"Another from Hellbarde, Skipper," McKee said, and Ferrero gestured for her to put it on speaker, as well.
"Jessica Epps, this is Hellbarde. Shut down your targeting systems now!"
"Got her, Skipper!" Harris announced, and Ferrero looked back down at her plot as a bright red icon abruptly appeared. It was no more than ten million kilometers behind Jessica Epps, only a little over half a light-minute, and Ferrero swore mentally. No matter how good the Andies' new stealth systems might be, there was no way Hellbarde should have been able to get in that close without being detected on passives even with Jessica Epps under complete em-con!
"Skipper, Sittich is transmitting again," McKee reported.
"Her acceleration is climbing, too, Ma'am," Harris added. "She's up to three-point-two KPS squared."
"Instruct her to heave to immediately, Mecia!" Ferrero snapped.
"Aye, aye, Ma'am."
Ferrero rubbed her forehead, her brain racing. Obviously, Hellbarde had followed them to Zoraster—probably to continue her provocative harassment. And because Jessica Epps had been concentrating so hard on being unobtrusive while she lay in wait for the slaver, she hadn't realized Hellbarde was even there. But why was she interfering like this? Unless—"Tell Hellbarde to stand clear!" she said sharply. "Inform her that we're stopping and investigating a suspected slaver!"
"Aye, aye, Ma'am."
McKee started speaking rapidly into her microphone once again, and Ferrero grimaced at Llewellyn.
"Gortz is looking for another opportunity to harass us, and I'm not in the mood for it this time," she half-snarled.
"Skipper," the exec said, "it's possible he thinks we're the ones doing the harassing."
"Give me a break, Bob! We're conducting a completely legitimate search of a suspected slaver using a false transponder code, and Gortz damned well knows it! Unless you want me to think we have better sensor data on Andie merchant ships than an Andie warship does!"
She snorted contemptuously at the notion.
"Jessica Epps, shut down your fire control! We will not warn you again!" the voice from Hellbarde snapped.
"Skipper," McKee said urgently, "we've just picked up another transmission from 'Sittich'! Hellbarde's transmitting omnidirectional, and they must have picked it up. They're hailing her and asking for protection."
"Well," Ferrero said, "they're nervy bastards, I'll give them that!"
"What if Gortz believes them?" Llewellyn asked.
"Ha!" Ferrero replied. Then she shook her head. "On the other hand, it would suit the Andies just fine to pretend they believed it. Long enough to twist our tails, anyway! Record for transmission to Hellbarde, Mecia."
"Recording, Ma'am."
"Captain Gortz, this is Captain Ferrero. I don't have time for your stupid games today. I've got a slaver to board; if you want to talk about it later, I'll consider it then. Now break off and get the hell out of my way!"
"Recorded, Ma'am," McKee said, and Ferrero hesitated for just an instant as she realized she was even angrier than she'd thought. It showed in both her choice of words and her tone, and a small voice in the back of her brain told her she should reconsider before she sent it. But it was a very small voice, and she decided to ignore it. It was about time Kapitän zur Sterne Gortz and the other arrogant pricks aboard IANS Hellbarde got a dose of their own enlightened communications technique! What were they going to do about it at this range, anyway? With Jessica Epps' overtake advantage, she'd have reached and boarded 'Sittich' by the time Hellbarde could get into her missile range of Ferrero's ship.
"Ma'am, 'Sittich' is transmitting to Hellbarde again. She says we've threatened to fire into her if she doesn't stop."
"Lying bastards, as well as nervy ones," Ferrero observed. In a way, she could almost admire the slaver's captain's nerve. Of course, given the penalties for slaving, he probably figured he didn't have a great deal to lose. But not even Gortz could be stupid enough to believe any Queen's ship would actually fire missiles into an unarmed merchant ship when that merchant ship couldn't possibly evade her, anyway.
" 'Sittich' isn't slowing down, Skipper," Harris said. "Should I go ahead and fire the warning shot?"
"That might not be a very good idea, under the circumstances, Ma'am," Llewellyn said quietly.
"I am sick and tired of pussyfooting around the goddamned Hellbarde," Ferrero said sharply. "We are a Queen's ship, acting well within the letter of interstellar law, and I am not going to let Gortz turn this into one more opportunity to harass us!
"Mecia."
"Yes, Ma'am?"
"Record!"
"Recording, Ma'am."
"Hellbarde, this is Jessica Epps. We are acting within the established parameters and requirements of interstellar law and all applicable treaties. You have no jurisdiction here, and I instruct you to stand clear. Ferrero, clear."
"On the chip, Ma'am," McKee confirmed.
"Then transmit," Ferrero commanded, and looked back up at Llewellyn. "She's still a good two million klicks out of her powered missile range of us, Bob. But go ahead and send our people to quarters." She smiled thinly. "You wanted the extra drill anyway."
"Yes, Ma'am. I did. But I'm not too sure this is the best way to get it!"
"It may not be," Ferrero conceded. "But Hellbarde has pissed me off one time too many." She looked at Lieutenant McClelland. "James, I want a least-time intercept course for 'Sittich' at her new accel."
"Already calculated, Ma'am," the astrogator replied.
"That's what I like to hear," Ferrero approved. "Put us on it."
"Aye, aye, Ma'am! Helm, come four degrees to port and go to eighty-five percent power!"
The helmsman acknowledged the order, and Jessica Epps surged suddenly forward after the fleeing the slaver while the general quarters alarm began to shrill.
"Ma'am, Hellbarde is—"
"I don't really care what Hellbarde wants, Mecia," Ferrero said almost calmly. "Ignore her."
"Aye, aye, Ma'am."
Ferrero watched the range fall, as her speeding ship began to increase her overtake velocity. The slaver was continuing to yammer away at Hellbarde as she ran, and Ferrero smiled thinly. Satisfying as it would be to liberate the slaves aboard that ship, it would be almost more satisfying to rub Kapitän zur Sternen Gortz's nose in just who had been attempting to dupe him into saving them from Jessica Epps.
"Closed up at battle stations, Ma'am," Lieutenant Harris announced, and Ferrero blinked, astonished to discover that she'd been so lost in her thoughts she hadn't even noticed Llewellyn leaving the bridge to go to his own battle station in Auxiliary Control.
"Very good, Shawn," she acknowledged. "Is that warning shot ready?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Very well. Mecia, tell them one more time to cut their acceleration. And tell them this is their final warning."
"Aye, aye, Ma'am." Lieutenant McKee cleared her throat. "Sittich, this is Jessica Epps. You well cut your acceleration immediately. Repeat, immediately. This is your final warning. Jessica Epps, clear."
There was no response, and Ferrero glanced at Harris.
"Maintaining her accel, Skipper," the tac officer told her.
"Maybe she needs a more pointed warning," the captain observed. "Fire your warning shot, Shawn."
"Aye, aye, Ma'am. Firing now."
Harris pressed the firing key, and a single missile spat from Jessica Epps' Number One chase tube and went screaming off towards Sittich.
Ferrero watched the missile's icon slash across her repeater plot towards the fleeing slaver. No doubt Gortz was on the verge of apoplexy by now, she reflected cheerfully. Well, it served the bastard right. After all the times he'd—"Missile launch!" Harris snapped suddenly. Ferrero jerked upright in her command chair in disbelief. Surely no one aboard Sittich was stupid enough to try to resist a heavy cruiser!
"Multiple missile launches from Hellbarde!" Harris barked. "Looks like a full broadside, Ma'am!"
For a fraction of a se
cond, Ferrero stared at him. He couldn't be serious! Hellbarde was still well outside her effective missile envelope! There was no—The thought chopped off. No, Erica Ferrero thought, her mind suddenly almost impossibly calm. Hellbarde wasn't still well outside her effective envelope; she was just outside what everyone had thought her envelope was.
What Erica Ferrero had thought her envelope was.
"Helm, go to evasion plan Gamma!" she snapped. "Tactical! Forget Sittich." She smiled thinly, forcing herself to radiate confidence even as her conscience flailed at her for the overconfident assumptions which had brought her command to this pass. But it was too late to worry about that, just as it was too late to try to talk any sort of sense into Gortz.
"It looks like we're going to have an even more interesting afternoon than we thought, People," she told her bridge crew, then nodded to Harris.
"Engage the enemy, Lieutenant," she said.
Chapter Forty-Two
"You know," Mercedes Brigham said quietly as she, Nimitz, and Andrew LaFollet walked down the passage towards Werewolf's flag briefing room with Honor yet again, "this couldn't have happened at a much worse time, Your Grace."
"You're right," Honor agreed, equally quietly. "Not that there could ever be a 'good' time for it."
"No, Ma'am."
The compartment hatch opened before them, and feet scuffed on the decksole as the waiting officers rose.
It was the first full dress meeting of every single one of Honor's task group and squadron commanders, and it included an imposing array of rank and experience. It also included a lot of faces she knew very well indeed, beginning with Alistair McKeon and Alice Truman. Then there was Rear Admiral Samuel Webster, commanding the Sixteenth Battle Squadron; Rear Admiral George Astrides, CO of the Ninth Battle Squadron; Alfredo Yu, now a full admiral; Warner Caslet, commanding Yu's First Battle Squadron; Rear Admiral Harriet Benson-Dessouix, Commanding his First CLAC Squadron; Vice Admiral Mark Brentworth, commanding his Second Battle Squadron; and Rear Admiral Cynthia Gonsalves, commanding his First Battlecruiser Squadron. It was an impressive assembly of talent, backed up by a dozen more admirals she knew less well, beginning with Rear Admiral Anson Hewitt the previous station commander. And behind them were still more people she knew and trusted implicitly. Like Susan Phillips, Yu's flag captain aboard (embarrassing though Honor still found the name) GSNS Honor Harrington, and Captain Frederick Bagwell, once the operations officer on Honor's very first battle squadron staff and now Brentworth's flag captain. Her command team might not be quite the "band of brothers (or sisters)" so beloved of military hagiography, but as she looked at all of those waiting faces and tasted the emotions behind them, she knew it was a better one than most flag officers could ever expect in mundane reality. And at least she'd had time to get to know the ones she hadn't already known before arriving at Sidemore. A few of them would need closer attention, and some of the others were merely solid. But several of them were very good, indeed, and one or two probably deserved the label of brilliant. And every single one of them, however anxious he or she might be, was prepared to support whatever Honor decided.
But that was the difference between her and them, she thought as she crossed to her chair, nodded for all of them to resume their seats, arranged Nimitz on the back of her own chair, and sat herself. They were prepared to support her decisions; she was the one who had to make them.
"I'm glad we were all in range for a face-to-face meeting, Ladies and Gentlemen," she told them. "Of course, I would have been even happier if the subject of this meeting had never arisen. Mercedes," she looked at her chief of staff, "would you please summarize our latest information so we can be certain everyone is on the same page?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Brigham agreed, then paused and cleared her throat before she began in a deliberately dispassionate voice.
"Approximately three hours ago, the Manticoran-flag freighter Chantilly arrived here in Marsh from the Zoraster System. As many of you already knew, we had dispatched Captain Ferrero and the Jessica Epps to Zoraster to intercept a suspected slaver as part of Operation Wilberforce. According to our intelligence sources, the slaver in question was operating in the service of New Hamburg interests but squawking the false transponder code of an Andermani-flag merchie, the Sittich. Captain Ferrero was provided with a complete electronic fingerprint on the real Sittich in order to ensure that she could be positive the ship she stopped was not, in fact, the Andy to whom that code legitimately belonged.
"Apparently, Jessica Epps successfully intercepted the false Sittich. In the process, however, there was an . . . incident with the Andermani heavy cruiser Hellbarde. Chantilly didn't have complete details, but Captain Nazari, her skipper—who holds a Reserve naval commission as a full commander—decided that it was more important for her to reach us with the information she did have than to delay in the hopes that she might somehow obtain still more. Fortunately, Captain Nazari herself was close enough to the scene of the incident for her sensors to provide us with at least some firsthand observational data. Unfortunately, Chantilly is a merchant ship. As such, her sensor suite is scarcely up to military standards, and the data available to us leave much to be desired."
Brigham paused again, as if to be sure her listeners were still with her, then continued.
"Nonetheless, despite any shortcomings of the raw data, Commander Reynolds, Captain Jaruwalski, and myself have been able to reach certain conclusions. I stress that these are only conclusions, although the three of us believe them to be valid.
"Apparently, while Jessica Epps was in the process of challenging the suspected slaver, Hellbarde challenged Jessica Epps, in turn. I say 'apparently,' because Chantilly's sensors showed absolutely no trace of Hellbarde at that time. This leads us to conclude that Hellbarde was operating under stealth, and from the course of events, we strongly suspect that Jessica Epps was unaware of her presence when she began the interception of the 'Sittich.'
"Without access to the message logs of the ships involved, there's no way for us even to guess at this point about what communications passed between Jessica Epps, Hellbarde, and 'Sittich.' All that Chantilly and Captain Nazari can tell us for certain, is that Captain Ferrero apparently fired a single warning shot across 'Sittich's' bows. Almost immediately, Hellbarde fired a full missile broadside at Jessica Epps."
Something like a sigh ran around the compartment as Brigham said the words at last. They were hardly a surprise; all of them knew why they had been summoned to this meeting. But somehow, that foreknowledge hadn't robbed them of their impact, and Honor tasted the internal tightening, the sense of foreboding, that came with them.
"Chantilly, given the limitations of her sensor suite and the capabilities of Andermani EW, was completely unaware of Hellbarde's presence until she opened fire. Nonetheless, the sequence of shots, and their firing bearings, can be unambiguously determined from her sensor records. Clearly, Jessica Epps fired the first shot, but it was a single missile, fired almost directly away from Hellbarde. Hellbarde's broadside, on the other hand, was clearly targeted on Jessica Epps and was not intended in any way as a 'warning shot.' Moreover, although it isn't really germane to the cause of this incident, it would appear from Chantilly's sensors that Hellbarde opened fire from a range in excess of ten million klicks from Jessica Epps."
This time, Honor did taste a ripple of true surprise . . . and dismay. That was still much shorter than Ghost Rider's maximum effective range, but it was also much greater than even their most pessimistic estimates had assigned to Andermani missiles.
And, she reminded herself, that's only the range at which we know they fired. We don't have any real reason to conclude that it was the maximum range at which they could have fired.
"Jessica Epps returned fire," Brigham continued. "The ensuing engagement lasted for approximately thirty-seven minutes. Casualties on both sides were extremely heavy. Captain Nazari herself headed for the scene of the action as soon as firing had ceased in order to render such as
sistance as she could. There wasn't a great deal she could do. Jessica Epps was destroyed with all hands." The chief of staff's voice level never changed, but it sounded suddenly very, very loud in the hush her words produced. "Hellbarde was apparently in little better condition. Her captain, her executive officer, and most of her bridge officers were apparently killed in the engagement. Captain Nazari's rescue efforts were quickly superseded by those of local Confed security units, but her estimate is that no more than a hundred of Hellbarde's ship's company survived. From the visual imagery of Hellbarde's wreck which Chantilly was able to obtain, I would be very surprised if Nazari's estimate isn't high. One thing on which Commander Reynolds, Captain Jaruwalski, and I all agree strongly is that Hellbarde will never fight again.
"For what it matters, Chantilly's sensor data clearly indicate that Jessica Epps was winning the engagement handily when a hit from one of Hellbarde's last laser heads apparently caused one of her fusion plants to lose containment."
The chief of staff paused once more, then turned to look at Honor.
"Those are the bare bones of Captain Nazari's report, Your Grace. The full raw take from Chantilly's sensors, plus the recording of Captain Nazari's verbal report, will be made available to all of the Station's flag officers and their staffs. Captain Nazari herself is still available, and Chantilly will remain in-system, in order to ensure the availability of any potential witnesses from her ship's company, until such time as we authorize her to continue her voyage."
"Thank you, Mercedes," Honor acknowledged, and it was her turn to meet the eyes of her assembled subordinates.
"Obviously," she said, her soprano voice much calmer than she felt, "this is precisely the sort of incident we've all been afraid of. The most important question, and one we can't possibly answer definitively at this point, is whether or not this represents deliberate Andermani policy."
"My initial reaction is that it probably does, Your Grace," Anson Hewitt said. Then he shrugged. "On the other hand, I may well be prejudiced by my own experiences out here."