was silly, he knew; Gaby was a healthy young woman who would receive the very best of medical care.  And yet he would worry ... he looked down at himself and laughed.  Gaby wasn't a marine, but she’d fought hard against overwhelming odds for years.  She didn't need him patronising her.  “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“As sure as I can be,” Gaby said.  She touched her flat stomach lightly with her left hand.  Ed watched, half-expecting to see a baby bump already there.  “There’s seven months to go before the baby’s due, in any case.”

Ed found himself lost for words.  How did one be a good father?  The young men he’d mentored had all been in their late teens or older, already formed by the time they were placed in his hands.  He had no idea how to approach a child.  It scared him on so many levels that he was tempted to run.  And yet, the thought of just walking away was unthinkable.  How many children on Earth had been lost to barbarity because they didn't have a strong and decent father-figure?

“I can't stay,” he said, again.  “Should we put the baby in an exowomb?”

Gaby shook her head.  “My family has always gone for natural births,” she said.  Ed bit his tongue to keep from pointing out that there was nothing natural about modern medical treatment.  “And besides, it’s not an option open to many families here.”

Ed nodded in reluctant agreement.  Exowombs had been common among the upper classes on Earth - they still were, amongst the Traders - but they were rare on Avalon.  Gaby hadn't come from a rich family, either.  She probably could get an exowomb, if she tried, yet it would look very bad politically.  And it just wasn't like her to claim an advantage when so many others were denied it.

“I have a son,” he breathed.

“Or a daughter,” Gaby pointed out.  “I didn't want them to tell me what was coming.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “Would that bother you?”

“On Earth, it would have done,” Ed said, honestly.  It had been nearly seventeen years since he’d escaped the Undercity, but he still recalled the horrors he’d seen.  When society collapsed, it was the girls who always got the worst of it.  Rape and murder had been terrifyingly common, while suicide was the single biggest cause of death.  “But on Avalon, it shouldn't be a problem.”

It damn well wouldn't be, he resolved privately.  Avalon took a much more practical view towards self-defence than Earth, where girls were denied anything they could use to fight back against the barbarians who infested the planet.  His daughter would start learning to fight as soon as she could walk, training with daggers and pistols suited to a small pair of hands.  If anyone tried to touch her, Ed was sure, it would be the last mistake he ever made.

“That’s good,” Gaby said, dryly.  “I wasn’t planning to check.”

“I understand,” Ed said.  “Do you want to tell everyone now?”

Gaby touched her stomach, again.  “I’ll have to inform the Speaker,” she said.  “That’s written into the laws, Ed; if there's anything that might impede my ability to handle my duties, I’m to report it before it becomes a problem.  But otherwise ...”

She frowned.  “Do you want to tell anyone now?”

“I should inform Gwendolyn,” Ed said.  His friend would need to know, if only so she could tell him off for being distracted.  He wanted to shout the news across the entire Commonwealth, but it was really Gaby’s choice.  Her opponents were the ones who would want to make hay out of the whole affair.  “But otherwise ... I can wait.”

“Tell her,” Gaby said.  “But no one else, if you don’t mind.  The doctor says everything is fine, but I’d prefer to wait until the pregnancy is well-established.”

Ed blinked in surprise - pregnant women on Earth wanted everyone to know as soon as possible - but he had no real objections.  It wasn't as if he had many people to tell, in any case.  The people he met were largely his subordinates, even Gwendolyn.  Gaby was the closest thing he had to an equal and she was technically his superior.  But then, there were so many legal headaches caused by the Fall of the Empire that it was probably better not to look at the matter too closely.

“I don’t mind,” he assured her.  “It shouldn't be a problem.”

“I don’t have anything to gain from an early announcement,” Gaby said.  “I’ll make a short one when the bulge becomes noticeable.”

“I won’t be here,” Ed said.  He scowled at the wall.  “I honestly don’t expect to be back for at least a year.”

“I will endure,” Gaby promised.  “And after that, it will be the end of my term.”

“I know,” Ed said.  He reached out and touched her belly, feeling nothing.  Stupid, of course; the baby would be tiny right now, barely large enough to see.  It would be months before the baby was large enough to kick, as his sisters had kicked before they’d been born.  “You take very good care of yourself, all right?”

“Of course,” Gaby said.  Her mouth twisted in amused dismay.  “But don’t treat me like a china doll either.  I’m not that fragile”

Ed nodded once, then kissed her, feeling a sudden burst of love and desire as her tongue entered his mouth.  He wanted her, needed her.  They wouldn’t see much of one another over the next two weeks anyway, no matter what happened.  There was just too much to do, even though the military was now a well-oiled machine.  He’d check everything himself, just in case.  He was the one who would be on the sharp end, if the shit hit the fan.  

Gaby kissed him back as he climbed on top of her, reassuring himself that he couldn't hurt her or the baby.  They’d made love countless times before she’d discovered she was pregnant.  His hands traced her breasts as he slipped into her, her legs locking around him and pulling him close.  He wondered, absently, just when their child had been conceived, then decided it didn't matter.  Dating it all the way back to the first moments would be problematic.  And then all rational thought was gone ...

Afterwards, he watched her sleep, feeling an odd wave of protectiveness.  Gaby didn't need his protection, not when she’d led an insurgency and then built a functioning government, but part of him just wanted to stay with her.  And yet, he knew it was impossible.  He couldn’t claim something he’d deny to any other marine under his command.

And you might not be here when the baby is born, his thoughts mocked him.  He rose, carefully tucking the blanket in around her body.   Gaby was tough, but she was also pregnant ... he told himself not to be silly.  It was the baby he was worried about, not her.  What happens if there are ... complications?

He swallowed as he padded into the small office, where he’d set up a computer terminal attached to the military network.  Modern medicine could work miracles, compared to what his long-distant predecessors had had to endure, but complications happened ... particularly when people wanted them to happen.  Gaby had enemies, powerful enemies; Admiral Singh, if no one else, had plenty of motive to try to arrange for an accident.  He keyed the terminal, checking Gaby’s health records.  No one had flagged an alert since she’d first been captured, in the closing days of the war ...

Idiot, he told himself.  She would have said if there was something very wrong.

He closed the file and opened his personal file instead, digging up his will.  It was an open question just how legal it was, these days; large tracts of Imperial Law had been wiped from existence, in the Commonwealth, at the stroke of a pen.  But he had never bothered to update his will, not when there was very little to give away.  He had no family, no old friends who could be reached ...

But that was no longer true.

He looked at the standard form for a long moment.  His possessions, such as they were, had been assigned to his company, although quite how that would work out when he’d been in command was beyond him.  It wasn't as if he had very much in any case.  His remaining bank balance would be shared out for beer money.  Like almost every other careerist, he’d been content to allow it to grow while the corps had fed and watered him - he’d known he didn't want to invest, even if there hadn't been concerns about insider trading - and there was quite a tidy sum.  It would take the remainder of his company a few weeks to drink their way through it.  But now ...

His hands danced over the keyboard, rewriting his will.  The money would go to the baby, held in trust until he reached his majority.  Or she, he reminded himself.  The child could easily be a girl, rather than a boy.  Boys tended to have an easier time of it on Earth, but even they could lose their lives in the blink of an eye.  If he’d been a little weaker, or a little more aggressive, he would have died or become a gangster, to die when he grew old or stupid or ran into someone stronger and luckier than himself.  But on Avalon, a little boy could grow into a proper man.  

He saved the file, then emailed a copy to Gwendolyn.  She’d witness it, attach her e-signature and then send it back into the files.  If something happened to him, the will would activate ...he hoped nothing would go wrong, but it was better to be sure.  Right now, he had something more personal to live for than the corps - or the Commonwealth.

Shaking his head, he rose to his feet and walked back into the bedroom.  Gaby had shifted slightly in her sleep, her red hair spilling over the pillows.  His heart almost stopped at the sight; he stared at her for a long moment, then climbed into bed next to her.  She cuddled up to him in her sleep, rubbing against him.  He wrapped an arm around her and closed his eyes.  

Sleep tight, he told himself.  Tomorrow is another day.

Chapter Five

Unnecessary?  The former council had already been arrested and removed from power, the governor had already agreed to concede the vast majority of the Cracker demands.  Their desperate attempt to derail the slow shift against them - by striking directly at Camelot - risked everything.  It could easily have pushed the governor into demanding harsh measures, instead of a political solution.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  The Role of Randomness In War.

“I’m going to miss you,” Emmanuel said, as they lay together afterwards.  “You only just got back!”

Jasmine concealed her amusement, feeling an odd twinge of guilt.  Emmanuel didn't know it, but he would be coming with her and the CEF.  But she couldn't tell him, not when operational security came first.  Far too many secrets had been blown because they’d been discussed openly, without regard for who might be listening in.  She trusted Emmanuel, but she knew better than to take chances.

“I’ll miss you too,” she said, as she climbed out of bed and headed towards the shower.  “But we will see each other again.”

She smiled to herself as she turned on the tap, washing her body clean, then shook her head ruefully.  It wasn't as if they would be together on Corinthian, even though they would technically be on the same world.  No wonder the Colonel believed Admiral Singh would underestimate the task before her, Jasmine considered, if she could imagine that Emmanuel and her would be close together.  She’d been in enough campaigns to know that a mere five kilometres could be brutal, if they were guarded by trained and experienced soldiers with plenty of heavy weapons.

The door opened.  Emmanuel stepped into the shower.  “It’s 0700,” he said.  “When do you have to go?”

“I have to be at the base for 0900,” Jasmine answered.  She silently totted up the timing in her mind; half an hour for breakfast, half an hour to get to the base ... there would be plenty of leeway if something went wrong.  “Did you hear anything from your superiors?”

“I have to present myself at the main building at 0900,” Emmanuel said.  He climbed into the shower, his hands running over her body.  “Before then, we have to empty the apartment.”

Jasmine nodded, curtly.  The apartment block was really for visitors from the Commonwealth, not a lone marine and her boyfriend.  Whatever happened, they wouldn't be coming back after they left the complex.  Her possessions would be stowed away until she returned, or handled in accordance with her will if she died.  She didn't want to think about the possibility, but a lifetime of experience had taught her that anyone could die.  Blake Coleman had seemed untouchable until an explosion had blown his body to bits.  They’d never found the remains.  

They made love with brutal urgency, washed again and then ate a simple breakfast before packing their bags.  Neither of them had brought much, beyond a change of clothing and a pair of personal datapads.  They’d have to go into storage too, Jasmine reminded herself.  She was hardly the only marine to have a personal datapad, rather than a corps-issued terminal, but they posed another security risk.  How many operations had been blown because a civilian-grade terminal had been turned into an unwitting spy?

“I’ll see you soon,” she promised, once the plates were washed and left to dry.  She had no intention of leaving the apartment in a mess.  “And I hope the interview goes well for you.”

Emmanuel shrugged.  “I’ll have to go back into the office,” he said.  “Quite a few of the scoops I had before you returned couldn't be printed, apparently for planetary security.”

Jasmine had to smile.  “They do have a point.”

“I know,” Emmanuel said.  He kissed her goodbye.  “But who watches the watchmen who decide what threatens planetary security?”

Jasmine contemplated the problem as she walked downstairs, passed through the security checkpoint and jogged towards the marine barracks at the far edge of Castle Rock.  Who did decide what threatened planetary security?  She’d always tended to be careful, when it came to deciding what could and what couldn't be reported, but she knew from bitter experience that the rules could be interpreted differently.  Admiral Valentine had been quite happy to reveal sensitive operational data to the media - and she was sure the rebels on Han had been delighted - yet he’d clamped down hard on anything that might cast doubt on his military competence.  Who knew what would have happened, how many lives would have been saved, if the idiot had been removed from command before the shit really hit the fan?

She dismissed the thought as she stopped outside the barracks and pressed her hand against the scanner, allowing it to read the ID chip implanted in her palm.  There was a long pause, then the door clicked, allowing her to push it open and step into the prefabricated building.  It was the only place on Avalon that was solely for the marines, even though nearly a third of the company had died and another third had been distributed out to places where their skills could help build the Commonwealth.  She scowled at the thought - there would be no new marines for years to come, even if they built a whole new Slaughterhouse - and then walked into the briefing room.  Unlike so many others, it was reassuringly simple.  A handful of chairs, a simple table and a projector.  There was no need for fancy decorations in the corps.

“Jasmine,” Lieutenant Joe Buckley called.  “Welcome home!”

Jasmine allowed herself a smile.  Joe Buckley had been one of her first comrades, back when she’d joined the company.  He’d had a terrible reputation for getting into scrapes, but a reasonably decent reputation for getting out of them afterwards.  She shook his hand warmly, then glanced at the other marines.  Rifleman Thomas Stewart had been with her on Meridian, but the other four were largely unknown to her.  They'd been in other platoons during the deployment to Avalon and then assigned out to various posts before she’d taken command of 1st Platoon for the first time.

“Thank you, Joe,” she said, seriously.  “I thought you’d left us for a wife!”

“The colonel called me back,” Joe said, without heat.  “Seriously, I was getting bored of training the youngsters.”

“And a bit repetitive,” Rifleman Henry Parkinson commented.  “The training field was getting a little too organised.”

“It isn't the bloody Slaughterhouse,” Buckley snapped.  “There are limits to what we can do to the poor little mites.”

Jasmine glanced at him.  “Is there any prospect of getting a new Slaughterhouse?”

“Not as yet,” Buckley said.  “I think Colonel Stalker doesn't want to take that step.”

“Understandable,” Rifleman William Randolph commented, darkly.  “It would be a little like giving up.”

Jasmine had to agree.  The Slaughterhouse bound the marines together, reassuring them that a rifleman who’d been transferred from halfway across the galaxy would still speak the same language and look at the world in the same way.  It had resisted all attempts to soften the training course or politicise the training cadre, concentrating on turning out the finest soldiers the galaxy had ever seen.  Boot Camp was one thing - there had been a Boot Camp in each sector, preparing recruits for the Slaughterhouse, but a hundred different Slaughterhouses would rapidly lead to a hundred different kinds of marine.  It could not be tolerated.

And yet we are terrifyingly short of manpower, she thought.  1st Platoon was meant to have ten marines, but she only had seven, counting herself.  There are no CROWs on their way to replace the fallen.

“We need to be realistic,” Rifleman Gavin Jalil observed.  “None of us are going to see the Core Worlds again.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Buckley commented.  “Have you ever tried to live there?”

“No,” Jalil said.  “But our universe is a great deal smaller than it was.”

“Matter of opinion,” Rifleman David Graf said.  “It wouldn't be hard to send a starship to the Slaughterhouse, even if it will take a year before we hear anything back.”

“Bit of a waste of resources,” Jalil argued.  “We have a war to fight.”

“The war won’t last forever,” Graf countered.  “For all we know, the Traders have already sent a mission to Earth.”

“Or what’s left of it,” Jasmine said.  Reports were vague, but most of them agreed that Earth had been destroyed and a tidal wave of anarchy was spreading across the Core Worlds.  Even if they did manage to get back to the Core, it wouldn’t be what they remembered.  “I don’t think we can count on any help.”

She sucked in her breath.  Some of the older marines had bitched and moaned about being sent into exile, but she’d known she wouldn't be leaving the corps for at least eighteen years in any case.  She’d signed up for the long haul.  Now, in hindsight, being exiled to Avalon might just have saved their lives.  If the Core Worlds really had collapsed into anarchy, eighty-seven marines wouldn't have made much of a difference, while they’d been able to save Avalon from disaster.  And then build a whole new society ...

“This is an interesting debate,” she said, “but it’s not why we’re here.”

She took a seat and faced them, taking command.  “Colonel Stalker is baiting a trap for Admiral Singh and the Wolves,” she said, and ran through a brief outline.  “Our job is to stay behind enemy lines and make their lives as miserable as possible.”

“Sounds just like a rerun of what you did the last time you were on Corinthian,” Buckley observed.  “You just want to hurt the bastards as much as possible?”

“Last time, we had to overthrow the government,” Jasmine reminded him.  “This time, all we have to do is harry the invaders until they can be beaten.”

“So we’re still playing insurgent,” Jalil observed.  He leaned forward, excited by the challenge.  “That’s not going to be easy.  Sneaking up on a military force is a little harder than sneaking up on a base ...”

“We’ve done it before,” Buckley said.  He winked at Jasmine.  “Remember when we broke into that Civil Guard base, wearing nothing but our birthday suits?”

“That was Blake’s idea,” Jasmine said.  “And I don’t think we’re going to be trying it on Corinthian.”

She smiled in happy memory.  The marines had been tasked with testing the base’s security to encourage the Civil Guard to close any holes before the Nihilists or another terrorist movement tried to steal weapons or launch an attack from inside the wire.  Blake, always joking around, had suggested waltzing into the base wearing absolutely nothing.  Somehow, the Civil Guardsmen had missed five naked men and one woman making their way through the fences and into the armoury.  They’d been seated on the supply crates when the guards had finally caught up with them.

“Probably not,” Buckley agreed.  “Something might go wrong at the worst possible moment.”

“More than that,” Graf pointed out.  “Any Guardsmen who stayed alive long enough to be folded into the Wolves would be reasonably experienced.”

Jasmine nodded.  The Civil Guard had always been a mixed bag, with some units considered reasonably competent and the remainder ranging between weekend warriors to thugs, rapists and looters.  But the latter wouldn't have lasted long as the Empire fell apart, she was sure; the only way to survive was to gain experience and use it before time ran out.  The guardsmen she’d met on Thule hadn't been too bad, compared to some of the units she’d seen on Han.

“We’ll be borrowing some elements from the knights to serve as our op-force,” she said, simply.  “We cannot take the risk of assuming our enemies are idiots.”

“Of course not,” Buckley said.  “The youngsters aren't much by our standards, Jasmine, but they’re keen and they learn fast.”

“It helps they don’t have any bureaucrats messing with their training patterns,” Graf added, deadpan.  “They just have to cope with you teaching them what to do.”

Buckley gave him a one-fingered gesture.  He wasn't a trained Drill Instructor, Jasmine knew, but he was hardly the only person who had been given responsibilities that forced him to learn on the job.  And yet, a surplus of ammunition alone would make his charges far more proficient shots.  She'd wondered why the army soldiers had performed so badly on Han, only to learn that they were rarely allowed to fire their weapons for training purposes.  There was just too much paperwork before they could go onto the range.

“We’re not here to fight each other,” Jasmine said, before Buckley could make a cutting remark.  “Our job is to fight the enemy.”

She went on, quickly.  “Joe Buckley will be my second,” she continued.  “Below that, we’ll go by strict seniority, but I don’t envisage any problems.  We’ve all seen the elephant.  We can and we will argue out what we’re going to do, if we have time.”

“It strikes me that most of our operations will have to be worked out on the fly,” Jalil said.  “I don’t see how we can plan if there are too many variables.”

“Me neither,” Jasmine confirmed.  She tapped the projector to display the map.  “There are simply too many possible landing sites within a hundred kilometres of the city.  Or they may land some distance from the city, just to assemble their forces before commencing the advance.  We’ll do our best to guess where they might land, but it really won’t be any better than a guess.  If I was in charge of the landing operation, I’d make damn sure to lay as many false trails as possible before landing the main force.”

“That’s standard procedure,” Jalil said.

“Insofar that there is a standard procedure for this,” Jasmine agreed.  “How many times have we made a forced landing on a planetary surface?”

“We have sneaked insertion teams down to the surface,” Buckley reminded her.  “But landing an entire army without orbital fire support?  It’s never happened.”

“There was the landing on Thule,” Stewart said, quietly.  “But there were friends on the ground too.”

Jasmine winced.  Thule had been an elephant trap, all right, one they’d had no choice but to spring.  Wolfbane had done an excellent job of laying the groundwork for a successful invasion, even though her escape from Meridian had more than evened the score.  The bastards still had a major advantage over the Commonwealth ...

“We’ll go through the possible options now,” she said, “and then start our training schedule.”

“That’s right,” Buckley said.  “How much fat have you picked up from being a Brigadier?”

Jasmine resisted - barely - the urge to stick her tongue out at him.  The hell of it was that he had a point.  She just hadn't had the time to keep up with her daily exercises, not even the intensive running that marked the start of every day in the marines.  There was no doubt that she was still stronger and fitter than ninety-nine percent of the people she met, but she had let herself slip.  Two weeks wasn't enough to repair the damage, yet it would have to do.  

And I can rely on Buckley to chase me around with a cattle prod, if necessary, she thought, ruefully.  Drill Instructors never forced their charges to do anything - they needed to find their motivation from within - but she was hardly a raw recruit.  The marines under her command relied on her.  Joe won’t let me slip any further.

“Too much,” she said, finally.  “It's sitting on my ass all day, really.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Graf teased.  “What were you thinking when you took the job?”

“Someone had to take command,” Jasmine said.  She hadn't done too badly on Lakshmibai, had she?  “And it was quite an interesting challenge.”

She shook her head slowly.  The CEF had been better-trained than almost every other unit she’d seen of comparable size, but its collective reaction time was far slower than a marine platoon’s.  Striking a balance between giving the point men their heads and keeping a firm grip on her command hadn't been easy; indeed, she had a feeling she’d made more than a few mistakes on campaign.  Being back in command of a small unit of highly-trained soldiers was a relief.  She could rely on the marines to react instantly to any possible threats.

“Not that it matters right now,” she added.  She unfurled a sheet of paper, laying it out on the table.  “How should we proceed?”

“Hit their landing shuttles,” Buckley said, instantly.  “It's what they did to us on Thule.”

“If we can get a MANPAD unit into range,” Stewart countered.  “We might want to leave that task to the planetary militia.”

“If the militia will fight,” Graf said.  “Can they fight?”

“The reports say they’re good,” Jasmine said.  She didn't know for sure - she wouldn't, until she saw the militia personally - but Corinthian had good reason to keep a standing army in place.  “And they should have enough HVMs to make life interesting for the landing forces.”

“Then we stay low and slip out at night,” Buckley said.  “They’ll need to set up supply dumps before they can muster the forces for a general offensive.”

“Assuming they don’t just give up,” Stewart said.  “Is Singh really going to over-commit herself?”

“I think so, if she takes the bait,” Jasmine said.  “Her pride was badly dented when we drove her off for the first time.”

“That’s something for the colonel to worry about,” Graf said.  He traced out a line on the map.  “They’ll practically have to secure this road, if they want to get supply trucks moving down to the city.  We can do something with that, I think ...”

Jasmine nodded, scribbling down a note.  “An IED,” she said.  “Mine the road ahead of time.”

“And a few more nasty surprises,” Buckley added.  “This should be an interesting mission.”

“And too many innocents will be mashed in the gears,” Graf warned.  “Whatever happens, nothing is ever going to be the same again.”

Chapter Six

Hindsight tells us that the Crackers took an insane gamble, but it didn't look that way at the time!  They had no way to know just what decisions were being taken in Camelot (and Castle Rock.)  How could they?
- Professor Leo Caesius.  The Role of Randomness In War.

“Colonel,” Emmanuel Alves said, as he was shown into Ed’s office.  “You wanted to see me?”

“I did,” Ed said.  He rose, nodding towards the drinks dispenser.  “Do you want coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Emmanuel said.  “I’ve developed a taste for it.”

Ed smiled as he poured two cups, then added milk and sugar.  He’d grown used to drinking his coffee black, when he’d started at the Slaughterhouse, but in truth all that really mattered was that it had a good kick.  There were times when he wondered if the entire Marine Corps ran on coffee.  It was certainly drunk in vast quantities during deployments.

He passed Emmanuel his cup, then sat down behind his desk, studying the reporter.  It was hard to trust any reporter, but he had to admit that Emmanuel was very different from the idiots and assholes who’d been assigned to shadow his unit on Han.  The man actually had a working brain, for one thing, and an actual understanding of how the universe worked.  But then, he had been on the fringes of the Crackers, back during the war.  He might not have been a fighter, unlike so many others, but he’d been far from useless.

And he’s dating a marine, Ed reminded himself.  It was odd for such a relationship to last, but it had.  There’s more to him than merely being a reporter.

“You were on Lakshmibai, as I recall,” he said, without preamble.  “Your first embed went very well.”

“Thank you, sir,” Emmanuel said.  “It was a very interesting experience.”

Ed smiled, rather ruefully.  It had been rather more interesting in the embassy complex, with howling barbarians struggling desperately to break down the doors and get their hands on the offworlders.  He knew, all too well, just how close they’d come to total disaster, losing both the Commonwealth and Wolfbane representatives to the enemy.  In hindsight, they’d badly underestimated the fanaticism of the planet’s population.

“I’m offering you the chance to do another embed,” he said.  “The standard conditions apply, I’m afraid; you can back out now, if you wish, but afterwards you will be going into the lockbox until it no longer matters.  Do you want to back out now?”

Emmanuel didn't hesitate.  “No, sir.”

Ed nodded.  The reporters he’d known in the past would have demanded details, details he was unwilling to give without a clear commitment to either embed or remain in the lockbox until the operation was well underway.  There might be some advantages to having hints of the overall plan escaping onto the datanet, but he wanted - needed - to keep the information as compartmentalised as possible.  Admiral Singh couldn't be allowed enough time to think about her choices.

“There will be a major deployment to Corinthian,” he said.  He ran through the idea as tersely as possible.  Emmanuel was more trustworthy than any other reporter, perhaps, but there were still limits.  “Are you still interested in embedding with the CEF?”

“Yes, sir,” Emmanuel said.

There was no hesitation, Ed noted.  But he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign.

“Very well,” Ed said.  He smiled, rather coldly.  “You’ll be going through a brief refresher course, along with a handful of others who will be accompanying the CEF.  If you change your mind at any point, you will be going straight into the lockbox.  Any questions?”

“Just one,” Emmanuel said.  “I assume we will be following standard censorship protocols?”

“Correct,” Ed said.  “We do need to tell people what we’re doing, but we can’t allow information of tactical value to leak out.”

“There will be a time delay,” Emmanuel pointed out.  “Surely ...”

“It isn't something I want to test,” Ed said, cutting him off.  Emmanuel was right, to be fair, but there was no point in taking unnecessary chances.  “The wrong piece of information, in the wrong hands, could be disastrous.  Even if it’s contained to the newsroom ...”

He sighed.  There was no way to be sure that all of the spy rings had been identified and quietly isolated.  A single agent in the newsrooms - and that was where he would put an agent, if he could - could be disastrous.  Simply knowing what the Commonwealth was trying to censor might be very helpful for the enemy.  There was little more conspicuous than a man ducking for cover.

“This isn’t negotiable,” he concluded.  “If you have a problem with it, say so now and you can go into the lockbox.”

“I’ll cope,” Emmanuel said, dryly.  “What happens now?”

Ed tapped his terminal.  “You’ll be escorted to the barracks; your refresher course starts tomorrow.  Make sure you update your will, write a set of final letters and tie up loose ends before the course starts.  You may not come back alive.”

“Yes, sir,” Emmanuel said.  “And thank you.”

“Thank me when you come back,” Ed said.  He disliked taking half-trained civilians into danger, even if there were certain advantages to the whole affair.  But it was important to keep public support for the war.  “And Emmanuel?”

Emmanuel blinked.  “Yes, sir?”

“She didn't have the right to tell you,” Ed said.  He trusted Jasmine to keep her mouth shut, but it could cause problems when Emmanuel figured out that she'd known ahead of time.  “I told her to keep it to herself.”

“Yes, sir,” Emmanuel said.  “I understand.”

Sergeant Lewis appeared and escorted Emmanuel out the door, taking him down to the guest barracks.  Ed watched him go, shaking his head in quiet amusement.  A reporter with a working brain, a reporter who understood ... he’d always thought such people simply didn't exist.  But then, on Avalon, a competent reporter could go far ... and no one would complain if one was hanged for revealing classified information.  Far too many people had fought in the war, on one side or the other, to take such matters lightly.

He finished his coffee, then returned to his paperwork.  General George Grosskopf would take command on Avalon, in his absence, but he needed to tie up as many loose ends as possible before he departed.  The various secret programs, so highly-classified that even Grosskopf didn't know they existed, had to be given orders covering every imaginable contingency, up to and including his death.  He hoped - prayed - that there would be no trouble appointing Grosskopf as his successor, but he knew it wouldn't be easy.  He’d started his career in the Civil Guard, after all.

His intercom bleeped.  “Sir, Commodore Caesius is here to see you.”

Ed glanced at the clock, then nodded.  Commodore Mandy Caesius was twenty minutes early, but it didn't matter that much.  Unlike Ed - or Jasmine - her problems were surprisingly simple.  Either she had her opportunity to catch Admiral Singh with her pants down or she didn’t.  There was no middle ground.

“Send her in,” he ordered.  “And then hold my calls.”

“Aye, sir.”

The door opened.  Ed rose in welcome, smiling at the young woman as she stepped into his office.  It was hard, sometimes, to draw a line between the red-haired bratty teenage girl he’d met years ago and the competent naval officer facing him, but Mandy had had a harder path than far too many of her comrades.  He would have hated her on Earth, he acknowledged, yet Avalon had been the making of her.  And yet ... there was a hardness in the young woman that worried him, sometimes.

She should have had months of therapy, after her return from pirate captivity, he thought, as they exchanged salutes.  But instead we put her back to work.

“Commodore,” he said.  Mandy closed the door, then sat down in front of his desk.  “I trust the planning session went well?”

“Well enough,” Mandy said.  “There are some issues that need to be explored further, but overall the squadron should be ready to do its duty.”

Ed nodded.  “No problems?”

“We will need to source additional supplies,” Mandy warned.  “A short engagement won’t be a problem, but a long series of engagements is likely to cost us dearly.  We certainly can’t rely on drawing supplies from Corinthian.”

“Of course not,” Ed agreed.  “Can you arrange freighter space?”

“Yes, but we’ll need an interstellar supply dump,” Mandy said.  “Keeping the freighters will cause problems elsewhere.”

Ed scowled.  The Commonwealth had been producing its own freighters for the last four years, but there were nowhere near enough freighter bottoms to move everything the Commonwealth needed to move.  Even with the help of the Trade Federation, there just wasn't enough to go around.  The war was putting an ungodly strain on a structure that wasn't designed for such intensive overuse.  Logistics were rapidly shaping up to be yet another Achilles Heel.

“We’ll send them back once the supply dumps are established,” he said.  “Are there any other considerations?”

“It depends on just what Admiral Singh sends to take the planet,” Mandy said.  “Our cruisers are worth two of theirs, perhaps more, but she does have a numerical advantage.  And if she wants Corinthian as much as you think, she’ll send battleships too.  They’re old, but they have substantial firepower.”

“True,” Ed agreed.  He’d read the reports from the shipbuilding commission.  They had a design for battleships, but they’d warned that the design would eat up far too much of the Commonwealth’s resources for limited returns.  “Can you handle them?”

“It depends on how they’ve been modified, sir,” Mandy said.  “The last set of reports from a skirmish suggested that the Wolves have managed to produce and deploy improved missiles and seeker warheads.  They’re closing the gap between us.  No sign of force shields yet, but my people think it’s only a matter of time.”

“I know,” Ed grunted.  “They know it’s possible, don’t they?”

“They do now,” Mandy confirmed.  She shivered.  “Realistically, sir, if they close the gap a little more we’re going to be in deep trouble.”

Ed winced.  Mandy, like Jasmine, had been captured ... but while the Wolves had been fairly civilised the pirates had been nothing of the sort.  She’d managed to escape, crippling their starship as she left, yet the whole experience had scarred her badly.  And yet, it had also given her a purpose.  There was no one more ruthless in hunting down pirate bases and destroying them than Mandy Caesius.

“Then we will just have to try and stay ahead of them,” he said.  “Are there any other issues of concern?”

“My mother has invited my sister and myself to dinner, four days from now,” Mandy said, slowly.  “Is that going to be a problem?”

Ed hesitated.  Technically, he should refuse to allow her to attend, but Mandy couldn't be kept on Castle Rock.  She was splitting her time between the ships assembling in orbit and the training facilities near Camelot.  Putting her in the lockbox would merely hamper his plans and add nothing to his security.  And everyone attending the dinner would understand the value of keeping their mouths shut ...

“Remember the rules,” he said, firmly.  “I don’t want a single security breach.”

“I understand, sir,” Mandy said.  “And thank you.”

“Have your ships ready to depart on schedule,” Ed ordered.  “That will be thanks enough, I believe.”

Mandy rose.  “I’ll do my best, sir,” she said.  “And thank you again.”

Ed watched her go, making a mental note to check up on her when he had the time.  Mandy had been through hell, a more hellish experience, in many ways, than himself.  The Slaughterhouse had been bad, particularly the sections covering conduct after capture, but Mandy had never had any such training herself.  He wouldn't have blamed her if she’d wanted to return to Avalon and never fly back into space, if she’d made that choice.  And yet she was still fighting ...

Better that than submission and surrender, he thought, tartly.  She’s very definitely a fighter.

He returned to his paperwork, working hard to tie up the final loose ends.  Grosskopf would be formally taking command tomorrow, allowing them a chance to work out any problems before Ed departed for Corinthian.  He’d have to be briefed into the secret too, Ed reminded himself; he trusted Grosskopf too, but the problem was still the same.  The more people who knew, the greater the chance of an accidental leak.  And while he wouldn't mind taunting Singh, there was always the prospect of her deciding it was better to concentrate on breaking through the inner defence line and mopping up Corinthian later.

It’s what I would do, Ed reminded himself.  But then, his career hadn't been marred by unpleasant superior officers.  In some ways, Admiral Singh and Mandy had a great deal in common.  She’ll want to rub their nose in their failure to keep her down ...

The terminal bleeped, again.  “Sir, General Mathis is here.”

“Send him in,” Ed ordered.  

He ground his teeth in frustration.  Life had been so much easier when he’d been a mere captain of marines.  Now, he spent half his time doing battle with bureaucracy and the greatest danger he faced was a paper cut.  He’d have to make certain to spend time on the training ground himself, just to make sure he hadn't slacked.  It had been far too long since he’d led men in combat.  And to think he’d resisted the opportunity to take command for himself several times, just to ensure he had more experienced officers ...

You do need experienced officers, his thoughts mocked him.  But you don’t want to lose your edge either.

He pushed the thought aside as General Crichton Mathis entered the room, one hand snapping up in salute.  Ed rose, studying the older man carefully.  Mathis had been a Civil Guard officer, which was a black mark on his record, but he had commanded a regiment during the Cracker War and the Battle of Camelot.  And his men thought well of him, which was a good sign.  The Civil Guard on Avalon had been good enough to hold the line, even if they hadn't been able to destroy their enemies.  If they hadn't, they would have lost the war long ago.

“General,” he said.  It was odd, issuing orders to a man who held a higher rank than himself, but he’d never chosen to grant himself anything higher than colonel.  “Please, be seated.”

Mathis, a short man with a bulldog face, nodded curtly.  “Yes, sir.”

“You know the mission,” Ed said.  He’d spoken to Mathis personally, after the first planning session.  “How quickly can the CEF be ready to depart?”

“We can have the advance units loaded onto ships within the day,” Mathis said.  He would have worked it out already, Ed was sure.  Competent officers always planned for the worst, even as they hoped for the best.  “The heavier units will require a couple of days to box up their gear, then another four or five days to load the ships.  We can speed matters up, if necessary, by requisitioning supplies intended for the front lines.”

“Very good,” Ed said.  Mentally, he added an extra day or two to the schedule.  In his experience, nothing ever went like clockwork.  Loading even a small military unit onto a starship could produce all kinds of headaches.  “I want you to give your men five days of leave, then start preparing for departure.”

Mathis raised his bushy eyebrows.  “Five days?”

“The remainder of the supplies won’t be ready until then,” Ed said.  The CEF’s transports didn't have stasis tubes, unlike the MEUs the Marine Corps had used to move its men and supplies around the Empire.  There was no point in torturing his men by moving them to the ships before it was strictly necessary.  “Once they’re ready and loaded, we can proceed with the remainder of the loading.”

“Yes, sir,” Mathis said.  “Do we have an official cover story?”

“I believe there’s no need to make an explicit announcement,” Ed said.  Admiral Singh’s spies would be more likely to believe something that looked like an attempted cover-up, even if it wasn't.  “The men can be told they’re going on deployment - again - but there’s no need for anything else.”

“Yes, sir,” Mathis said.

Ed nodded.  “Morale?”

Mathis showed the first hint of hesitation.  “Most of the old sweats survived Thule, sir, and want a little payback,” he said.  “There were some ... issues, because of the retreat, but overall they believe they’ve done well.  The newcomers are less experienced, mostly; I’ve been keeping a pretty heavy training tempo going for the last two weeks.  I think they’ll perform well in combat.”

“Good,” Ed said.  He kept his doubts to himself.  No one ever knew how well a unit would perform until it saw the elephant, by which time it might be too late.  “Are there any other issues I should know about?”

“There’s some concern about leaving Avalon undefended,” Mathis admitted, “but the sergeants have that well in hand.  Most of the disciplinary actions have been fairly minor, too; a few incidents of drunkenness and a couple of idiots who fell asleep on watch.  They were all handled in-unit.”

“Very good,” Ed said.  

He nodded in approval.  The knights had copied that from the marines, rather than the Imperial Army or the Civil Guard.  They wouldn't regret it, either.  The Empire had had far too many problems when minor disciplinary issues had to be kicked up the chain to senior officers, even when they could be handled by the sergeants and junior officers.  

“See to your men, General,” he added.  “I fancy they’re about to face one hell of a test.”

“Yes, sir,” Mathis said.  He rose, saluting smartly.  “I think they’ll look forward to it.”

Chapter Seven

Indeed, their war against the planetary government was slowly losing steam.  The combination of debt-relief and new soldiers - raised, trained and paid by the marines - was slowly draining their forces.  
- Professor Leo Caesius.  The Role of Randomness In War.

The sight before her, Mandy Caesius had to admit, was one she would never have seen on Earth.  Hundreds of little houses, small gardens in front and larger gardens behind, lining a street as neatly as soldiers on parade.  She’d hated the house, the first time she’d set foot in it, throwing a tantrum that had made her mother take to her bed in dismay and her younger sister flee into the garden.  Now, as a serving officer, she understood just how lucky she’d been to have the house ... and to leave Earth, before it was too late.  She wished, desperately, that she could go back in time and slap her younger self silly.  She’d deserved far worse.

She parked the groundcar outside, then climbed out, breathing in the evening air.  Avalon had smelled odd to her, when they’d first landed, but now it was normal.  Earth’s ever-present stench of burning hydrocarbons and far too many humans in close proximity was gone, as was the poison in the air.  She honestly didn't want to think about just how much crap she’d breathed into her system, once upon a time.  Being exiled to Avalon was the smartest thing her father had ever done.  And even though she’d hated being separated from her friends, she had come to realise that it had saved her life.  None of her friends would have survived the Fall of Earth.

The door opened.  “Mandy,” Mindy called.  “Come on!  Dinner is waiting!”

Mandy shook her head in disbelief as she saw her younger sister for the first time in nearly a year.  Mindy had always been more sporty than her - Mandy had never seen the point of ruining her body through excessive activity - but now she was muscular and lithe, remarkably like Jasmine in so many ways.  Her head had been shaved completely, giving her an intimidating appearance that her green eyes did nothing to lighten.  She would have been laughed at on Earth, Mandy was sure, but she would have been safe.  And that was worth any amount of laughter.

“It's been too long,” she said, feeling an odd lump in her throat.  “What have you been doing with yourself?”

“I’m a stormtrooper now,” Mindy said.  She gave Mandy a tight hug, tight enough to make the older girl grunt in pain.  “I was lucky to be able to come, really.  We’re shipping out in a week or so.”

Mandy nodded slowly as her younger sister turned to lead the way into the house.  Mindy had to be going to Corinthian, although it was unlikely she knew very much about their destination.  It bothered her more than she cared to admit, really.  Mindy was her little sister, someone she was supposed to look after ...

We never really got over being on Earth, she thought, as she followed her sister, closing the door behind her.  None of us really recovered from spending our early lives on a hellish world.

She pushed the thought aside and walked into the living room.  The walls were covered in bookshelves and a fire burned in the grate, something that would have been flatly forbidden on Earth.  Hell, they would both have been flatly forbidden on Earth.  Digital records could be altered with ease, but print records were much harder to edit.  The current trend for paper books on Avalon had always struck her as absurd, yet there might well be a point to it.  No one wanted to give a government - any government - that much power for a second time.

“Mandy,” her father said.  “Welcome home.”

He looked old, Mandy realised, as he rose from his chair.  She'd known he was a good thirty years older than her - her parents had waited to have children until they were both settled - but she’d never really understood it at an emotional level.  They - Mindy too - had spent too much of their lives rebelling against their parents, against what little discipline their father and mother had tried to impose on them.  The idea of seeing their parents as people ... it wasn't something that would have occurred to them.  But now ...

“Father,” she said, feeling her voice catch.  “Are you well?”

“We’ve bought an entertainment box,” her father said, wryly.  “And I’ve spent too much time watching it.”

Mandy snorted.  Her father had never allowed her to have an entertainment box, even though all her friends had had them.  She’d thrown hundreds of tantrums over it, she recalled; her younger self had been a right little brat.  But now, with a real career, she no longer felt the impulse to sit down in front of the box and just wallow.  Almost everything that passed for entertainment in the last decade of the Empire was alternatively vile, perverse, or a distraction to keep the plebs from thinking for themselves.  And it was very good at keeping people distracted.

“I’m old,” her father added.  He gave her a gentle hug, then pulled her towards the table.  “I don’t know how long I’ll live, even here.”

“You’re only fifty,” Mindy said.  “There are people here who have lived for nearly a century.”

“Here,” her father corrected.  “Not on Earth.”

Mandy swallowed.  They’d never been upper class, but they had had a good life ... until her father published a book that drew the ire of the Grand Senate.  And yet, very few people on Earth lived past sixty.  The support they needed just didn't exist.  But on Avalon, where people were generally friendly and helpful ...

“I’m sure you’ll live a long time,” she said.  She cursed her younger self, once again.  All the time she could have gotten to know her father, wasted!  “Dad ...”

“Don’t worry about it,” her father said.  “I can't say I’ve done as much as you over the past seven years.”

“You’ve done enough, one would think,” Fiona Caesius said.  Their mother stepped into the room, carrying a large bowl of stew.  “They have yet to find respectable careers - or husbands.”

Mandy and Mindy exchanged glances.  Of the four of them, Fiona had taken exile the hardest.  She had no useful skills on Avalon, nor did she have the time to learn anything that would allow her to find a proper job.  The older woman wanted to return to Earth, to the life she’d led as the wife of a successful professor, not stay on Avalon and make the best of her new circumstances.  And yet, that was simply not an option.

“They do have respectable careers,” their father said.  He motioned for the girls to sit down.  “And they don’t have to be bound by earthly laws.”

“The military,” their mother said.  “It’s a pit for losers, not for my children!”

Mandy felt her temper flare.  Her mother had always talked down to her, something that had provoked more than a few nasty fights.  But now ... now she thought she understood what drove the elder woman.  Fiona would never be able to accomplish anything on her own, not now.  She’d been dependent on her husband - and the state - for far too long.

“It's a respectable career,” she said, quickly.  “And I earn more than father does.”

“And I defend people who need defending,” Mindy added.  “Without the military, Mom, you’d be dead.”

“I would have stayed on Earth,” Fiona said.

“And died when the planet fell,” Mandy said.  Even if the stories and rumours were exaggerated, she couldn't imagine her mother surviving for long.  She was no survivor to endure when the world fell apart around her.  “It would have been the end.”

Their father held up a hand.  “Enough,” he said.  “It’s rare for the four of us to sit around a table, certainly now that you two are adults.  Let us not spoil it by bickering.”

“She started it,” Mindy muttered.  

Mandy cleared her throat as her father ladled out the stew.  “How is the university coming along, dad?”

“Slowly,” her father said.  “Everyone wants to learn how to build and maintain FTL drives, not study history and law.  It's quite frustrating at times.”

“At least they’re not wasting their time,” Mandy said.  She knew from bitter experience that most of what she’d learned in school was useless.  Children on Avalon learned so much more before entering their second decade.  “What can we do with history?”

Her father jabbed a finger at her.  “Don't you study the tactics of the past so you can prepare for the future?”

Mandy nodded, conceding the point.  “But that’s practical,” she insisted.  “History is rather less practical.”

“Now you’ve set him off,” Mindy muttered.

“History teaches lessons,” her father said.  “Far too many of the mistakes the Empire made could have been avoided, if it had studied its own history.  Instead, it repeated the same mistakes over and over again.”

He looked, just for a moment, old enough to recall the Unification Wars and the First Emperor.  Mandy shuddered, inwardly.  It couldn't be easy to learn the mistakes of the past, then watch helplessly as current generations repeated them.  Perhaps it was why her father had written his book, even though it had cost him everything.  He’d wanted - needed - to warn the universe about the decline and coming collapse of civilisation.  But it had been too late to avert the final plunge into catastrophe.

“Those lessons have to be learned,” her father added.  “There is nothing new under the sun, not really.  Human nature doesn't change.”

“Enough of such gloomy talk,” Fiona insisted.  “Mandy, why haven't you brought a nice boy home yet?”

Mandy felt her cheeks heat.  “I’m really too busy, mother,” she said.  “There hasn't been time to find someone, really.”

Fiona pointed a finger at her.  “You’ve already ruined your looks,” she said, darkly.  “What will you do when you’re too old to attract a nice boy?”

“I’ll survive,” Mandy said.  After everything she’d been through on the pirate ship, she was damned if she was interested in anyone.  A life lived alone was quite an attractive prospect in so many ways.  “I am not defined by the person I marry.”

“But you’ll need someone who can protect you,” her mother wittered.  “Not someone who’ll dump you the moment you turn ugly.”

Mandy bit down on her temper, hard.  The hell of it was that her mother would have had a point, on Earth.  They might not have lived in the Undercity, but even middle-class girls ran terrifying risks if they walked around without protection.  She'd been lucky, really; she’d never really appreciated how she’d suffered until she’d been exiled to Avalon.  Training girls to resist rape, with lethal force if necessary, was far more effective than telling idiots not to rape.  But Earth had never wanted to put weapons in the hands of people who might turn them against the government.

“I carry a gun, mother,” she said, tartly.  Jasmine had taught her, once Mandy had taken her head out of her ass.  “And I can use it, too.”

Her mother’s mouth opened wide.

“She’s only joking,” Mindy said.  She gave Mandy a sharp look.  “I’ve had dozens of boyfriends, but none of them wanted to stay around.”

“You gave it up too quickly,” Fiona said.  She seemed to have forgotten Mandy’s last comment entirely.  “You have to get a man invested in you before you give it up, or he’ll go away.”

Mandy sighed.  “We’re not looking for husbands, mother,” she said.  She took a bite of her stew, wondering just who had cooked it.  Her mother couldn't even begin to cook anything more complex than pre-packaged food.  “We have careers and lives and the chance to do something important.”

“Quite right,” their father said.  “There are other things in life than being married.”

“Says the man,” Fiona said.  “It’s not so easy if you’re a woman.”

“Jasmine manages it,” Mandy said.  “And so does Gaby Cracker.”

Their mother snorted rudely, but said nothing else.  Mandy sighed inwardly as she finished her meal, then walked upstairs to what had once been her bedroom.  She’d half-expected to find that her mother was renting it out, but instead it was practically a shrine to her.  Two of the walls were covered with her awards from school - none of them worth the paper they were printed on - while the other two were still decorated with posters she’d brought with her from Earth.  She cursed her younger self, yet again, as she sat down on the bed.  How childish had she been to think there was nothing more important than decorating her room when she arrived on Avalon?

Stupid as well, she thought, recalling when she’d been tricked into taking Sparkle Dust.  If Jasmine hadn't come across her, she might well have been raped - or worse.  And she would never have known for sure what had happened to her.  Stupid and childish and idiotic and ...

“Is it just me,” Mindy said, “or is Mom starting to lose it?”

“She’s been quietly losing her shit for a very long time,”  Mandy said.  Their mother had been the perfect academic wife, right up until the moment they’d lost everything.  She still shuddered in horror, remembering the screaming fits.  Their friends had deserted them so quickly that none of them had quite recovered.  “And she doesn't have anything to do.”

Mindy shrugged, closing the door and leaning against the wall.  Mandy was rather impressed at how she’d managed to sneak up the stairs without being heard, although she supposed Mindy had been taught to walk quietly in training.  Her younger sister wasn't the girl she’d been any longer ... but then, that was true of Mandy too.  Mindy had never been quite so bratty either.

“There are options,” she said, dryly.  “Surely there's something she could do.”

Mandy looked up at her.  “Like what?”

“I don't know,” Mindy said.  “Military training?”

“Ha fucking ha,” Mandy said.  Her mother, like most people from Earth, had a bad case of hoplophobia.  She would sooner pick up a neo-scorpion from the badlands than a loaded pistol, even in defence of her life.  The idea that her daughter might be carrying a weapon had stunned her into speechlessness.  “Do you think she’d last a day?”

She contemplated the problem for a long moment.  What was there for an aging woman with no real skills?  An aging woman who was unwilling to learn?  She couldn't think of anything, really.  The neighbours probably didn't care enough to help, if they realised Fiona needed help.  And really, who could blame them?

“I’m damned if I’m letting her talk to me like that again,” Mindy said.  “Doesn't she realise we’re our own people?”

Mandy shrugged.  “Too many changes in her life,” she said.  “I think she just gave up trying to stay on top of things.”

“You’ve had changes,” Mindy pointed out.

“I’m younger,” Mandy said.  “If I fuck up now, I still have time to find a new career.  I could go back to repair work, or take up farming, or even write books!  Mom ... doesn't have the time.  Or anything, really.”

She leaned back on the bed, surveying the room.  It hadn't changed a bit from the last day she’d slept in it, even though someone had clearly been tidying up and dusting on a regular basis.  Indeed, there was something a little creepy about the room, now she came to think of it.  It might be playing games with her mother’s mind, convincing her - on some level - that Mandy was still the sixteen-year-old who’d lost everything and been exiled to Avalon.  No doubt her experiences on Lakshmibai hadn't helped either.

“I think they should move house,” she said, suddenly.

Mindy gave her an odd look.  “Why?”

“Because this house is probably messing with their minds,” Mandy said.  She stood, pacing over to her chest of drawers.  “At the very least, we should move out permanently.  Get our rooms emptied ...”

“I have no idea what you’re going to do with that crap,” Mindy said.  She jabbed a finger at the poster of a famous singer.  In all honesty, Mandy couldn't remember his name or why she’d liked him.  “Is there anyone here who might want it?”

“Maybe it should just go in the fire,” Mandy said.  She opened her drawers and frowned as she realised that half of her old clothing was still there.  She’d never been able to bring herself to wear it, after  she’d grown up, but her mother had kept it anyway.  “And this crap can go in the clothing bank.”

“If they’ll take it,” Mindy said.  She pulled a miniskirt out of the drawer and eyed it.  “What the fuck were you thinking when you wore this?”

Mandy coloured.  “I don’t think I was thinking at all,” she said.  The dress was so short that anyone watching her could see the bottom of her ass.  She cringed at the memory of all the boys who’d whistled at her, the single time she’d worn it in public.  “And I never wore it again.”

“Oh, goody,” Mindy said sarcastically.  She tossed the miniskirt to Mandy, then headed for the door.  “I’ll empty my room, I think.  You finish with yours.”

Mandy nodded.  By the time they left, she could have the room empty, stripped bare of everything that had once belonged to her.  And when they returned, perhaps they could find something else for her mother, something that would allow the older woman to make something of her life ...

It’s true, she thought, grimly.  She wasn't the person she’d been - and she was glad of it.  You just cannot go home again.

Chapter Eight

Indeed, while the underlying causes of the war were not addressed, there was a good chance the planetary government would come out ahead.  To the Crackers, there could be no worse fate.  They gambled everything on a victory.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  The Role of Randomness In War.

“So,” Gaby said.  They stood together, a short distance from the line of shuttles that were departing the spaceport and heading to orbit.  “This is goodbye?”

Ed nodded.  He’d resisted the option to board earlier, even though most of his officers and men were already loaded onto the giant starships.  On the face of it, he’d wanted to be on Avalon to cope with any unexpected surprises, but they both knew he’d chosen to remain behind with Gaby for a few days more.  And yet, time had finally run out.

“It is,” he said.  “I should be back soon.”

“Soon,” Gaby repeated.  Her lips twisted.  “I thought the prediction was seven months, at best?”

“At best,” Ed confirmed.  “I wish I could stay with you.”

He felt a flicker of guilt at his words.  Leaving her behind was one thing, but leaving her behind when she was pregnant was quite another.  He hadn't understood just how it would change his feelings until he’d actually faced it.  Part of him was insistent that he shouldn't leave her at all.  And yet, the rest of him was itching for the fight.  There would be no political debates, no compromises over everything from funding to weapons design, merely a chance to get his hands around the enemy’s throat.  The CEF would either win victory or suffer a disastrous defeat.  There were no middle grounds.

“No, you don’t,” Gaby said.  She smiled, rather sadly.  “You’re just like my father, always keen to get stuck into the enemy.  You’ve been pacing around here like a caged lion, always hoping the bars will vanish and you’ll be able to make your escape.”

Ed smiled back.  “Was I really that bad?”

“I’m afraid so,” Gaby said.  She leaned forward, standing on tiptoes to kiss him.  “If the child is born before you return, he or she will be named as we chose.”

“It would be easier if you checked the child’s sex,” Ed pointed out.  In truth, he wasn't sure he wanted to recall his parents or siblings, even though Avalon prized the idea of keeping names in the family.  “At least we’d know what we’re having.”

“I don’t want to find out,” Gaby said.  She glanced upwards as another shuttle screamed over the field, heading up to orbit.  “Come back as fast as you can, all right?”

“I will,” Ed promised.  “And make sure you don’t exert yourself too much ...”

Gaby elbowed him.  “I’m giving birth, not going for a life-threatening operation,” she said, tartly.  “Women have survived giving birth for thousands of years.”

Ed kept his thoughts to himself.  Modern medicine - and Gaby would have the very best - would ensure that nothing went wrong, but he’d been on too many planets suffering from social collapse to feel sanguine about the future.  Women who should have had no difficulty bringing a child to term had lost the baby, simply because they didn't eat the right things or suffered from a lack of medical care.  The marines had been quite popular in places, simply because they offered medical assistance to the locals, but it had been nothing more than a drop in the bucket and everyone knew it.  He had a nasty feeling that there were countless planets, right across settled space, that had suffered a terrifying drop in population ...

“You’re brooding again,” Gaby said.  “Is that normal for you?”

“No,” Ed said.  “But I do have a great deal to brood about.”

He shook his head.  Seven years ago, he’d known his place; he was a company commander, reporting to the regimental commander.  But now ... he had no superiors, as far as he knew; he certainly had no idea what had happened to the marines he’d known on Earth and the Slaughterhouse.  Cold logic told him that Stalker’s Stalkers couldn't be the only surviving marine company, but cold logic wasn't very reassuring when he peered towards the former Core Worlds.  None of the rumours made him feel any better about the future.

“Well, stop it,” Gaby said.  “You’re meant to be gung ho about going to war, not brooding over matters you can't help.”

Ed shrugged.  “I’ll do my best,” he said.  “Goodbye, Gaby.  I love you.”

He gave her one final kiss, then turned and walked towards the shuttle, refusing to look back until he reached the hatch.  Gaby was standing there, looking alone; she waved once and then turned to walk back to the waiting aircar.  She’d be back in her office, Ed was sure, before he was in orbit.  And then ... he fought down a mad impulse to run after her as he walked into the shuttle, the crew chief slamming the hatch shut behind him.  He found a seat and pulled his datapad from his belt as the pilot ran through the pre-flight checks and then launched the shuttle into the sky.  As always, there were too many pieces of paperwork that demanded his urgent attention.

And it would be worse if we were on Earth, he thought, darkly.  There were more paper-pushers in the military than there were fighting men.

He opened the readiness reports and read through them, one by one.  Jasmine Yamane confirmed that 1st Platoon - or what was left of the once-proud unit - was ready to deploy, once they reached Corinthian.  She’d even attached a proposal for making an orbital drop down to the surface, rather than using a shuttle.  Ed was honestly tempted for a long moment - it had been years since he’d done anything more challenging than a parachute jump above Castle Rock - but dismissed the idea.  Orbital drops could be deadly, even to experienced marines.  And there was no need to repeat their first landing on Corinthian.

It would be fun, he thought, a little wistfully, but too much danger for no return.

He sighed, then moved to the second report.  General Mathis confirmed that the CEF was loaded onboard its ships, with no desertions and only a handful of minor disciplinary problems.  Ed hadn't expected anything else, if he had to be honest; the CEF was far better trained and motivated than any comparable unit from the Imperial Army.  And then, there were very real consequences for anyone who dared return to their post late, unlike in the army.  A soldier who overstayed his leave could expect nothing more than a slap on the wrist.

Which explains why so many units did so badly when they were tried in combat, he thought, peering out the porthole as the shuttle passed through the upper wisps of atmosphere and entered orbit.  They’d allowed themselves to get sloppy long before they faced their first combat test.

He clicked through the remaining reports on the datapad - ammunition stockpiles, medical supplies, emergency procedures - and returned it to his belt, taking a moment to close his eyes and centre himself.  Even with modern starships, it would take three weeks to reach Corinthian - older ships needed over a month - and he would have plenty of time to catch up with his exercises.  And yet, he’d probably find himself going stir-crazy inside a week.  The stasis tubes had made so much more sense.

And yet we can't devote the resources to producing them here, he thought, tiredly.  It will be years before we have the productive capability of Earth, let alone the Core Worlds.

The thought was a bitter one.  All the old certainties about orbital industries had fallen with the Empire itself, once workers were allowed to think for themselves again.  Ed - and the Commonwealth - had developed a system for rewarding innovation, rather than squashing it out of hand.  And the results were all around him: faster, better-armed starships that could outrun or outfight anything of comparable size from the Imperial Navy.  And a hundred other innovations that would change the universe forever. 

A few more years, he thought, in quiet frustration.  A few more years and we would have overrun Wolfbane and the rest of the former Empire with ease.

He opened his eyes as a low thump ran through the shuttle, the artificial gravity field quivering for a long moment before settling down.  The hatch opened seconds later as the atmosphere matched, automated systems checking everything before allowing the passengers to leave the shuttle and board the ship.  Ed found the delay inconvenient, as he rose to his feet, but he had to admit it was necessary.  The extensive safety regulations written into law by bean-counting paper-pushers hadn’t prevented accidents when hatches were inadvertently opened to vacuum.  It was far better to give the people on the spot the responsibility for handling the matter.

“Colonel,” a young man said.  “I’m Commander Tygart, XO.  Welcome onboard CSS Defiant.  I’m to escort you to your quarters.”

“Thank you,” Ed said.  He saluted the Commonwealth flag, then turned to the XO.  “Shall we go?”

He smiled at the young man’s back as Commander Tygart led him through a maze of corridors, feeling the starship humming around him as if she was eagerly anticipating the chance to set sail on the interstellar sea.  There was little pomp and ceremony in the Commonwealth - certainly not the hour-long ceremonies the Imperial Navy had been fond of, once upon a time - but there were certain matters that still needed to be honoured.  The vessel’s commander was her commander, no matter how badly she was outranked by her ship’s guests.  An Imperial Navy admiral would probably insist on being taken to the bridge, or the CIC, but Ed knew better.  He would wait until the captain called on him.

I’d hate it if someone was looking over my shoulder too, he thought.  It would certainly undermine me in front of the crew.

“You and your Sergeant have been assigned the same cabin,” Tygart informed him, as they stopped in front of a hatch.  “I was given to understand that that would be acceptable ...?”

Ed concealed his amusement with an effort.  “More than suitable, Commander,” he said.  The shipboard officer would probably be horrified at the thought of trying to catch forty winks in a foxhole, with enemy shells landing all around the position.  “Indeed, it is quite luxurious.”

Tygart gave him a surprised look and keyed the hatch.  It opened, revealing a small cabin with barely enough room to swing a cat.  Two beds, a small food dispenser and a single terminal ... it was hardly the peak of luxury.  Ed hated to think what Admiral Valentine would have said, if he’d been told he was expected to share such a tiny space with someone else; he was used to cabins that could have passed for football fields.  Probably have ordered the starship’s commander removed from command and put in front of a court martial board, he suspected.  It wasn't as if it was a harmless little prank like stealing supplies, abusing one’s crew and plotting barratry.

“Thank you,” Ed said.  He dropped his carryall on the bunk, remembering the younger man’s shock when he’d insisted on carrying it for himself.  “I’ll be in here until departure.”

“Yes, sir,” Tygart said.

He saluted, then turned and left the tiny compartment.  Ed watched him go, fighting down a flicker of amusement mixed with concern.  The Commonwealth Navy was young - it was barely six years old - yet far too many of its experienced officers had picked up bad habits from the Imperial Navy.  Pomp and circumstance was all very well, in its place, but it was far more important that the navy knew how to fight.  The only consolation was that the war had been doing an excellent job of burning out the deadwood.

Except they lose ships when they die, Ed thought.  And crewmen we cannot afford to lose.

He sat down at the desk and keyed the terminal.  As he’d expected, there were a hundred new messages, all of which demanded his attention.  He sighed, forwarded half of them to Grosskopf and started to read through the rest.  Anyone who believed he would overrule Grosskopf without very good reason needed to be sent away with a flea in their ear.  If Ed hadn't had total confidence in the older man, he wouldn't have left him in command on Avalon.

The final message was from Kitty Stevenson.  Ed read it twice, then fed the message into the starship’s internal shredder.  It was impossible to delete all traces of a message from the datanet - which was how the spy ring had been detected - but he could make life difficult for anyone who tried.  If Kitty was right, the messages that should inform Admiral Singh that Corinthian was going to be stripped of everything vital were well on their way.  The trap had been laid ...

And now we have to see if she falls into it, he thought.  He stood, wishing he could pace in the tiny cabin, then forced himself to lie down on the bunk.  The starship was quivering slightly, indicating that she was finally leaving orbit.  The die is cast now ...

There was nothing else he could do, he knew; not now.  All he could do was wait.

***
Jasmine allowed herself a tight little smile as she stopped outside an unmarked hatch, then pressed her finger against the buzzer.  Defiant had left orbit an hour ago, entering communications blackout almost at once.  She rather suspected that General Mathis was dealing with a swarm of complaints from his subordinates, who’d expected to be able to send messages until the ship crossed the phase limit and jumped into phase space, but her marines were more experienced.  They would have rewritten their wills and sent their last messages long before boarding the shuttles and heading to orbit.

And they’d know to be careful what they said, too, Jasmine thought.  They learned about communications security at the Slaughterhouse.

She smiled to herself as the hatch slide open.  Her entire body was aching, in a manner she hadn't felt since Boot Camp and the Slaughterhouse, but the pain was weakness - her weakness - leaving her body.  She hadn't really grasped just how far she’d fallen, despite everything she’d done on Meridian, until she’d run through the training course again and again.  A marine platoon could not afford a weak link, she knew through experience, and she was damned if she was becoming a weak link.  The pain was deserved, but it was also proof that she was getting better ...

“Jasmine,” Emmanuel said.  He turned in his chair and smiled at her.  “Why am I not surprised to see you?”

“You have a working brain,” Jasmine said.  She stepped into the compartment, allowing the hatch to close behind her.  She’d been twitted, more than once, about sleeping with a reporter - wasn’t that sleeping with the enemy? - but Emmanuel did have both a brain and common sense.  “And you knew I wouldn’t be around for a while.”

“I went straight into the lockbox,” Emmanuel said.  He didn’t sound angry, somewhat to her surprise.  Most of the reporters she’d met on Han would have been furious, if someone had dared suggest they couldn't be trusted.  But there was no choice.  Even an accidental mistake - as opposed to deliberate wilful stupidity - could be disastrous.  “But if what the colonel said was true, it will be worth it.”

“I certainly hope so,” Jasmine agreed.  She looked around the cabin.  “You’re in the lap of luxury here, you know?”

Emmanuel looked doubtful.  “Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Jasmine said.  “I’m crammed into a smaller cabin with six other marines.”

“I don’t believe you could all fit in,” Emmanuel said.  He waved a hand at the bulkheads, barely two metres apart.  “Can you?”

“With great difficulty,” Jasmine said.  She shook her head.  “But we have to get used to living in one another’s pockets now.”

“You would be welcome to stay here,” Emmanuel said.  “The bunk isn't much ...”

Jasmine shook her head.  “I have to stay with them,” she said.  “And I can’t come visit you very often, either.”

“It’s three weeks,” Emmanuel protested.

“And no one else is going to get their rocks hauled either,” Jasmine said.  “I can't take too much advantage of you.”

She sighed, recalling the courses on group dynamics she’d been forced to endure at the Slaughterhouse.  People - even marines - tended to get pissed if someone had an unearned advantage.  As far as she knew, she was the only marine who had a lover on Defiant, although she was sure the other marines would be trying to get crewmen or crewwomen into bed.  She wouldn’t care, either, as long as they showed up for their training sessions.

“I don’t mind you taking advantage of me,” Emmanuel said, with a wink.  “What do you make of the ship’s crew?”

“Frightfully keen,” Jasmine said.  Promotion was fast in the Commonwealth Navy, thanks to the demands of rapid expansion.  Mandy was certainly proof of that.  “But largely inexperienced in warfare.”

“The war’s been going on for over a year,” Emmanuel reminded her.

“Yes,” Jasmine agreed.  “But how many engagements has this ship seen?”

She shrugged.  “Are you planning to write a story about it?”

“Maybe,” Emmanuel said.  “People do want to know what their tax credits are being spent on, you know.”

“I know,” Jasmine agreed.  “Just remember to tell them that all this” - she waved a hand at the bulkhead - “is a paragon of efficiency, compared to the Imperial Navy.”

“I will,” Emmanuel said.  “But I don’t know how many people will believe it.”

Jasmine shrugged.  “There’s a difference between looking good and actually being good,” she said.  “And often those military units that manage the former fail at the latter.”

Chapter Nine

And they were lucky, indeed, that the planetary government had already settled on a political solution.  The loss of so many trained fighters - and irreplaceable equipment - would have crippled their cause for generations to come.  Sheer bad luck and worse timing would have broken them.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  The Role of Randomness In War.

General Mark Haverford had come to detest Thule.

The planet had been having a civil war when the Wolves had arrived, a civil war over an interpretation of their constitution that had led to disaster, when the interstellar economy collapsed into ashes.  He’d expected, given that there were two sides to the war, that at least one of them would have welcomed the Wolves.  But, instead, both sides seemed intent on attacking the Wolves, making it difficult for the planet’s surviving industry to be put to use supporting the fleet as it advanced further into Commonwealth space.  There were shootings and bombings on a daily basis, despite the presence of three divisions of heavily-armed soldiers.  Indeed, were it not for the orbiting starships and bombardment platforms, he had a nasty feeling that his force would have been defeated long ago.

He scowled at the thought as the shuttlecraft approached the giant battleship, surrounded by five other battleships and forty smaller ships.  Admiral Singh - no, Governor-Admiral Singh - had arrived in person, escorted by ships that could have made a difference if they’d been moved to the front instead.  The reinforcements she’d brought with her were welcome, he supposed, but he had a feeling he was about to be relieved of command.  He’d argued with her, when Thule had fallen to the Wolves, and she wasn't one to forgive and forget a grudge.

Maybe I should have fled, he thought darkly.  But where would I have gone?

He rose to his feet as the shuttle docked, the hatch slamming open a moment later.  A pair of officers waited for him, rather than the armed guards he’d half-expected.  Oddly, it was surprisingly reassuring.  Admiral Singh had a determination he had to admire, but she wasn't a particularly subtle woman.  If she’d wanted to arrest him, she would have dispatched soldiers or boosted mercenaries, if she didn't trust the soldiers.  He followed the officers through a maze of corridors and into the suite Admiral Singh had claimed as her own, reluctantly allowing a handful of bodyguards to confiscate his sidearm and anything else that could be used as a weapon before allowing him to step through the final hatch.

“Mark,” Admiral Rani Singh said.  “Welcome onboard.”

“Admiral,” Mark said.  He wasn't fooled by her casual tone.  She had to be evaluating his loyalties even as she spoke.  “Thank you for your invitation.”

He studied her thoughtfully as she studied him back.  She was a tall woman, with long dark hair, dark brown skin and eyes so dark they were almost black.  Her face was hard, her cheekbones almost patrician, as if she was deliberately projecting a message that she was untouchable.  It was easy to see why several of her former superiors had wanted to take her to bed - he’d read between the lines, when he’d accessed her file - and why they might have lashed out at her, when she’d refused them.  There was a hardness to her that was both a challenge and a threat.  

And her superiors weren’t known for their competence, he reminded himself.  He’d been a lowly colonel before Governor Brown had taken control of Wolfbane, purging the sector of hundreds of worthless officers.  Someone like her should have been given a position suited to her talents or quietly eliminated.

“Be seated,” Admiral Singh said, finally.  “There is much we have to discuss.”

Mark sat, watching as she took the chair facing him.  Her dark eyes never left his face, something that bothered him more than he cared to admit.  She knew he wasn't one of her biggest fans, let alone a supporter.  And yet, if she started lashing out at officers who hadn't proven themselves incompetent, someone would panic and stick a knife in her back before it was too late.  She needed to seem willing to tolerate people like him until her position was beyond challenge.

The Admiral tapped a console, sending a command to the projector.  A starchart popped into existence in front of them, showing worlds occupied by Wolfbane and worlds that still belonged to the Commonwealth.  Mark knew little about interstellar warfare, but it looked as though the Commonwealth was slowly being ground down to nothingness.  And yet, he’d been an officer too long to take anything for granted.  A world that appeared pacified might no longer be so peaceful, when the occupation forces were drawn down.  Thule had never known a day of peace since the war had begun.

“Our agents within the Commonwealth have reported that their government is working to shorten their defence lines,” Admiral Singh said, without preamble.  “They are pulling much of their mobile firepower back to the inner worlds, abandoning seventeen stars to us whenever we choose to take them.  Most of those worlds are largely worthless, I admit.  They probably made the right choice in choosing to concede them to us.”

Mark nodded, keeping his expression under tight control.  A stage-one or stage-two colony world was useless, as far as supporting the logistics of interstellar war was concerned.  He might be able to raid them for food and drink, but little else.  Their populations lacked the training to become anything more than conscript soldiers.  They certainly couldn't be drafted as spacers!

“If they win the war, they can recover them at leisure,” he agreed.  “And if they lose, it doesn’t matter what happens to those colony worlds.  We certainly won’t be fighting over them.”

“Correct,” Admiral Singh said.  Her lips curved into a cold smile.  “And yet, one of those worlds is far from useless.”

She pointed to a single star, blinking red.  Corinthian.

Mark frowned, thinking hard.  He’d heard that Admiral Singh had been kicked off Corinthian by a general revolt, a revolt sponsored by the Commonwealth.  If she hadn't been lucky enough to stumble across the Wolves, she would have died in the vastness of interstellar space when her remaining ships ran out of supplies.  It was impossible to believe she was impartial about the whole affair - she was known to be vindictive - and yet, a chance to snatch control of Corinthian was one that couldn't be missed.  The planet had had a respectable industrial base even before it had lost touch with the Empire.

But it looked too good to be true.  “They’re abandoning such a useful world?”

“So it would seem,” Admiral Singh agreed.  “Corinthian is really too far from their core to allow for mutual support.”

Mark nodded, slowly.  He was no naval expert, but Corinthian was nearly a month from Avalon at best possible speed.  Trying to hold on to the system would pin a substantial enemy force down indefinitely, allowing the Wolves to wreak havoc elsewhere.  Corinthian might be able to support the enemy’s war effort, but the sheer distance between the threatened world and the rest of the Commonwealth worked against it.  The defences wouldn't die on the vine, yet they wouldn't help others either.

“It doesn't make sense,” he said.  “They must know that they need every last scrap of industry they can get.”

“They do,” Admiral Singh agreed.  “They’re sending a substantial force to ... liberate ... the industrial base I built up before I was forced to leave.  They’ll strip Corinthian bare of everything from trained personnel to industrial modules, leaving a restive population that won’t be too pleased to see me again.  By the time they leave, Corinthian will be useless to both us and the Commonwealth.”

Mark frowned.  That made a great deal more sense.  The trained manpower alone would make one hell of a difference, in the right - or the wrong - hands.  He’d seen enough of the Empire’s educational system to know that trained manpower was worth its weight in any rare substance one cared to name.  And Corinthian had been a member of the Commonwealth for nearly three years.  The possibilities ...

He looked up into her disturbingly dark eyes.  “They might have moved some of their own industrial base out there,” he breathed.  “There’ll be a chance to capture some of their technology.”

“It’s a possibility,” Admiral Singh said.  Her voice darkened.  “The research labs have been quite slow in understanding the principles of their technology, even though we now know such things are possible.  Indeed, half of the ... scientists ... are convinced that we are misreading the sensor records.  They simply don’t believe that force shields are a viable technology.”

Mark wasn't surprised.  He hated to admit it, but most of the technology his force used would be understandable to a military officer from the days before the Empire.  Scientific research had slowed to a crawl, in the final days of the Empire, and technological innovation had been strongly discouraged.  The Grand Senate had been happy with its control of everything important, he recalled.  They hadn't wanted to accidentally develop something that might upend the entire balance of power, let alone threaten their superiority.  Their scientists hadn't been worthy of the name.

“The Commonwealth doesn't have that disadvantage,” he commented.  “Nor does the Trade Federation.”

“No,” Admiral Singh agreed.  “They have the advantage of having an industrial base, without the corporate mindset that developed over a thousand years of squashing all the competition by fair means or foul.  Right now, there’s no room in their little heads for a genuinely original thought.  And I can't even purge half the bastards without sparking off a civil war.”

She leant forward, her eyes blazing.  “You understand the potential benefits of securing Corinthian before they strip the planet bare?”

“Yes, Admiral,” Mark agreed.  “But they will have already begun the operation, surely?”

“They will not find it easy to pick up a whole industrial base and transport it home,” Admiral Singh pronounced.  Mark was inclined to agree.  “And I imagine that my ... successors ... will resent losing so much of their hard work.  They will not be inclined to cooperate, even at gunpoint.  The Commonwealth will find it hard to carry out their mission within six months, let alone a year.”

Mark rather suspected she had a point.  Wolfbane had raided every nearby world for trained manpower and industrial modules and it had always faced resistance.  Never enough to stop the looting, to be fair, but enough to cause problems.  Experienced personnel had even killed themselves, rather than be taken from their families.  Governor Brown had eventually issued orders that families were to be taken too, but too much damage had already been done.

“They may not even have the shipping space for non-essential personnel,” he commented, thoughtfully.  He’d handled evacuations, in the past, and they were always messy as hell.  A person would be taken on the wrong ship or left behind ... hell, the Commonwealth’s attempt to evacuate Thule had failed miserably.  “And the trained personnel will definitely resent being separated from their families.”

“Quite,” Admiral Singh agreed.

She tapped the console again, replacing the starchart with an order of battle.  “My task force will advance to Corinthian as quickly as possible, destroying or driving away the Commonwealth ships within the system, before proceeding to secure the high orbitals,” she said.  “Once we take control, you’ll be landing with a sizable force to take control of all the major cities and secure the personnel and facilities we need.  You’ll also be watching for the rebels who unseated me beforehand, so they can be punished as they deserve.”

Mark winced at the hatred running through her voice.  Admiral Singh had been an empress, to all intents and purposes, before she’d been kicked off the planet.  Now, she held power, but not supreme power.  She could have come to terms with Governor Brown if she’d met him as an equal, instead of a supplicant.  He couldn't blame her for wanting a little revenge ...

And she can't strike at her true enemies, he thought.  So she strikes at others instead.

“That will require considerable manpower,” he said, carefully.  If anything, that was an understatement.  Corinthian was heavily populated as well as heavily armed.  “We may not have the resources on hand to cope with the mission.”

“You will be withdrawing two-thirds of the infantry and supporting arms from Thule,” Admiral Singh said, bluntly.  “We hold the high orbitals and much of the orbital and interplanetary infrastructure.  We’ll keep control of the capital and a handful of other locations, but the remainder of this shithole can go to hell.”

Mark forced his face to reveal no trace of his feelings.  Thule wasn't as important as Corinthian, but he’d lost thousands of men trying to keep the planet under control.  Never mind that half of them had been conscripts, men who hadn't really wanted to join the military; they’d died for Wolfbane, countless light years from home.  It wasn't right to have their deaths be for nothing, although he doubted that Governor Brown had cared much before he died.  Surely Admiral Singh would understand ...

“Thule is immaterial to us, right now,” she said, firmly.  “I don’t intend to waste any more resources securing the planet.  We can clobber the insurgents from orbit if they raise their heads too high.”

She shrugged.  “But that will be your successor’s job,” she added.  “I want you in command of the ground forces on Corinthian.”

“Yes, Admiral,” Mark said.  A trap?  Or was he merely the most experienced officer at her disposal?  He didn't know anyone with more experience of sustained urban combat.  “When do you intend to depart?”

Admiral Singh eyed him darkly.  “How quickly can you load your men onto the transports?”

Mark thought fast, silently grateful for the vast number of contingency plans he’d drawn up - or, rather, had his staff draw up - for every conceivable situation.  He’d assumed from the start that the deployment wouldn’t last indefinitely, not with Governor Brown a penny-pinching bureaucrat.  Moving his men back to entrenched positions and preparing for evacuation had always been a very real possibility ...

“Two to three weeks, assuming we have enough shuttles on hand,” he said.  “But we don’t have that many we brought in from out-system.”

He scowled in bitter memory.  It was a sore spot.  The orbital industrial nodes surrounding Thule had produced a number of shuttles for his forces, but two of them had exploded in flight - apparently, the insurgents had sabotaged the flight computers.  It had caused several near-mutinies when his men had refused to board the damned craft.  A number of locals had died for their involvement, but it hadn't been enough to repair the damage they’d done.

“Use shuttles from my ships,” Admiral Singh ordered.  “I want to be on the way to Corinthian within the month.”

Mark frowned.  “That might be tricky,” he said.  “Moving men is one thing, but evacuating our supplies is quite another.”

“It has to be done,” Admiral Singh said.  “If necessary, we’ll send back for more supplies once we are established on Corinthian.”

“If we can,” Mark said.

He wasn't happy.  In his experience, pre-war simulations of just how much ammunition would be expended in combat were almost laughably optimistic.  His men had fired off millions of rounds on Thule, while losing over four hundred combat vehicles from light armoured patrol units to Landshark tanks.  And hadn't that been a blow to morale?  He’d always assumed the Landsharks were next to invulnerable, until they hadn't been any longer.  

And yet, he had a feeling Admiral Singh wouldn't accept any excuses.  She wanted Corinthian badly, so badly she was prepared to take the risk of commanding the operation in person, something that would rebound badly on her if the operation failed.  There was no room for him to manoeuvre.

“I’ll communicate with my officers at once,” he said.  “We’ll dust off the contingency plan for troop withdrawal, then put it into operation.  It will have to be a staggered withdrawal ...”

He paused as a thought struck him.  “We could always tell the insurgents that we’re leaving for good,” he added.  It was risky - once his forces had a reputation for being liars, it was unlikely to vanish in a hurry - but it was a possibility.  “It might stop them harassing our forces as they withdraw.”

Admiral Singh’s lips thinned.  “I doubt they would believe us,” she said.  “They have to know we would not abandon the industrial nodes.”

“True,” Mark agreed.

“Hammer the insurgents from orbit,” Admiral Singh ordered, curtly.  There was no give in her voice at all.  “Hit them whenever they hit us.”

Mark winced.  Admiral Singh was a naval officer, not a groundpounder.  She had no conception of what happened when a KEW struck its target.  The resulting blast would not only obliterate the insurgent position, but everything around it.  Hundreds of civilians - and Wolves - would be caught in the blast and killed.  And any civilian survivors would be thoroughly radicalised.  His men had caught hundreds of insurgents who claimed they’d only begun to fight after losing loved ones to KEW strikes.

She doesn't give a damn about collateral damage, he thought.  In space, there was rarely any such thing.  Even a nuke could detonate without risking innocent lives.  And there’s no way to talk her out of it.

“I’ll issue the best orders for each situation,” he said.  “Getting our troops out in reasonable order is the first priority.”

“Understood,” Admiral Singh said.  She rose.  “I’ll expect you for dinner tonight, General.  I have some operational matters to discuss with you.”

“Of course, Admiral,” Mark said.  Thankfully, his second could start preparations for the evacuation, once he had his orders.  “I look forward to it.”

And that, he knew all too well, was a lie.

Chapter Ten

Indeed, most observers fail to understand the role luck and timing play in military (and government) operations.
- Professor Leo Caesius.  The Role of Randomness In War.

“You know, Captain,” Commander Tygart said, “we could probably claim a record.”

Mandy smiled, rather ruefully.  “I doubt we could beat a courier boat,” she said, as she studied the eerie lights of phase space.  “And even if we did, it wouldn't last.”

She smiled at the thought.  Starships were getting faster, thanks to the wave of innovation unleashed by the Commonwealth.  So far, the technology had remained mainly restricted to military ships, but that would change sooner rather than later.  And when it did, the galactic economy would change once again.  Defiant was the fastest capital ship in space, as far as she knew, but she’d soon be joined by others.  And all the stars would grow closer together.

And that will make life more interesting, she thought, as she settled back in her command chair.  Being a starship commander and squadron commander was awkward, but her crews were well-trained and used to making a number of decisions without having her looking over their shoulders.  We won’t have as much freedom as we have now.

She pushed the thought aside as she glanced at the timer, showing the last minutes ticking away before the squadron reached the phase limit surrounding Corinthian’s star.  Pirates had been known to lurk along the phase limits, watching for lone freighters they could ambush, but it was unlikely that any pirates would dare to tangle with a warship.  If, of course, there were any pirates left.  She smiled a smile of cold satisfaction when she contemplated just how many pirate ships had been captured or destroyed, along with their bases, in the years since she’d escaped from captivity.  It wasn't enough - it would never be enough - but it was a start.

“Two minutes to emergence point, Captain,” the helmsman said.  “The drive is ready to recycle upon command.”

“See to it,” Mandy ordered, curtly.  It was unlikely they would run into a problem that would force them to turn and flee, but she knew better than to take chances.  The timing should work in their favour, yet luck might turn against them at any moment.  “Tactical?”

“All weapons and sensors charged and ready, Captain,” the tactical officer reported.  “Shield generator is online, ready to go active.”

Mandy forced herself not to show any sign of tension as the last few seconds ticked down to nothingness.  It had been a boring voyage, even if she’d had time to chat to Jasmine and Mindy and run hundreds of simulations, based on what she expected to find when they reached their destination.  But she knew from bitter experience that boredom was far better than running into an enemy squadron or being a helpless prisoner of a pirate crew.  She felt for the poison tooth in her mouth with her tongue, feeling a wave of grim determination.  One solid crunch and she’d die within seconds.  It was an unpleasant thought, but she was damned if she was allowing herself to fall into pirate hands for a second time.

The ship rocked, slightly, as she dropped back into realspace.  Mandy’s eyes flew to the holographic display, watching grimly as red icons flashed into existence, only to turn blue as IFF codes were checked and rechecked.  The remainder of the squadron had made it, thankfully.  She'd heard too many tales of navigators who put the wrong coordinates into the phase drive and ended up thousands of light years from their destination ...

“Preliminary scan complete, Captain,” the tactical officer said.  “Local space is clear.”

Mandy nodded, although she still felt jumpy.  The squadron had taken a least-time course to Corinthian, which made their arrival time and destination predictable to anyone with half a brain.  If the enemy had managed to get an ambush in place, the first she’d know of it was when the missiles came screeching towards them out of seemingly empty space.  But, as the seconds ticked by, she relaxed.  The enemy, if indeed there was an enemy, had missed its best chance at scoring a devastating series of blows.

“Remain on tactical alert,” she ordered, quietly.  “Send a standard IFF pulse to System Command.”

“Aye, Captain,” the communications officer said.

“Helm, take us into the system,” Mandy added.  “Match course and speed with the transports.”

“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman added.

Mandy sat back in her chair and watched, grimly, as the squadron proceeded into the system, the display lighting up with hundreds of icons.  Corinthian had been settled long before Avalon and it showed, although two successive governments hadn't been quite as enthusiastic about unrestrained capitalism and innovation as the Commonwealth.  The system was dotted with radio signals, ranging from a dozen cloudscoops to asteroid settlements and small establishments on almost every planet.  Indeed, it was clear that the level of interplanetary activity had tripled since her first visit to the planet.

And they’re working on growing their manpower base too, she thought.  Corinthian had had the same problems as most of the other worlds, but Admiral Singh had managed to overcome many of them before she’d been forced to flee.  Given time, they could rise to dominate the sector.

She scowled, remembering some of the complaints she’d heard from junior crewmen.  They wondered just what would happen if Avalon - and Corinthian - continued to dominate the worlds around them.  The Empire, on a smaller scale?  Or something worse?  She didn't mourn for what she’d lost, when she’d been exiled from Earth, but she had to admit that the Empire had offered stability.  But that had been a lie, held in place by force and threats ... both of which had been in short supply when the end finally came.  Now ...

Once the war is over, we can work on growing other economies, she thought.  She knew what the plans had been, before Wolfbane had cast a long shadow over the Commonwealth.  Those plans could be dusted off and put back to work.  And it will make us stronger in the long run.

“There’s quite a few ships leaving the system,” the tactical officer commented.  “They may have seen us already.”

Mandy doubted it.  The message to Corinthian wouldn't even have reached the planet; they certainly wouldn't have had time to send a reply.  And the freighters shouldn't have detected the squadron’s arrival, not with civilian-grade sensors.  But if Wolfbane had a few spy ships among the freighters ... they might well have set off to report back to their masters.  Or, perhaps, they were smugglers who feared being caught and trapped inside the phase limit.

Or it might be nothing at all, she thought, sourly.  There’s no way to be certain.

The communications console pinged, seven hours later.  “Captain, Corinthian acknowledges our arrival,” the communications officer said.  “System Command would like to know what we’re doing here.”

Because they didn’t expect us to arrive, Mandy thought.  The arrival of an unscheduled fleet, in wartime, would cause some alarm, even if the fleet did have the right IFF codes.  Who knew if an enemy spy could have obtained the codes?  They’ll be getting ready to fight now, even though they think we’re friendly.

“Inform them that Colonel Stalker will explain, once we reach communications range,” she ordered.  There was no point in trying to hold a conversation when it took three and a half hours for a message to reach Corinthian, then a further three and a half hours for a reply to reach Defiant.  “And request a suitable orbital slot.”

She sighed, inwardly, as she rose to her feet and passed command to her XO.  Everyone was paranoid these days, with reason.  The Pax Imperia was long gone, replaced by a universe where the wolf was at the door ... literally, for the worlds facing the prospect of being added to the Wolfbane Consortium.  No one would allow a newcomer to enter firing range, let alone orbit, without being very sure of the newcomer’s bona fides.  Part of her found it depressing, as if some piece of her innocence had been stolen without her ever knowing why.  And yet, she knew that only an idiot failed to lock her doors on Earth.  Even in Imperial City, thieves were everywhere.

And the colonel is going to turn this system upside down, she thought.  They won’t be pleased at hearing from him.

She stepped through the hatch into her office and keyed a switch, activating the display.  The system was slowly revealing its secrets, allowing her to see more and more detail ... the locals wouldn't want to move, no matter the threat.  But they had no choice.  The Wolves would want Corinthian, even if Admiral Singh hadn't had a personal connection to the system.  And Corinthian couldn't hold indefinitely against a powerful fleet.

The colonel will just have to convince them to go, she thought, as she sat down.  That’s his job.

***
“They’ve done a lot of work,” Jasmine said, as she stood next to Colonel Stalker in the compact CIC.  The compartment was largely empty, save for a pair of operators Mandy had loaned them.  “It wasn't anything like this industrialised when I was here last.”

“They needed time to build without Admiral Singh,” Stalker said.  “And since they already had an industrial base, it was natural for it to keep growing.”

Jasmine shrugged, watching grimly as more and more asteroid settlements came into view.  It was easy to hide an asteroid settlement from anything less than a close inspection, but she knew better than to take it for granted.  If one of the ships that had left the system was a spy, she knew, Wolfbane would already have a pretty good idea where most of the settlements actually were.  And even if they didn't, they had good reason to keep catching asteroids and melting them down for raw materials.  

Not that there’s any shortage, she thought.  Thousands of years of mining hadn't significantly reduced Earth’s asteroid belt, after all, although there had been plans to blow up one of the minor planets to produce more raw material.  The plans had come to nothing, as far as she recalled; she was fairly sure she would have noticed a missing planet when she was last in the Sol System.  They can support a full-scale industrial node for centuries if necessary.

The Colonel glanced at her.  “Is 1st Platoon ready for deployment?”

“Yes, sir,” Jasmine said.  She was still disappointed that he’d rejected her idea for an orbital drop, but she did understand his logic.  They’d be taking quite enough crazy risks when the enemy arrived, finally.  “Do you want an escort?”

“I think it would be best,” Colonel Stalker said.  “And I’ll want your impressions of Corinthian too.”

Jasmine frowned.  “Not all of them will be pleased to see me, sir,” she said.  She’d tried to resign, the first time, after completing the mission on Corinthian.  “And some of them may bear a grudge.”

“It can't be helped,” the Colonel said.  “All hell is going to break loose soon.”

“Unless Wolfbane fails to take the bait,” Jasmine said.

She looked up at the display.  The logic of shortening the defence lines was sound, she knew, although part of her insisted it was the prelude to accepting inevitable defeat.  There were good reasons to strip Corinthian of everything useful before ceding the world to Wolfbane and good reasons for Wolfbane to want to move fast, to intervene before it was too late.  And yet, on an interstellar scale, the universe laughed at plots and plans.  It was quite possible that Admiral Singh would continue her drive towards Avalon and leave Corinthian for later.

But she wants revenge, Jasmine thought.  And we’re offering her the chance to take it.

“Twelve hours until we enter orbit,” the Colonel added.  “I’ll be taking a shuttle down to Freedom City as soon as possible.  You and 1st Platoon will accompany me, as planned.”

“Yes, sir,” Jasmine said.

“And leave your boyfriend behind,” he warned.  “This meeting will have to be private.”

Jasmine nodded, curtly.  She was used to the ribbing - and besides, the colonel had a very valid point.  No one, particularly a planetary government official, would want a public record of what was certain to be a very uncomfortable meeting.

“I imagine he’ll be off-loaded with the troops,” she said.  She hesitated, then asked the question that had been bothering her for weeks.  “What happens if they refuse to cooperate?”

The Colonel hesitated.  “We cannot try to compel cooperation,” he said, finally.  “Even if we wanted to try, it would be devastating.  The Commonwealth would not survive.”

He cleared his throat.  “If they refuse to allow us to land and deploy our forces, along with the shield generator and everything else, we will have no choice but to withdraw,” he admitted.  “And we will have to hope that the Wolves suffer when they try to take the system.”

Jasmine watched him go, then turned her gaze back to the display.  Corinthian had powerful defences; Admiral Singh had been determined to keep her capital safe and her successors, always aware she might return, had built on them.  But there were problems, hundreds of problems, in defending a planet from a mobile fleet.  A planet could neither run nor hide ...

... And if they choose to fight without our help, they’ll be slaughtered, she thought.  And then Admiral Singh will take whatever is left and turn it against us.

She keyed her wristcom after taking one last glance at the timer.  “Report to the shuttlebay at 0920, local time,” she ordered.  “Bring standard escort gear; make sure you get some sleep before we leave.”

Her lips twitched as she turned and walked out of the CIC.  Joe Buckley had remained faithful to his wife, much to Jasmine’s relief, but the other marines had been working hard to lure as many crewwomen into bed as possible.  They’d been quite successful too, she thought, if the bragging was any indication.  At least they hadn't taken to collecting pairs of panties again, thankfully.  She still winced when she recalled Sergeant Hallowell’s reaction to Blake Coleman’s collection, the night before all hell broke loose on Han ...

Get some sleep, she told herself, firmly.  The long wait is over.

***
“They’re not taking any chances, Captain,” the tactical officer reported, as Mandy stepped back onto the bridge.  “They’ve got us locked with a hundred automated missile platforms.”

“The first line of defence,” Mandy commented.  The platforms weren't much, but their mere presence would force an attacker to declare himself before he got into firing range of the orbital battlestations.  “Hold position.  Wait for them to call us.”

She wondered, absently, just what was going on in the mighty battlestations.  They’d had plenty of opportunity to get hard visuals of her hulls, confirming that Defiant and her sisters were Commonwealth starships.  It wasn't as if she’d arrived in a fleet of ex-Empire ships that could have been flown by anyone from rebels to pirates.  But they’d still be wondering what the hell was going on ...

“Picking up a signal, Captain,” the communications officer said.  “It’s from an Admiral Melaka.”

“Put him through,” Mandy ordered.  

She glanced at the line of text under the screen.  Admiral Melaka was a local-born naval officer, technically an officer in the Commonwealth Navy even though he hadn't been trained on Avalon.  Like her, he’d been promoted rapidly; she was mildly surprised he hadn't been working for Admiral Singh.  But then, that had probably been a factor in his promotion.  Too many local officers had had ties to the former dictator.

“Commodore Caesius,” Admiral Melaka said.  He was older than she’d expected, although it could be that he was merely one of the rare people who reacted badly to anti-aging and rejuvenation treatments.  Or it could be a fashion statement.  “It’s ... interesting to see you here, at this moment.  You came without notification.”

“I’m afraid so, Admiral,” Mandy said.  “The entire mission was organised on very short notice.”

Admiral Melaka cocked his head.  “Indeed?”

“Colonel Stalker needs to speak directly to your government,” Mandy said.  She played enough word games with her father, when he was in a good mood and her mother was elsewhere.  “Please would you clear his shuttle to pass through your defence grid?”

“It will be done,” Admiral Melaka said.  “I’ll have a flight path forwarded to you shortly.”

Just long enough to make sure the planetary leaders are briefed, Mandy thought.  She didn't really blame Admiral Melaka for making sure his superiors were alerted, but she doubted they had time for playing games.  He doesn't know what’s coming.

“That would be good,” she said, out loud.

Admiral Melaka nodded.  “And your crews?  Will they be requiring shore leave facilities?”

“Not at present,” Mandy said.  Commonwealth crews were quite well behaved, compared to some of the horror stories she’d heard from the Imperial Navy, but bad memories faded slowly.  Admiral Singh’s crews had probably not been too disciplined either.  “I expect we will be talking again, shortly.”

His eyes narrowed.  “Aye, I can see it,” he said.  He’d picked up on something, after all.  “I look forward to it, Commodore.”

Mandy frowned as his face vanished, then glanced at the communications officer.  “They’ve sent a flight path, Captain,” he said.  “It’s a straight-line descent to Freedom City.”

They definitely know something is up, Mandy thought.  Admiral Melaka’s file warned that he had very limited experience, but he was not a fool.  The sheer surprise of their arrival had probably worried him badly.  That’s good, right now.

“Forward it to the shuttlebay, then clear Colonel Stalker for departure,” she ordered.  A straight-line descent meant no security games, which both pleased and worried her.  “And then hold position here until further notice.”

“Aye, Commodore,” the communications officer said.

Good luck, Jasmine, Mandy thought.  You’ll need it.