The Lost Fleet: Courageous

Desjani had the sense not to ask about the way Geary had broken off his sentence. “I think they stopped making those bars a long time ago but are still trying to get rid of the ones they made.” She laughed, the lines worn by years of war easing and her face looking younger than usual.

Geary grinned back at her, grateful that even with someone who thought him a mythical hero he could complain about the fleet’s food. The familiar banter made him feel less out of place, offering a connection to the people and places he’d once known.

The trace elements his auxiliaries needed were rapidly flowing into Titan’s cows. Geary studied the movement of his fleet, feeling a headache rising again as he saw how close the timeline was now. Even the smallest delay would require him to waste time and fuel cells in a braking maneuver.

As if on cue, an alert pulsed on his display tracking the situation on the moon’s surface. Even as Geary was focusing on it, Colonel Carabali’s face appeared again. “The Syndics in the mine shafts are trying to come out. They’re exchanging fire with the Marines guarding the exits from the shafts.”

The last thing he needed was a ground engagement. Maybe the Syndics had figured that out and were willing to expend some of their people just to slow the Alliance fleet down a little more. Geary took a deep breath, leaning back to think, and his eyes came to rest on the fleet display. Oh, hell. For once this is easy. “Colonel Carabali, prepare to pull your Marines back toward the shuttles. Make sure Titan’s cows remain covered until they’re loaded and their shuttles take off.”

The Marine colonel frowned slightly. “Cows, sir?”

“The Moo-Moos.” That sounded ridiculous. “The Mobile Mining Units.”

“Oh. Yes, sir. Sir, the moment we start pulling my Marines back, the Syndics are going to come out of those holes.”

“I don’t think so, Colonel. Not with Exemplar and Braveheart throwing hell lances at them. How big a no-fire zone do you need to be comfortable with those ships firing near your Marines?”

Carabali’s frown deepened. “With all due respect, sir, we prefer to be as far away as possible when the fleet is bombarding an area.”

Understandable, perhaps, but not too helpful. Geary looked over at Desjani. “How accurate should hell-lance fire from Exemplar and Braveheart be if they start shooting at the Syndics on the surface again? The Marines are worried.”

Desjani snorted. “With those two ships that close to the targets and at a dead stop relative to them? It’d be impossible under those circumstances for a hell lance to miss a target by any meaningful margin of error, by which I mean something measured in less than a centimeter. Those Marines could be ten meters away from an aim point and be perfectly safe.”

Geary didn’t think he’d personally be willing to stand ten meters from a hell-lance aim point but didn’t say so aloud. “Colonel, how about two hundred meters for a no fire zone between your Marines and the bombardment from the ships?”

“Could you make it three hundred, sir?”

Oh, for-Then again, I did order the Marines into the facility in the face of the possibility it was a trap. I owe them one. “All right. Three hundred. Once your closest Marine is three hundred meters away from the mine shafts occupied by the Syndics, Exemplar and Braveheart will open fire on any Syndics trying to leave the shafts.”

The Marine’s face brightened. “Could you make it a rolling barrage, sir? As my people pull back, the ships can walk their bombardment through the facility behind them, getting a head start on demolishing it and discouraging pursuit.”

“Excellent suggestion, Colonel. I’ll pass those orders on to Exemplar and Braveheart.” Another message popped up. “The cows have picked up everything we need and are on the way to their shuttles.”

“I’ll prepare my Marines to fall back toward them.” Carabali’s image saluted and vanished.

Geary called up the two scout battleships, ensured they understood their orders, and added a requirement to ensure the facility was wrecked except for one small set of rooms and their associated life support. Life wouldn’t be easy for the Syndics left behind until the inhabited world in this system sent ships to lift them off, but since they could easily have been slaughtered to the last individual by the Alliance ships, Geary didn’t think they had any grounds for complaints.

Things were finally happening again, though at a seemingly glacial pace as the symbols marking Marines and the cows fell back toward their respective shuttles. Used to dealing with velocities measured in tenths of the speed of light, Geary found himself amazed at how long it took something on the surface to go a few hundred meters.