Approaching the Refuge Wormhole
The conference room was filled with the remaining senior officers of the Black Watch, the Queen’s Own and the Coldstream Guards. Peter Murphy, the leader of the tug boat captains, and Max Opinsky, the operations manager, sat next to each other looking tired and out of place.
At the end of the table, Admiral Douthat sat beside Queen Anne. Sir Henry sat on the other side of the Queen. Douthat shot an impatient glance at the wall clock as Hiram Brill entered the room and took a chair just a minute before the meeting was to begin.
Admiral Douthat scowled, more out of habit than anything else. Queen Anne, who had learned of Emily’s scheming from her guards, smiled at Hiram and arched one eyebrow. His eyes widened and his face flushed. She let him squirm for a moment, then nodded at Admiral Douthat to open the meeting.
Admiral Douthat’s eyes darted from the Queen to Hiram and back again. She was sure that something just happened, but she had no idea what it could be. She rapped her knuckles on the table.
“We have approximately five hours before we need to scramble all ships, and a lot of ground to cover. First, we think the Dominion have approximately one hundred and twenty ships still fit to fight. By contrast, we have fifty one war ships, including one battleship, fourteen cruisers, twenty seven destroyers and nine frigates. We also have three arks, which carry a mix of corvettes and gun boats. Most of our ships are damaged to one extent or another, including at least two which can only function in a defensive role. Our ship count includes the recently arrived Coldstream Guard ships, which are all in the ship yard being repaired and refurbished.”
She paused, letting that information sink in. “The odds are against us, ladies and gentlemen, but they are a lot better now than when we started our retreat toward Refuge. And not to forget, we also have the munitions output of the Atlas, which has been turning out large numbers of missile platforms and mines.”
Admiral Douthat stood up and began to pace back and forth in front of the conference table. “There are two critical developments you need to be aware of.
“First, the enemy has split its forces. Of their one hundred twenty ships, they’ve moved some sixty seven ships between us and the entrance to the Refuge worm hole. Captain Tuttle spotted them on passive sensors and estimates that they include fifteen destroyers, thirty cruiser-size ships, twenty smaller ships similar to our frigates, and one large ship with unknown capabilities, but I will make an educated guess that it is the D.U.C. Vengeance, serving as their flag ship. The Vengeance is big, very big, about half again the size of our remaining battleship, the Lionheart. Remember,” she cautioned, “this is only an estimate. We won’t really know until we have them on our sensors.
“That leaves some fifty three ships behind us, including their three surviving Hedgehogs and their two carriers, which we now know employ small attack craft. We are not sure of their size or throw weight, but we think that the ships behind us are mostly made up of ships from ‘Bogey Two,’ and we presume that most of them are undamaged.”
There was muttering around the table as the facts sunk in. Now the Atlas and the surviving Home Fleet were caught in a classic hammer and anvil position. The best way to get out of it was to turn either up or down from their plane of advance and run like hell, but they couldn’t turn and they couldn’t run. The enemy knew exactly where they were going. The only option was to fight their way through to the worm hole against two to one odds.
“You said two things we need to be aware of,” one of the captains voiced.
Douthat pursed her lips and nodded. “Yes. The second thing is that the worm hole is moving.”
The murmur of disquiet grew louder. Peter Murphy leapt to his feet, red faced and furious. “Admiral! You should have told me as soon as you learned. I need to start turning Atlas or we’ll lose the worm hole!”
Douthat made a ‘take it easy’ gesture with her hands. “Normally, you’d be right, Mr. Murphy, but we first learned of the movement not from our sensors, but from a communication from an unknown ship. It came via whisper laser, addressed to the Queen and to Commander Brill.”
Hiram sat bolt upright in his chair. What? He looked at Admiral Douthat, only to find that she was looking straight back at him.
“The message tells us that the worm hole has started to move west on our plane of advance. It will move west for seven hours, but then it will reverse course and move back east past its original position and stop at a specified set of coordinates exactly at — ” she consulted her tablet — “seventeen hours and twenty minutes from now. When it stops it will actually be closer to us than it is now, shortening our time to reach it.”
For a moment there was stunned silence, then the room dissolved into an uproar. “How can we trust the message?” demanded Captain Wicklow.
“We can’t,” snapped Sir Henry, speaking for the first time. “We cannot verify the source, so we cannot verify the accuracy of what they told us.”
“This could be a trap,” Wicklow continued. “The Dominion may want us to believe the worm hole will reverse course so we’ll plot our course accordingly, when all along it will be moving west, further and further out of reach.”
Douthat motioned for silence, then gestured to Peter Murphy. “Mr. Murphy, if we turn west with the worm hole, and it does reverse course, can we turn back and still catch it?”
Murphy shot a morose glance at Opinsky, who shook his head. “Don’t see how, Admiral,” Opinsky said. “Hard to turn the Atlas, real hard. If your data is right, the worm hole will move west about twenty degrees off our plane of advance, so we’d need to turn twenty degrees left to try to hit it. To do that we’d need to start turning now, right now, and even then it would be close. But you’re sayin’ that it is gonna turn back east again, to our right and end up fifteen degrees off our current plane of advance. Well, Ma’am, we can go left and maybe make it, or go right and probably make it, but we can’t start left and then change our minds with any hope of hitting the worm hole if it really ends up going to our right. If you follow me,” he concluded glumly.
“So we have to decide,” Admiral Douthat said flatly. “Our sensors are reporting that the worm hole has in fact begun to move left. We can either turn with it, or we can trust this message and turn away from it, lining up Atlas to enter it when — and if — the wormhole reverses course.”
“This message is a Dominion ruse, an attempt to misdirect us,” Wicklow said heatedly. “Any fool can see that.”
“How do we know that?” asked Captain Eder of the Lionheart.
“We don’t know it is not,” Sir Henry replied. “And because we don’t know, we cannot trust it. We must go left.”
The argument raged for another few minutes, going nowhere. Hiram sat quietly, trying to puzzle it out. Then, when there was a brief lull, he asked: “Admiral Douthat, you said that the message was addressed to Queen Anne and to me, is that correct?
Douthat nodded curtly.
“Exactly what does the message say?”
Douthat pushed a button and the message appeared on a screen:
To Queen Anne of Victoria and to Lt. Hiram Brill, Fleet Intelligence:
We send you greeting in your time of trouble, and a warning. The Refuge worm hole has begun to move west relative to your plane of advance. It will move west on a horizontal axis for seven standard hours, then reverse course and move east past its point of origin. It will move east for ten hours from the time it changes direction, stopping at relative coordinates X-2930; Y-1446; and Z-0473 your perspective. Turn east now.
Hiram Brill, your aunt sends you chocolate cake.
Hiram laughed out loud. “Turn east, Admiral. The message is good.” He explained about Jong, the monk from The Light, and his odd question about Hiram liking his aunt’s chocolate cake.
“This is nonsense!” Wicklow spluttered. “This could be a Dominion trick, or even if it isn’t, why should we trust The Light? How could they possibly know what the worm hole will do?”
Queen Anne raised her hand and Wicklow fell silent. “Admiral, I have reason to trust this message as well. I believe I know who sent it. I don’t pretend to know why they believe the worm hole will reverse course, but I think we may rely on it.”
“Your Majesty,” Sir Henry protested, but she cut him off.
“I understand your position, Sir Henry, but a decision must be made, and I have made it.” She stood. “Admiral Douthat, direct the tugs to turn Atlas to the east and plan your battle tactics accordingly.” She smiled warmly at everyone in the room. “I have the utmost faith in your ability to get us all safely to Refuge. May the Gods of Our Mothers bless you all and keep you from harm.”
Admiral John Mello stood at the helm of the D.U.C. Vengeance and stared at his hologram display. His blocking force was in place; now they awaited the inevitable Victorian response to it.
“Do you think they’ll go for it, sir?” Captain Pattin asked quietly.
“Without a doubt.” Mello smiled coldly. Sometimes you defeat your enemy through their arrogance, sometimes through their fear. And sometimes, simply through their predictability.
It didn’t really matter, as long as you won and they died.
After the others had cleared the conference room, Queen Anne sat with the remaining captains of the Coldstream Guards. The others sat away from Captain Wicklow, no one wanting to appear as if they were taking his side by sitting too close. Captain Wicklow in turn looked at them with unveiled disdain. Queen Anne studied them in turn, observing their body language, hoping that the Guards could maintain enough unity to be combat effective for this last, vital push.
“In a very short time,” she said evenly, “Admiral Douthat will send the Queen’s Own and Black Watch ahead to attack the Dominion blocking force. If that attack is successful, the main body of the Dominion fleet will either be defeated or at least out of position to stop our passage through the Refuge worm hole. The Coldstream Guards will remain with Atlas to serve as the reserve and to protect it from any attack from the rear, although Admiral Douthat assures me that such an attack would likely get bogged down in the minefield.”
“There are two issues Admiral Douthat asked me to deal with,” the Queen continued. “First, who shall command the Coldstream Guards, and second, what to do about the pending arrest warrant for Lieutenant Tuttle.”
“It is perfectly clear, Your Majesty,” Captain Wicklow said earnestly. “Following the unfortunate death of Captain Grey, I am the senior officer of the Guards and should, as a matter of rank, tradition and expertise, assume command. As for Lieutenant Tuttle, she should be taken into custody immediately for treason in the face of the enemy for turning her guns on a ship of Your Majesty’s navy. Her actions were criminal and she must now face the consequences.” He looked coldly at Emily. “And, I might add, Your Majesty should immediately open an investigation into the mysterious circumstances of Captain Grey’s death. From all reports she died under most irregular circumstances. Most irregular.”
“If by most irregular, Joe, you mean she died while her ship was attacking enemy instead of running for home, I couldn’t agree with you more,” Captain Rowe said pointedly. There was a rumble of agreement from the other captains, all of whom had stayed and fought despite the odds.
Captain Wicklow nodded calmly, seemingly oblivious to the insult he had just received. “You fought against overwhelming odds and won, Captain Rowe, no one will deny that. But that doesn’t change the basic fact: You should never have fought that engagement. By doing so you placed a third of the Queen’s remaining Fleet in extreme jeopardy, with little chance of success. The fact that you survived doesn’t change the fact that you were wrong to do so.” He glanced at Tuttle. “As for this junior officer, she will hang, of that I assure you.” He smiled at her.
Queen Anne pursed her lips. “No, she won’t, Captain Wicklow.”
Wicklow frowned. “Your Majesty?”
“Captain Wicklow, you will continue to captain the Gloucester, but I am assigning the Gloucester to the Queen’s Own. You will now report to Admiral Eder. Captain Rowe of the Bristol will assume command of the Coldstream Guards and I will leave it to him to decide who should captain the New Zealand. My decision on these assignments is final.”
Wicklow flushed a deep, angry red. ““Perhaps, do to Your Majesty’s inexperience in these matters, you do not realize that the time-honored traditions of the Fleet are that the senior officer automatically assumes command of-”
“Do not lecture me on military protocol, Captain,” Queen Anne said tartly, “least I be forced to lecture you on the blatant inappropriateness of a line officer who takes it upon himself to issue arrest warrants and seize evidence in contravention of the established procedures of the Office of the Judge Advocate and the Military Police.”
Wicklow refused to back down. “I must protest, Your Majesty! I acted in the face of a clear criminal conspiracy-”
The Queen held up one slender finger, silencing him. “I have no time for this. In a few hours we will be in the most important battle of Victoria’s history. But take note, Captain, I am more than a little curious as to why the logs of your ship, the Gloucester, give one account of the incident with the Dominion reinforcements, while the logs of the other ships give a different account. I intend to explore this further once we have made it to Refuge.”
“You impugn my integrity, Majesty!” Wicklow said, his voice rising. “I have friends at court who will stand by me on this, influential people held in high esteem by the Queen’s brother.”
In the silence that followed, Emily thought she could hear her own heartbeat. She looked anxiously from Wicklow to the Queen, then to Hiram. Hiram allowed a very small smile.
“As it happens, Captain Wicklow,” Queen Anne said coolly, “I have no brother.”
Captain Wicklow looked flustered. “My apologies, Your Grace, I referred to your mother, Queen Beatrice, and to the Duke of Kent.”
Anne leaned forward, speaking coldly and deliberately, as if to a malicious child who has just strangled the family cat.
“Queen Beatrice is dead, Captain Wicklow. The Duke of Kent is dead. All of the people you would count on to protect you are dead. You must now stand on your merits, Captain, without the benefit of friends in Court who owe you favor.” She cocked her head. “Do you understand now, Captain Wicklow?” She rose to her feet, her armsmen immediately forming up behind her. “Captain Rowe, assign a captain to the New Zealand and prepare your ships for departure.” And then she swept from the room.
Captain Rowe stood. “Prepare your ships,” he ordered the captains of the Coldstream Guard. He did not look at Captain Wicklow. He motioned to Alex Rudd and Emily. “You two stay behind.” When the room was clear he gave each of them in turn a hard look.
“Okay, listen, you two. Normally I would simply assign the New Zealand to the next senior officer, but we don’t have the time for a new captain from outside to get to know your crew and the ship. And anyway, you two make a good team.” He looked at Rudd.
“Alex, you are the most senior officer on board, so I should turn the ship over to you, but these are not normal times and from what I’ve seen, Miss Tuttle here has been in de facto command since the first attack on the Dominion supply ships. If we have to fight the Dominion ships in our rear, any mistakes we make could kill us, all of us. So I am asking you, Alex, no bullshit, should I give command of the New Zealand to you or to Emily?”
Emily almost blurted out: Give it to Alex. But Rudd spoke first.
“Sir, I am good, pretty damn good, in fact, but I’m not as good as she is. Keep me as the XO and make her interim captain of the New Zealand. I confess I’m a little jealous, but I can live with it.”
Rowe wheeled on Emily. “Lieutenant Tuttle, do you agree with Lt. Commander Rudd’s assessment?”
All I ever wanted to do was be a historian, she thought fleetingly, and I never want to send a man to his death again.
Then, despite herself, she nodded to Captain Rowe, already thinking of what she had to do next.
Rowe studied the two of them for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay, then. Thank you both for acting like adults about this. I am authorized to give you both field promotions to full Commander; you’ve earned it. When this is over, I’ll speak to Admiral Douthat and we’ll see if you can keep it.” He took a deep breath, and Emily thought he suddenly looked very tired. “Return to your ship. The rest of the Home Fleet sorties in a little less than five hours. Two hours after that, I want the Coldstream Guards ready to go. I will contact you with your specific assignment.”
“What about the Yorkshire, Kent and Galway from the Second Fleet?” Emily asked.
“They’ve been assigned to us, bringing us up to twelve operational ships,” Rowe said. “Good thing, our ships are pretty beat up.”
Hiram Brill was waiting for her in the corridor. Emily grinned at him. “So, had a good debriefing with Cookie, did you?” To her surprise, Hiram stepped forward and gave her a hug.
“Thank you, Em,” he whispered. “Thank you.” He let her go and stepped back. “Bring her back, Emily,” he pleaded. “When she’s in full macho mode she takes stupid chances. Please, do whatever you can. Just bring her back.”
Emily felt her stomach drop. “I’m not in charge of the Guards, Hiram, and Cookie will be on the Yorkshire, not the New Zealand,” she protested. Part of her wanted to scream.
Hiram smiled and shook his head. “You really don’t see it, do you? Emily, haven’t you noticed that ever since the Dominion freighters pulled off that sneak attack, you have somehow managed to be involved in every important decision in every important battle? You may want to be a historian, Emily, surrounded by books in some dusty library, but the gods of war have other plans for you. You’re a warrior; it’s your curse.”
“Hiram, I — “
He held up a hand to stop her. “When the time comes, do what you can, Em. That’s all I ask. I’ve waited my whole life for her, just do whatever you can to bring her back.” His com buzzed and he looked at it. “They’re waiting for me. Good luck to you, Em.” And then he was gone.
Emily made her way back to the repair bay, where workmen swarmed over the New Zealand. She could see missiles and kinetic munitions being loaded on by forklifts and gravity pallets. She wondered briefly if they had enough food, but then realized in a day they would either be in Refuge or dead.
She walked slowly, thinking about Hiram’s words. If the last few days were any indication, she was good at warfare, perhaps even very good. And she had to admit that she liked the contest, the anticipating what the enemy would do and how best to beat him. But the deaths, Gods of Our Mothers, all the deaths. She was honest enough to admit she didn’t really care about the enemy deaths, but she wailed inwardly when her own people died, and she cringed in shame as she thought again at how many had died because she of her orders.
At the entrance to the New Zealand, a Marine guard in full battle rattle stiffened to attention and saluted as she boarded. “Morning, Captain!” So word was already out. Probably Alex Rudd had alerted everyone on board that she would remain as captain.
“Captain?” It was the guard. “There is a visitor waiting for you in your day cabin.” Emily focused on him for the first time. He was very young. Had he been through Camp Gettysburg? Had he fought at Killarney Bridge?
When she reached her day cabin, she found a hard-looking Marine Corporal. “Cookie!”
Cookie laughed as Emily hugged her. “My, oh my, how you have come up in the world, girl. Once a dumb recruit at Camp Gettysburg and now eatin’ truffles and drinkin’ champagne on your own ship! Who would have guessed?”
Emily eyed her. The flashing-eyed girl from training camp was gone, replaced by a confident woman with lines that only hard experience can bring.
And two red tears tattooed under her left eye.
Emily reached out and rubbed the tears with the ball of her thumb. “They don’t come out,” she murmured.
“They ain’t never comin’ out,” Cookie said solemnly. “And I hope to hell I’m never in a situation to get me a third one. The first two damn near killed me.”
“Bad?” Emily asked, knowing the answer.
Cookie told her about the Tilleke commandos, the teleportation device, the bloody fights through dark corridors, the desperate race to get off the London, and the repeated boardings of the Yorkshire. Emily looked at her incredulously.
“You’ve got three of these machines, these transporter widgets?
“Yep,” Cookie answered, and grinned wickedly. “And they work, too.”
“What?”
“Tested ‘em just a few hours ago. I got this Artificial Intelligence boffin, smart as a whip. She’s got the equipment up and running. Once we reached Atlas, she found a store that sells pet rabbits, put one into the transporter and, presto! transported it to the shuttle bay. One seriously pissed off bunny, let me tell you. But alive and kickin’. Damn thing took off like a bat out of hell and we can’t find it anywhere, but it worked.”
Emily was astounded. “Cookie, this could be really important.”
Cookie shook her head. “Won’t help much, we don’t have enough Marines on the Yorkshire to make use of them and we still don’t know what the effective range is of the damn things.”
“How many Marines do you need?”
Cookie considered. “Well, three transporters with forty seats each. Pretty quick recycle time. With a lot of luck, we could maybe send two hundred forty soldiers through. Course, some of them would only be carrying wooden clubs; we don’t have nearly enough weapons.” They had a hundred and fifty of the air guns and a bunch of swords. The swords would be hard to make, but maybe they could make spears. Say a seven foot plastic pole with a hardened, sharp point and a cutting edge along the first two feet? That should be doable just using the Yorkshire’s work shop. She grimaced. Sending a Marine into combat with nothing more than a sharp stick as a weapon was not an attractive thought. But what else was there?
Emily meanwhile was on her comm. “Captain Rowe,” she said briskly. “I need your authority to place two hundred and forty Marines on the Yorkshire.” She explained everything Cookie had told her. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” She closed her comm and looked at Cookie. “You’ll have them in an hour.”
Cookie blinked in surprise, then smiled and stood up. “Damn, nice to have friends in high places.” Suddenly there was a lot to do in a very short time. She paused. “Emily, thank you for the time with Hirii. We — well, thank you.”
Emily was suddenly very somber. “Hiram asked me to make sure to bring you back. I’ll try, Cookie, I’ll try my best.”
Cookie half laughed, half sobbed. “Emily, I spend all my time thinkin’ about how to kill people, ‘bout how to make sure I get the other guy before he gets me. Last few days I shot people, stabbed ‘em and beat one of the bastards to death with a chair. Then, thanks to you, I get to see Hirii and he treats me like a piece of delicate china, like a lady.”
Emily raised an eyebrow. “Hirii?”
Cookie smiled softly. “‘Hirii’ is my name for him. He hates it, but I love it. You all know him as Hiram. A little stiff, straight as an arrow, always frettin’ ‘bout stuff, worryin’ all the time.” She shook her head. “That’s Hiram for sure, it is, but when I look at him, I see Hirii inside him, clever, funny, always thinking and seeing stuff I can’t see no matter how hard I try. You see Hiram, methodical and sorta boring; I see Hirii, takin’ horrendous risks that just scare the beejesus out of him because he knows that’s what we got to do.”
She looked Emily, eyes shining. “That’s Hirii, and he’s mine.”
Hiram Brill finally got back to his apartment. It was empty and too quiet. He walked through it slowly, trying to recapture every minute he and Cookie had had together. The bed was a wreck and he smiled. He sat on the edge and brought the pillow up to his face, breathing in to catch the faintest smell of her.
In the kitchen there was a note. He didn’t really want to read it; reading it somehow meant that she really was gone again, but he sat down and unfolded the paper.
My beloved Hirii:
I must leave now. I will go and do what I have to do, then I will come home to you forever.
I love you.
Maria
P.S. I think we broke your bed.
His comm buzzed. Reluctantly, he pushed the reply button. “Brill here, what is it?”
“The Black Watch and Queen’s Own have sortied, sir. Coldstream Guard will depart in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said. He raised Cookie’s note to his lips, then put it carefully back on the table, as if it were a precious jewel.