The Oncoming Storm (39 page)

She took a breath. “And try to reestablish a link to the admiral.”

“That might be impossible,” Roach said. The tactical officer sounded worried. “Government House is under heavy attack.”

Kat shuddered. How many locals, from street sweepers to prostitutes, had worked within the security fence? They’d had years to plan their uprising, smuggling weapons into the complex while pretending to be good little collaborators. And now, they were throwing everything they had at their hated oppressors. The admiral might already be dead. He was certainly in no position to take command of the fleet.

“We can’t even call in orbital strikes,” the XO warned. “There’s no way to separate our forces from enemy insurgents.”

“Recall Davidson,” Kat repeated. At least she had a full crew on her ship. God alone knew how many of the other ships had full complements. “And then try to establish links to the remainder of 7th Fleet.”

She looked down at her hands, unsure of what to do. The entire situation was unraveling . . . and the enemy fleet hadn’t even put in an appearance. Given time, and orbital control, the Commonwealth could restore some semblance of order, but she knew the Theocracy would know it too. Their fleet would have to arrive soon . . .

Unless they want us to slaughter the insurgents, she thought morbidly. They’re not going to leave Cadiz alone either. Better to kill off everyone who might resist first.

“Captain,” Ross said, “I have lost contact with the Marine shuttles.”

Kat shivered. “I’m on my way,” she said. She rose. “Keep trying to reestablish contact.”

The high-velocity missile came out of nowhere. Davidson and his men had no time to do more than brace themselves before the missile slammed into the shuttle’s drive field, sending them tumbling down towards the ground. The pilot struggled to maintain control, somehow managing to keep the craft steady long enough to make a proper crash landing. Davidson rose to his feet as soon as the craft was down, then ran for the hatch. Outside, it was calm, suspiciously calm. But in the distance, he could see smoke rising from the direction of the spaceport.

“I can’t make contact with anyone,” Corporal Loomis reported as the marines fanned out, weapons at the ready. Everyone was accounted for, but whoever had shot them down might be coming to finish the job. “The planetary datanet is down.”

Davidson swallowed a curse. They’d landed in rough country, several miles from the spaceport, Gibraltar, or the PDC. If the smoke was any indicator, the spaceport was under attack—and he couldn’t see any signs of shuttles coming or going over the land. And that suggested the insurgents had the spaceport locked down. For once, he found himself unsure of what to do. What were their orders if caught in hostile territory?

Any other world would have a large population willing to help us, he thought. But not here.

“We need to move away from the spaceport,” he said finally. He wanted to run towards the installation and join the defenders, but the battle might well be over by the time the Marines arrived. He’d seen too much of the spaceport’s interior to have any illusions about how long it could defend itself if it came under heavy attack. There were just too many enemies within the walls. “And find somewhere to go to ground.”

None of his troops argued. Instead, they followed him as he led the way towards the capital city. Strangers would be noticed in the countryside, he suspected. It would be better to blend in with city-dwellers as much as possible. And they would probably have to ditch their uniforms and most of their weapons at some point.

He cursed the admiral under his breath. It would have been relatively simple to ensure the shit never hit the fan—or, at least, that the installations on the surface were secure. But Morrison had been too lazy—or criminally negligent—to care. Davidson silently promised himself that the admiral would not survive, no matter what else happened. He wouldn’t be allowed to go home and plead his case . . .

Shaking his head, he looked towards the smoke rising from the city. It was unlikely Admiral Morrison was still alive.

“I have a live feed from a drone near the spaceport,” Ross reported. “The installation is under heavy attack.”

Kat nodded as the images appeared on the display. The entire complex seemed devastated; fires were burning everywhere, while a number of destroyed shuttles lay on the ground. She could see hundreds of dead bodies while a handful of men armed with makeshift weapons prowled the complex, seeking survivors. The barracks, which should have housed over two thousand soldiers, were nothing more than debris. It was clear that the defenders had been overwhelmed before they’d even known they were under attack.

She bit her lip. “Do we have a link to Government House? Or the PDC?”

“General Eastside seems to have taken command of the PDC,” Ross said. “But there’s no contact with Government House.”

Kat nodded, unsurprised. The admiral was dead. Most of the senior naval officers were dead. Or, she told herself, they were out of contact. Not that it really mattered, she suspected. The spaceport was flaming debris, while insurgents prowled the countryside with surface-to-air missiles. There was no way she could send shuttles to recover the commanding officers, even if she’d had a solid lock on their positions. They’d be shot down by the insurgents.

“Purge the communications system completely,” she ordered. It would destroy any encryption codes, but right now they were worse than useless. Kat and her crew would have to send in the clear and hope the enemy wasn’t able to intercept and read messages in time to make a difference. “And try to reestablish the datanet for 7th Fleet.”

And then new alarms sounded, followed by red lights on the display.

Commander Fran Higgins had never considered herself prone to despair. As a mustang, she had known her promotion prospects were limited compared to officers who had followed the proper command track, but she had also believed her competence would see her through. But Cadiz had sapped her determination even before the shit had finally hit the fan. If she hadn’t had the bare bones of a plan—and taken steps to prepare Defiant for operations—she might well have given up completely.

She sat on the bridge, in the captain’s chair, trying to pull some sense out of the distorted reports from the planet’s surface. Some of them were obvious nonsense, others far too optimistic to be believed easily. But she knew the worst when she finally saw the live feed from the spaceport. The occupation was doomed.

“The captain is dead,” she said, flatly. A third of the crew was still down on the surface—if they weren’t dead themselves—but at least she’d managed to keep the more competent officers and crew on the ship. “I want full operational power as soon as possible.”

“We’re working on it,” Chief Engineer Ryan said. Thank God he was competent. There were at least two engineers attached to the fleet who had to have politically powerful relatives, or they would never have been promoted. “But it will take at least ten minutes to bring the ship to full power.”

Fran cursed loudly enough to shock several of the younger officers. “Keep working on it,” she snapped. There was nothing else she could do. “And . . .”

New icons flared into life on the display. “Vortexes,” Lieutenant Robbins shouted. She sounded as though she was on the verge of panic. “Multiple vortexes.”

“Divert all power to weapons, shields, and drives,” Fran ordered. The enemy fleet had arrived—and the mighty superdreadnought and the rest of her squadron were practically sitting ducks. They could do without life support long enough to escape—or they’d be dead anyway. “And stand by point defense.”

She gritted her teeth. The enemy ships were already launching gunboats. And 7th Fleet’s gunboat crews were in disarray. It was unlikely many of them could launch in time to make a difference. The fleet was thoroughly screwed.

And there was still no word from the admiral.

“Report,” Admiral Junayd ordered.

“The infidel fleet is in disarray,” the sensor officer reported. “They’re trying to power up their drives and weapons, but they’re at a very low state of readiness.”

“God is with us,” the cleric said.

Admiral Junayd ignored him. “Launch gunboats,” he ordered. The infidels could not be allowed more time to prepare. One icon sparkled on the display and he glowered at it. The spying battle cruiser had made it back to Cadiz, too late. They’d already lost the StarCom, ensuring they couldn’t send an alert to the remainder of the Commonwealth. “Targets are the capital ships. They are not to leave this system alive.”

He paused, significantly. “The battle line will advance,” he added. “The troopships and their escorts will remain behind, ready to escape back into hyperspace if necessary.”

The cleric turned to face him. “Admiral,” he said, “must I remind you of the importance of bringing Cadiz into the fold?”

“We cannot land troops until we have defeated the enemy fleet,” Junayd pointed out. It was important to establish a strong presence on Cadiz, if only to hunt down the surviving Commonwealth personnel, but he was keen to keep the Janissaries and the Inquisitors away from Cadiz as long as possible. A few days under their rule and the locals would start rebelling again. “And besides, I don’t care to offer the enemy a clear shot at annihilating the troops before they hit the ground.”

He settled back, contemplating the task before him. His superdreadnoughts would finish the job of blowing their way through the Commonwealth’s defenses and obliterating their fleet. The balance of power would swing decisively in the Theocracy’s favor within an hour.

“And transmit the formal summons to surrender,” he added. “We must invite them to submit to us.”

It would be good if they did surrender, he knew, even though he would be cheated of a battle. But he wasn’t expecting a surrender. The Commonwealth was no isolated single-star system, unable to police space outside its atmosphere. They had space they could trade for time and powerful fleets in reserve. It was possible they would despair so completely they wouldn’t realize they could fall back, but he wasn’t counting on it. They had had too much time to think since their spy ship had returned home.

“And send a general signal to the fleet,” he concluded. “Today we fight for victory.”