Dreadnaught

“If we missed hitting any planet-based particle beams, Dreadnaught could get speared by one in that low an orbit,” Desjani said.

“I know!” Dreadnaught hadn’t altered her vector. “Captain Geary, get back into higher orbit and return your ship to her assigned station now.”

Jane Geary’s expression didn’t alter, intense concentration visible there, and she didn’t answer immediately.

“Dreadnaught is firing hell lances,” the combat systems watch reported.

There were ten cruise missiles. Dreadnaught fired ten hell-lance shots. Geary, his display cranked to high magnification, watched as each particle beam ripped through a cruise missile as the missile crossed open areas like streets or narrow strips of woodland.

“Targets destroyed,” Jane Geary reported. “No collateral damage. Dreadnaught is returning to station.”

“Very well.” That was all he trusted himself to say as Jane Geary’s image vanished.

Desjani cleared her throat. “You’ll have to decide whether to give her a medal or relieve her of command.”

“Tanya, damn it to hell, I don’t need—”

“And in this fleet,” she continued, “you know which action will be regarded as justified.”

“She went against my explicit orders—”

“She got the job done.” Desjani gestured toward the planet. “And she did it aggressively and with style. Think before you act on this one. Sir.”

He took a deep breath, then nodded. “All right.” What the hell is Jane thinking? She’s thinking that she’s Black Jack, that she has to be him. And, dammit, she did a good job just like Tanya said. But what will happen next time she disregards orders to demonstrate her status as a “real” Geary? Maybe disaster, like the sort of brainless courage that cost us Paladin at Lakota. But I have to deal with that later. Focus. I’ve got Marines about to land. Is anyone else acting up?

Invincible stood out on the display, not for what it was doing, but for what the battle cruiser wasn’t doing. Every other warship was making small changes in its orbit at random intervals to throw off targeting by surface-based weapons. But Invincible sailed along without any variations in her orbit, locked into the exact center spot of her assigned position in the formation. “Invincible, begin evasive maneuvers as previously instructed.”

Captain Vente, who had never spoken up at fleet conferences, sounded peevish now. “No specific maneuvering orders were issued.”

“Random, Captain Vente. Make random changes in your ship’s movement,” Geary ordered.

“What kind of random changes?”

Desjani gestured to attract Geary’s attention. “Combat maneuvering subroutine 47A.”

“Execute combat maneuvering subroutine 47A,” Geary repeated to Vente.

“Oh. Very well.”

Orion. What was Orion up to? If any ship was going to have problems doing what it was told . . .

But Orion was in position, jinking randomly in her orbit, all systems reporting combat readiness.

The first shuttles were dropping fast to the surface inside the prison camp, their ramps out so that the moment the shuttle touched, Marines in full combat armor were rolling out and dashing for cover. Close-in weapons on the shuttles still coming down lashed at guard towers and other defensive positions, ensuring that any prison guards still at their posts stayed under cover. Within moments, the first wave was down, the shuttles lifting again for safety while the Marines headed for their objectives, and the second wave came in behind them.

The buildings there were more like multistory dormitories than the low, warehouse-type structures Geary had seen at previous Syndic labor camps. Rows of small windows looked down on the courtyards where the shuttles were dropping Marines, but no fire came from any of the windows.

Geary took a long look at his display. Dreadnaught was almost back on station, and everyone else seemed to be behaving themselves. The annihilation of the launch sites appeared to have discouraged any more attacks on the prison camp area, with even Syndic ground forces lying low. Their leader may be stupid, but they aren’t. None of them want to face this fleet’s firepower just to salvage their leader’s pride.