Angles of Attack (Frontlines #3)(59)
“At least it’s not your gun hand,” he says.
“Yeah, I lucked out, huh?”
The hatch opens again, and Colonel Campbell and Major Renner walk in. The XO takes one of the empty chairs while the colonel walks to the front of the room and turns on the holoscreen with a gesture. It comes to life and shows a tactical orb, a mirror image of the situational display in the CIC. The group of auxiliary fleet freighters is sitting in space, flanked by the small group of warships in attendance. Well off past our starboard stern, the picket force is doing its patrol, lighting up the tactical display with occasional flares of active radar energy as they shine a light into the black to flush out intruders. Indy is like a burglar listening in to a family meeting in the living room after having snuck past the armed guards at the neighborhood gate.
“Situation,” Colonel Campbell says. “We are in deep space a million kilometers from Earth, in optical sensor range of an uncharted installation that is very clearly military in nature. There is a sizable civilian cargo fleet nearby, and some very powerful deep-space combatants escorting them. That includes three frigates that aren’t even listed in the fleet register, and two warships under construction that are bigger than anything we have in the fleet right now.”
He turns around and marks the respective icons on the screen. The icon for Indy is coasting away from the station and the picket force again slowly, but the eight stealth drones are keeping station all around the anchorage and the assembled fleet.
“Based on our reception when we got back to the solar system unexpectedly, I am convinced that this anchorage and the ships all around it aren’t common knowledge back at Earth. They tried hard to keep a lid on our arrival, and they were perfectly willing to blow us out of space to keep us from leaving again. It’s clear that they are up to something they don’t want to become general knowledge. The question is, what do we do with this intel now?”
“Go back to Earth, send the coordinates of this little party to every ship we see, and then down to the civvie networks for good measure,” Major Renner says.
“To what end?” our tactical officer says. “That’s a bad idea, ma’am. No offense.”
“Elaborate, Captain Freeman,” the colonel says.
Captain Freeman probably only has ten years on me, but at the moment, he looks like he’s pushing fifty. He’s haggard and tired, with deep rings under his eyes. I haven’t looked in a mirror in a while, but I suspect I’m not looking all that youthful and fresh anymore myself.
“Well, that force sitting there obviously doesn’t want to be discovered,” the tactical officer says. “And they’re the only task force close to Earth right now. Anybody goes checking out the coordinates we give them, they’ll get the shit shot out of them.”
“So we’ll send the info down to the civilians,” Major Renner says. “Let the Networks run with it. Story of the century, right?”
“And then what?” I ask. “The civvies find out that the fleet is tucking tail and evacuating? You’d cause a riot from coast to coast.” Then I have a nasty, unwelcome thought. “If the authorities even let the Networks air that sort of thing. All those civvie freighters? I’m sure they don’t just hold military assets. Hell, I’d be shocked if they don’t have mostly ’burbers and government employees on them.”
“Now that’s a cheerful prospect,” Lieutenant Shirley murmurs next to me. “The rats leaving the sinking ship.”
“The well-connected rats,” I correct, and he smiles weakly.
“So what do we do?” Major Renner asks. “Run off and leave them be? They’re fixing to leave with most of the combat power on this side of the blockade. Maybe on both sides. Who knows what’s left out there?”
“That’s precisely what we should do,” Colonel Campbell replies.
“You can’t be serious, sir,” the XO says.
“I can.” Colonel Campbell brings up the date-and-time window of the tactical display mirrored on the screen.
“We’ve been away from Fomalhaut coming on fifteen days now. We don’t have time to sit here and keep an eye on this happy assembly out here. This detour has cost us enough time and fuel already. Let them pack up and leave the system—I don’t give a shit right now. We have thirty thousand people waiting for us to come back to New Svalbard and tell them where the Lankies are lying in wait. We’ll leave the drones on station. If we ever get back, we can collect them and download the recon data.” He looks around in the briefing room. “Does anyone present disagree in any particular aspect?”
Major Renner doesn’t look happy, but she shakes her head curtly.
“I want to hear if anyone dissents,” the colonel says. “I am serious, people. You’ve all put your head into the noose with me when you decided to spring me out of the detention berth. You’ve earned the right to a choice here.”
There’s silence in the room except for the faint rustling of uniforms as people shift in their seats a bit. Then Major Renner clears her throat.
“We don’t go back and complete our mission, none of this is going to be worth the court-martial, sir,” she says. “They won’t risk the task force on a blind transition into the solar system, especially if we go missing.”