A Call to Vengeance

  Not that Llyn blamed them. Before he was even halfway through the battle’s timeline, he could see why they didn’t want him seeing it.

  The thing had been a disaster from square one. The idea of splitting the force into two waves was reasonable in theory, but the minute Gensonne lost his first battlecruiser he should have tightened up the formation. A single wave would probably have meant fewer Manticoran ships destroyed, given the speed at which the two forces would shoot past each other and the subsequently short combat window. But even that was a fool’s misreading of the mission’s objective. As in chess, the goal was to checkmate the king—in this case, literally—not simply destroy as many pawns, knights, and bishops as possible.

  The frustrating part was that even after Gensonne’s failure to make sure a wounded enemy ship was dead, the error that had cost him a second battlecruiser, he still could have pulled it out. He had the numbers, the arsenal, and the expertise to reach Manticore orbit and call on King Edward to surrender.

  As for the Manticorans’ final ploy, that had clearly been nothing but a bluff. Unfortunately for Gensonne, by that point he was so rattled that he’d fallen for it, flat on his face. And in the process, he’d handed Manticore the victory.

  By the time Gensonne made it back to the Volsung base and summoned Llyn to his office, Llyn had gone through the records twice and had a solid grasp of the mistakes that had led to the fiasco.

  The Volsungs’ mistakes he would need to downplay. There was no point in coming off as too critical, given that he needed Gensonne to trust him. The Manticorans’ mistakes he could likewise ignore in his upcoming analysis.

  But he had made careful note of them. They would be something he would discuss with whatever group ended up taking the Volsungs’ place.

  “First of all, under the circumstances, I think you and your men did a tremendous job,” he told Gensonne. “You had the Manticorans outnumbered and outgunned, and it was pure bad luck that forced you to retreat.”

  “Bad luck?” Gensonne ground out. “That’s what you call losing two battlecruisers and a destroyer? Bad luck?”

  “Call it incredibly good luck on the Manticorans’ part, then,” Llyn amended with a shrug. Still, he could see in Gensonne’s face that he’d hit the right angle. The Admiral was already strongly inclined to blame his defeat on the fortunes of war. All Llyn had to do was keep reinforcing that idea.

  “Damn straight,” Gensonne said bitterly. “You don’t have cruisers and destroyers taking out battlecruisers. Not without the Lady solidly in your corner.”

  “Absolutely,” Llyn agreed. “Plus a couple of bad decisions on your late captains’ part.” When luck could only support half the load, he’d found, the rest could usually be handled by shifting blame, especially to people who couldn’t shift it back. “Captain Blakeley should never have let himself get close enough to an enemy for the kind of sucker punch that took him out. Captain De la Roza similarly should have confirmed all damaged enemy ships were out of the fight before moving in.”

  “The heat of battle,” Gensonne said, scowling out at the universe. “And overconfidence.”

  “Exactly,” Llyn said. “As for the two Manticoran battlecruisers you saw heading into the battle—”

  “Yes, let’s talk about those,” Gensonne interrupted. “Those damn ships weren’t even listed in your supposedly up-to-date intel.”

  “With all due respect, Admiral, they were on the list,” Llyn countered mildly. “They simply weren’t listed as functional warships.”

  “They sure the hell looked functional to me.”

  “I agree they were flying. But flying alone doesn’t make for a warship.” He gestured to his tablet. “And having reviewed your records, I’m even more of the opinion that they were paper tigers. No weapons, no defenses, probably not even full crews. Had you stood your ground, I believe it would have taken no more than a single missile to destroy each of them.”

  “You believe whatever you want,” Gensonne said stiffly. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see them.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Llyn conceded. Though he had seen them shortly afterward, of course.

  But there was no point in rubbing Gensonne’s nose in the fact that the Barcan follow-up team had had to abort because of the Volsungs’ failure. Time to back off. “But what’s done is done. Let’s focus on the future.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Gensonne said. “Starting with these new missiles you mentioned.” He cocked his head. “And maybe a few new ships to go with them. Big ships, like top-of-the-line battlecruisers.”

  Llyn shook his head. He’d prepped hard for this conversation on the trip in from the confrontation, and Gensonne was running exactly true to form.

  “I’ve already told you the League’s view of that,” he said, putting some regret into his voice. “They have a monopoly on the most modern warships, and fully intend to keep it that way.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Gensonne said contemptuously. “I’m also pretty sure that Axelrod doesn’t give a damn what the League wants or doesn’t want.”

  It took every bit of Llyn’s self-control to keep the reaction to that name off his face. God—how could Gensonne have figured it out? “Axelrod?” he asked, allowing a slight frown to crease his forehead.

  “Axelrod of Terra,” Gensonne said, smiling in the mocking way people smiled when they were trotting out knowledge of someone else’s deepest secrets. “Your bosses. The ones who want to take over Manticore.”

  For a split second Llyn thought about denying it. He’d worked so incredibly hard to keep even a hint of Axelrod’s involvement out of this.

  But he knew that look. Knew it all too well. Somehow, Gensonne had discovered the truth, and nothing Llyn could say would convince him otherwise.

  No matter. He’d already decided that Gensonne and his men had to die. Now, he simply had to extend that scorched-ground destruction to their entire base and records, too.

  “Fine,” he said with a casual shrug. “But even Axelrod can’t make battlecruisers appear out of thin air. Besides, new missiles on your current ships should be more than enough to take out the RMN.”

  “Really,” Gensonne said, eyeing Llyn closely. “All right. I’m listening.”

  “I’m talking about Hellflares.”

  “Are you, now,” Gensonne said, his expression still hard and suspicious.

  But Llyn had caught the subtle widening of Gensonne’s eyes, and the equal loosening of his lips. The man was hooked, all right. All Llyn needed to do was be careful how he reeled him in.

  “We are,” he confirmed. “AKM six three four, to be exact. Maybe some thirty-eights, too, depending on what my man was able to get his hands on.”

  “I thought Hellflares were on the Class-AA list.”

  “Everything in the 600 block is, yes,” Llyn said. “Again, I don’t know what my buyer is bringing. But either one will let you cut through the Manticorans like they were tissue.”

  “Wait a minute,” Gensonne said, frowning. “Did you say your buyer already has them? As in bought and paid for?”

  “Bought and paid for, shipped and presumably ready to install,” Llyn assured him. “That’s the reason I came here to see you myself—it was supposed to be a surprise.” He lifted his hands. “Surprise.”

  “And it’s not even my birthday,” Gensonne said sarcastically, his eyes hard on Llyn. “Why didn’t you say something about this when you were threatening to destroy my base?”

  “What, on an open com line?” Llyn countered. “Violations of League Class-AA interdictions are hardly a topic for idle conversation. All it would take is one of your men running his mouth at a bar on Telmach to put us all away forever.” He gestured to his tablet again. “Besides, I needed to look over the record of the battle and make sure you were competent enough for a second go at Manticore. Now I am.”

  “We’re honored,” Gensonne said, his expression still hard. “When are they supposed to get here?”

  “For sta
rters, they’re not coming here,” Llyn said. “You don’t have the equipment to handle the upgrades. I’ve arranged—”

  “What upgrades?” Gensonne demanded. “I’ve already got launchers.”

  “Not for Hellflares you don’t,” Llyn said patiently. “These will require modifications to your launch systems to handle the new plasma feeds, and a whole new targeting and telemetry system to interface with the new seeker software.”

  Gensonne was still maintaining that hard, suspicious expression. But his eyes were starting to glaze over with the look of a man who’s just met his own true love.

  “And you’re giving these to us?”

  “I’m giving you the missiles,” Llyn corrected. One never wanted to make things too easy for a mark. “I’m afraid you’re going to be on the hook for the launcher upgrades.”

  “And how damn pricey is that going to be?”

  “Don’t worry, your second payment should cover it,” Llyn said. “Unless you’d rather let your crew spend it all on beer and night ladies.”

  “I think they’ll understand the priorities involved,” Gensonne said with a sort of grim amusement.

  “And there are going to be a few other restrictions,” Llyn continued. “You understand that we can’t just let weapons like this go wandering off without someone keeping an eye on them. Any mission you run with them will be under my watch, or the watch of one of my colleagues.”

  “So what, we’re now a wholly-owned subsidiary of Axelrod?”

  “Let’s just say that you’ll be our go-to for anything involving serious muscle,” Llyn said. “That doesn’t mean you won’t be able to take on other jobs, just that we’ll have first priority on your time.”

  “Mm,” Gensonne murmured, and once again Llyn saw the subtle shift of his expression. If Axelrod wanted to keep tabs of the missiles, Llyn or someone like him would always be at Gensonne’s side as advisor and supervisor.

  And hostage.

  “That’s assuming you don’t mind going back to Manticore first and feeding them the same dirt sandwich you had to eat,” Llyn added.

  Gensonne’s face darkened a moment. Then his expression cleared, and he actually smiled.

  “You have an interesting way with words,” he said. “Fine, you’ve got yourself a deal. What’s first on the list?”

  “You’ll start by unloading the Banshee’s cargo,” Llyn said. “While you do that, I’ll prep Pacemaker to head to Haven.”

  “Haven?” Gensonne asked, his eyes narrowing. “You’re delivering illegal missiles to me at Haven?”

  “Not at Haven, at Danak,” Llyn hastened to assure him. “Much more quiet, out-of-the-way place. The government has a shareholder interest in the industrial consortium that’s developing Danak, and releasing the missiles requires a signoff from the consortium office in Nouveau Paris.”

  “So there’s going to be a data trail?”

  “With missiles, we have no choice,” Llyn said. “Don’t worry, none of it will lead back to you or me.”

  “Or Axelrod?”

  Llyn felt his throat tighten. “Or Axelrod,” he said. “And just to be clear, no one is going to release the missiles to anyone who arrives without his visit having been prescheduled by the office in Haven, so we’ll need to make sure we give Pacemaker time to get to Haven and then back to Danak.”

  “I see,” Gensonne said. His eyes, Llyn noted, were still narrowed. “And I suppose you’ll have to go ahead personally to work out all that paperwork?”

  “Why, are you afraid I’ll cut and run?” Llyn lifted a hand before Gensonne could answer. “Relax. Banshee and I will be with you the whole way.”

  “You’re actually going to rough it in a freighter?” Gensonne said, some of his tension fading.

  “Why not?” Llyn dared a small smile. “Even Axelrod’s freighters are quite comfortable. Unless you want to clear out space for me in Odin.”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Gensonne said, his voice going grim. “A lot of the men lost friends on Tyr and Thor and Umbriel. Some of them probably blame you and your half-assed intel for those deaths.”

  A shiver ran up Llyn’s back. That was a part of his creative bookkeeping he hadn’t considered. “Murdering me in my sleep wouldn’t get you those missiles.”

  “Some people don’t think that far ahead.”

  “Understood,” Llyn said. “In that case, I’ll definitely be flying aboard Banshee.”

  Actually, he would have preferred Pacemaker even more than Banshee. But Pacemaker was faster, and could arrive at Haven with more time to get things rolling.

  Besides, parking a freighter as heavily armed as Banshee over Haven would be begging for official inspections and lots of official frowns, none of which he wanted.

  “Anyway, once Banshee is unloaded, you’ll need to prep your big ships for travel,” Llyn continued. “You have, what, two battlecruisers and six heavy cruisers?”

  “Plus two light cruisers, seven destroyers, and three frigates,” Gensonne said. “We’ve got another battlecruiser coming, but it’s still five to ten T-months down the line.”

  “I don’t think we can wait for it,” Llyn said, carefully hiding a grimace. So there was another big warship on the way. Damn.

  “I could leave word for it to follow us.”

  “No, we can’t afford to let the missiles sit around that long,” Llyn said reluctantly. He would have preferred to have all of Gensonne’s jumbo eggs in the same basket, but there was nothing for it. “A quick in and out is the best way to keep this under everyone’s radar.”

  “I suppose,” Gensonne said reluctantly. “How many Hellflares are your people bringing?”

  “Enough,” Llyn assured him. “Especially since only the battlecruisers and heavy cruisers will be able to handle the upgrades, so we only need to supply eight ships. How fast can you have them ready to go?”

  “Fast enough,” Gensonne said. “Three, maybe four weeks,” He frowned. “You know, Danak is still too damn close to Haven for my liking. Isn’t bringing a pair of battlecruisers into Havenite space going to get us noticed?”

  “Not really,” Llyn soothed. “Danak may be physically close to Haven, but it’s not part of the Commonwealth. They’re trading partners, but not yet real allies. That’s why we’re bringing the missiles there in the first place: they’re close to Haven, they’ve got a well-equipped shipyard, but they also have no official ties or obligations. Equally important, they know when and how to keep their mouths shut.”

  Which was also why Axelrod had set up a contact house there, complete with a legitimate name and background. Llyn’s masters would not be happy if he burned that contact, but they’d understand if he had to do that.

  “If you say so,” Gensonne growled. “Just remember that if anything goes wrong, you’ll be under the same guns we are.”

  “Which is yet another excellent reason why nothing will go wrong,” Llyn said. “And just to muddy the waters a little more, we won’t be going in as the Volsungs. Everyone will have fresh IDs, the finest Danak has ever seen.”

  “Good.” Gensonne gave a little chuckle. “Do me a favor, will you? When you make them up, put in something that shows an Andermani affiliation.”

  “Whatever you want,” Llyn said, frowning to himself. Andermani. Did that mean that the freighter he and Pacemaker had run from in the Posnan system had indeed been one of Gensonne’s? Or had it genuinely been Andermani, and there was some subtext going on here that he was missing? “Before I transfer to Banshee, I need to record a message for Captain Katura to deliver to the consortium office on Haven,” he continued as he stood up. “If he gets back to Danak with the paperwork ahead of us, he can make sure the missiles and electronics are properly prepped so that the work can begin the minute your ships hit orbit.”

  “Sure,” Gensonne said. “Your shuttle will be ready by the time you reach the dock. I’ll give orders for both your ships to be fueled and have my men check on their other supplies.”
/>
  “Thank you,” Llyn said. “I’ll tell my captains to expect a screening. Good day, Admiral.” He turned to the door—

  “One other thing,” Gensonne called from behind him. “Your so-called third ship, the one you told me out there was ready to unload its missiles into the planet. Was that a bluff, or is something actually there?”

  With his back to Gensonne, Llyn permitted himself a small, grim smile. Shrike, with its wedge down and its smart skin rigged for full stealth, was still coasting undetected through the Walther system. It was a wild card, one that Llyn had every intention of using to its fullest.

  “There’s one sure way to find out,” he said over his shoulder. “Good day, Admiral.”

  * * *

  Two days later, Pacemaker left orbit and headed for Haven.

  Llyn watched on the Volsungs’ main tactical display as the ship accelerated toward the hyper limit, a hard knot in the pit of his stomach. With Captain Katura on his way, the die was cast and the plan set firmly in stone.

  Llyn had thought it through as best he could. But the uncomfortable fact remained that the scheme had been conjured up on the spur of the moment, relatively speaking. That kind of haste, he knew all too well, could leave any number of unnoticed flaws and unconsidered contingencies in its wake.

  But for good or bad, he had no choice but to see it through. Gensonne knew about the Axelrod connection, and for that bit of cleverness alone the self-proclaimed admiral had to die. Along with anyone and everyone else he might have told.

  In other words, the entirety of the Volsung Mercenaries.

  Getting Gensonne to split his force had been the first step. Sending Pacemaker and Katura’s secret message to Haven was the second.

  And for the third…

  Casually, Llyn let his eyes drift to the point on the tactical where Captain Rhamas’s calculations said Shrike should currently be located in its hyperbolic orbit through the system. Nothing. As per the tight-beam orders Katura had sent on Pacemaker’s way out of the system, Captain Vaagen would continue to let his ship coast, with none of the Volsungs the wiser, until he reached the hyper limit at the other side of the system.