Captain Henry Gallant Read online

  “Oh, that must be fulfilling,” said Grace.

  Gallant watched Grace as she sat next to her husband, holding his hand. Her joy and relief that he had returned home were palpable. Still, he noticed the tiny wrinkle lines around her eyes and wondered. An early mark of age, or perhaps worry?

  It stood in contrast to Roberts’ pronounced laugh lines that were an extension of his personality. He had filled out since the last time they’d seen each other. John had always been solidly built, but now he showed early signs of a potbelly.

  He smiled and said, “I bear greetings from your old shipmates on the Warrior.”

  Gallant struggled to contain the emotions he knew showed on his face—jealousy, bitterness, frustration. To his mind, nothing was more pitiable than a sailor without a ship. But pride wouldn’t let him acknowledge his failings.

  Both men fell silent, letting the women talk.

  Across from her guests, Alaina perched on the edge of the sofa with legs crossed and hands in her lap. Well accustomed to her husband’s pensive moments, she carried the conversation by indulging in gossip. The conversation dissolved into random chitchat as they sipped their drinks until the AI chime announced dinner. Alaina glowed with pleasure as John and Grace piled compliments as high as the heaps of food on their plates.

  During dinner, Gallant could hardly contain his impatience to talk shop with Roberts. He fidgeted and squirmed until Alaina glared at him.

  Finally, to Gallant’s relief, the plates were empty. The two men went into the living room while the women continued their conversation at the dinner table.

  “Admiral Collingsworth is a remarkable man, but affairs are heating up. I hope he appreciates my concerns about the battle at Ross,” said Roberts. “I’ve stuck my neck out with my assessment. I’m worried I’ll get my head chopped off tomorrow.”

  “I wish I could do something to help. But I’m persona non grata at headquarters these days,” said Gallant, frowning. “I’m afraid you face an uphill battle.”

  Roberts rubbed his chin. “The Warrior’s mission was to collect and evaluate information and let headquarters’ analysts fight over what it means. But my observations led me to critical conclusions that I felt compelled to state explicitly.”

  Gallant said, “I understand. My assignment on headquarters’ strategic analysis team has put me in an awkward position. My interpretations are intensely unpopular and have even gotten me in trouble. You’re walking into the same minefield. Some powerful men in the admiralty want to protect the good name of officers involved in that action. You need to be ready for an ambush.”

  “I’m a boat jockey, not a pencil pusher. I’m not interested in the political ploys of the capital. I need your help to get through this, Henry.”

  Gallant pressed his lips together. “What happened in the Ross system?”

  Roberts rested his elbow on the armrest of the chair. His words were clipped and precise. “The Warrior’s mission was to scout the star system before the assault, then to investigate some unusual findings on the outskirts of the system. I was as a distant observer to the aftermath of the battle.”

  Gallant nodded.

  “The battle was the worst disaster in UP history. A complete failure of command and control.”

  Gallant was startled. “I knew it was bad, but I didn’t imagine . . ..”

  “To be fair, Admiral Butler had only old capital ships, none of the new construction. His battlecruisers had been stripped of most of their weapons and innards to make room for warp drives.”

  Gallant said, “We’re in a technology race with the Titans to convert from interplanetary to interstellar ships. It hasn’t been easy. In my report, I warned about mounting a major assault on a Titan system before the new construction ships were ready.”

  “Your concerns were borne out at Ross. I need your support in the debriefing tomorrow when I say that to their faces.” He hesitated, looking at the hands clenched in his lap. “It’s possible I’ll face court-martial and removal from my command.”

  Gallant shook his head. “I won’t be there. Even if I were willing to walk the plank with you, I don’t have need-to-know authorization.”

  With a frown, he added, “Deliberately, I assume.”

  “I’ll arrange access,” said Roberts. “Don’t let me down. Please.”

  Gallant’s frown deepened.

  Later, as he was leaving, Roberts looked Gallant in the eyes and pleaded, “Tomorrow?”

  Chapter 3

  The Gathering Storm

  Overhead white puffs flecked the blue sky, and the sunlight shimmered on the glossy steel-and-glass fleet headquarters building. Seeing his distorted image reflected in the giant black monolith made Gallant reflect on his shortcomings and puzzle over his future. Setting his jaw, he pushed open the heavy doors. As he stepped inside, the embedded sensors scanned his ID pin.

  The first person he saw at the security checkpoint was someone he knew only too well. Even at a single glance, Julie Anne McCall made a strong impression with her sharply pressed uniform, eye-catching figure, blonde hair, and seductive smile.

  That smile was one of many professional contrivances the ruthless SIA agent used to mesmerize her opponents into revealing more than they should. At the sight of Gallant, it disappeared. “What are you doing here? You don’t have clearance.”

  “My name was added at the last minute.”

  McCall glanced at the security guard, who confirmed with a nod, “Captain Gallant is on the access list.”

  Gallant saw her lips compress into a thin, disapproving line as he brushed past her.

  The expansive amphitheater was usually reserved for important, large-scale debriefings of major mission reports. Gallant was surprised to find the auditorium echoing, the tiers of plush seats empty.

  “Not here,” McCall said, “in there,” pointing to a door bereft of window or handle. She strode across and pressed her palm against the biometric scanner. The door slid open to reveal a smaller space with no other entrance.

  The chamber had a whiteboard against one wall and a flat-panel video screen opposite. Many of the chairs in front were already occupied. Gallant recognized several officers, a few of whom were not a welcome sight, clustered together talking in low voices. Although the center of the room was brightly lit, the edges deepened into shadows. Indistinguishable figures moved about the perimeter, giving the room a menacing feel. The acoustics amplified the chatter but made words unintelligible.

  McCall directed Gallant to a seat at the far corner of the room where she unexpectedly sat next to him. She inched her chair closer to his and whispered, “You are to speak to no one about your report without explicit authorization from me. It’s been classified under black ops.”

  Bewildered, Gallant scowled.

  She added, “We don’t want you talking to the wrong people.”

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  She shifted in her seat before answering. “Your information must get where it’s needed.”

  Gallant frowned. “Don’t you see the inherent contradiction in that?”

  “That’s why you need me—to make this work.”

  He forced a thin smile. “I’ll try to suffer through and keep quiet.”

  Headquarters staff entered, and a few minutes later, Roberts arrived, taking a seat at the front table.

  Gallant looked around the room to assess the strategic importance of the meeting. It was restricted to SIA and fleet analysts. Notably absent was Admiral Collingsworth. Gallant spent a few minutes considering what that might mean.

  Perhaps he was called away on urgent matters.

  Gallant watched as SIA agents situated themselves around the room. None spoke to him, but each one gave him a surreptitious glance.

  He leaned over a few inches. “I thought this was going to be an informal presentation with a few reviewers—to hear Roberts’ findings.”

  McCall ignored him.

  Roberts stared straight ahead, lost in thought. He swallowed hard, and even from behind, Gallant could see the tension in his shoulders. At a nod from one of the guards, Roberts stood, gripping his tablet, and walked across the stage, each step echoing in the sudden silence. His face blanched as he cast a nervous gaze at the officers around him.

  The door opened.

  “AAAtennn . . . shun!” bellowed the guard.

  Vice Admiral Graves, the Ross system theater commander, swept into the room with his staff and took the last seats at the head of the table. His long straight nose, broad chin, and bushy eyebrows gave him an appearance of shrewdness that his character lacked. His bulky frame made him appear as an imposing figure, but his ill-fitting uniform stretched over his puffy belly destroyed any similarity to a dignified posture. His twitchy jowls and red pitted skin dripped of sweat. Rather than looking like a commanding figure at ease, he appeared to be in discomfort.

  “At ease,” said an officer after the admiral took his seat.

  Captain Agatha Turnbull, Graves’ chief of staff, took her place at the podium. Waiting for the renewed babbling to die down, she adjusted her uniform and straightened her shoulders, then spent a full minute surveying the room in total silence. The dramatic pause had a solemnizing and somewhat forbidding effect.

  Finally, she said, “Welcome to this debriefing of the action at the Ross star system. Over the next several hours, the SIA review team will question Captain Roberts and examine his data. Once we complete the preliminary information gathering, we’ll open the floor to general questions.” Her eyes scanned the room. “Now I’ll turn the podium over to SIA representative Captain McCall.”

  The captain’s smile was fleeting as she stood up and walked to the front of the room. “Captain Roberts is the commanding officer of the Warrior, a stealth recon ship stationed at the outer edge of the Ross system at the time of the battle. He collected extensive data and the black-box information from the destroyed ships. I’d like him to make an initial presentation of his findings.”

  Roberts stepped to the podium and said, “Thank you, Captain.”

  McCall continued smoothly, “But before he begins, I want to establish his background and experience.” She asked several probing questions that seemed to Gallant to challenge Roberts’ credibility. When she was satisfied, she nodded at the guard. On cue, several technicians swarmed in. One booted up the video feed, another connected the AI, and a third prepared to record the proceedings.

  At another nod from McCall, Roberts took a coin-sized memory disc out of his pocket and inserted it into the podium’s computer port. “The Ross action occurred nine light-years from Earth. This disc contains a reconstructed plot of the battle, along with the black-box audio and video feeds of the participating ships.”

  Roberts said, “Rear Admiral Butler was in command of the attack on the Ross star system. He had nine converted battlecruisers and eight destroyers to protect the landings. The first wave of the assault force faced little enemy opposition. The outermost planets, Able and Baker, had only small Titan forces building battle stations and communication satellites. A Marine battalion was assigned to attack each of them. The main Titan force of several thousand was building a spaceport over the third planet, Charlie. That was where the rest of the 2nd Marine Division landed.”

  He paused, dropping his gaze to the podium. “The initial phase was conspicuously successful.”

  An officer on Graves’ staff muttered, “That sounds straight forward.”

  Roberts continued, “By the second day, the assault was well on its way to securing all the planets. The spaceport was captured, and a squadron of fighters was operational on Charlie.”

  He coughed and took a sip of water before continuing. “At this point, Admiral Butler decided to split his fleet into three divisions of three battlecruisers each. He stationed one division at each of the three planets, remaining with the third division at the main planet, Charlie. His stated intention was to prevent small Titan raiding parties from attacking the transports and landing sites.”

  Gallant thought, dividing his forces invited trouble.

  “Further, he ordered most of the destroyers to the edge of the system as pickets to extend radar coverage.”

  “That doesn’t seem unreasonable,” commented McCall.

  “In theory, it wasn’t, but for some reason, their movements and locations weren’t coordinated. In fact, due to their dispersion, the destroyers played no role in the subsequent action.”

  When Roberts hesitated, McCall prompted, “What happened next?”

  Roberts’ voice was strained but professional, like a doctor informing a patient of a deadly diagnosis. “A Titan fleet of nine battlecruisers and four destroyers dropped out of warp on the doorstep of the outermost planet. They attacked the first division before they even knew any enemy ships were in the star system. All three UP battlecruisers were annihilated. They didn’t even have time to send a message warning the remaining divisions.”

  “How was that possible?” asked McCall.

  Roberts’ voice broke. “I can’t believe the Titans planned it. It was damnable luck!”

  “How?” repeated McCall.

  “The Titans popped out of warp mere light-minutes from the first division, which was in orbit around planet Able. The stealth rating of the Titan cruisers and destroyers was ‘5’ in comparison to the Warrior’s ‘10.’ But the light from the three orbiting battlecruisers was immediately visible to the Titans. It allowed them to calculate trajectories and launch missiles before detectable light rays from their ships reached the first division.”

  “A dangerous advantage,” commented an officer on Graves’ staff.

  Roberts recovered his composure and resumed his professional tone. “Yes. Our battlecruisers were in such disarray at first that it took several minutes for them to start a defense. The first missiles struck before they had manned battle stations. No evasive action had begun. No antimissiles were launched. Shields were still in standby.”

  The audience was stunned. They stared in silence at the video screen, which all too graphically showed missiles intercepting the UP vessels.

  “The initial missile bombardment was so devasting that all communications were destroyed. A continuous stream of targeting reports provided trajectories for more missiles. The Titans’ follow-up salvos demolished what remained of the three battlecruisers.”

  The audience gave an audible groan as they watched the black-box video feeds from the battlecruisers and heard the cries of men and women caught in the destruction of their ships.

  Gallant’s hands gripped his knees as he watched the viewscreen. The plot now showed the enemy ships moving through the first division, leaving nothing but drifting debris and a handful of escape pods in their wake.

  It was several distressing minutes later before the audience settled down enough for the presentation to continue.

  Roberts said, “The second division was as unprepared as the first. It had received no warning message. At the time of the attack, they were blanketed by a solar flare. It distorted their sensors and added to the confusion. When the first contact report got through, they assumed it was the ships of the first division coming to join them. It wasn’t until the Titans were within missile range that second division was able to penetrate the Titans’ limited stealth technology and recognize the danger.

  “And by then it was too late,” said Roberts, wiping his brow. “Those lost moments proved fatal. Titan missiles were already on their way while the second division was still sounding battle stations. The Achilles managed to raise shields and deploy decoys, but they didn’t have time for any maneuvers to avoid the missiles. After the first explosions, they tried to fire back, but they were already impaired.”

  Gallant watched the black-box video recordings from the bridge of the destroyed ships. The crew tried in vain to ward off the Titan missiles.

  “The next ship in line was the Ajax. She turned to starboard and launched missiles, scoring a few hits on one enemy battlecruiser before she suffered fatal explosions. The last ship, the Adroit, turned to starboard to follow the Ajax. She too fired missiles and took evasive action and was not hit by the Titan’s first barrage. But as the only remaining UP ship, she became the prime target of all nine Titan battlecruisers. She was overwhelmed minutes later.”

  Listening to the gripping black-box broadcast was heartbreaking. The audience understood the heroism it took for the crews to fight in the face of overwhelming odds.

  Silence hung heavy in the room.

  “Fortunately, the captain of the Adroit got a message out, alerting the third division of the enemy’s presence.”

  Roberts shifted his weight from foot to foot as he continued, “Finally, the third division rallied the defenses of the third planet. The Marines sheltered in place, and the transports stopped unloading. Admiral Butler prepared the third division to meet the enemy.”

  McCall asked, “But the Titans turned away, correct? They didn’t attack the third division or the Marines. Why?”

  “I don’t know. From what I can surmise from the videos and plot analysis, the Titans sustained only minor battle damage. Either they thought the alerted third division was more powerful than the others, or else they felt they had completed their mission. They left the system, ignoring the vulnerable transports and Marines.”

  The spectators sat in shock.

  Roberts bit his lip and again wiped the sweat off his forehead. He took a deep breath and glanced at Gallant before adding, “Admiral Butler stated in his report that he drove the Titans off. After they left, he withdrew his remaining ships to Elysium. The Marines on Charlie were left to fend for themselves.”

  The hush in the room was broken by several staff officers muttering in angry voices. Roberts squirmed at the podium and cast pleading eyes toward Gallant.

  Thinking of McCall’s warning, Gallant hesitated before he set his jaw and stood up. He looked around the room and spoke with clarion clearness. “It’s imperative we understand the causes of the failure at Ross.”