Michael swore some more and stepped into the drop tube for the ride back to Nyleth's surface. The loss of Jaruzelska's protection and support was bad enough. Looking her in the eye knowing that he was going to steal the last three ships of the dreadnought force would be a million times worse. Friday, August 31, 2401, UD FWSS Redwood, in orbit around Nyleth-B
"Attention on deck. Commander, Dreadnought Forces."
Flawless in dress blacks, the crew of Redwood snapped to attention while the age-old ritual of piping the side played out under Chief Bienefelt's watchful eye: Bosun's calls squealed, hands snapped to foreheads in salute, and Vice Admiral Jaruzelska saluted in turn as her tall, angular frame crossed the bow to board Redwood, her flag lieutenant close behind. Michael returned her salute; when the carry-on was piped, he stepped forward, hand extended.
"Admiral. Welcome to Redwood, sir."
"Thank you," Jaruzelska said, shaking Michael's hand before turning to Ferreira. "Lieutenant. Hope you're not finding Redwood and Nyleth too dull."
"A dreadnought spacer's life is never dull, sir," Ferreira said with a broad grin.
"Hmm," Jaruzelska said. "Why am I not surprised to hear you say that? Chief Bienefelt. How's that enormous boyfriend of yours? Nyleth's one hell of a long way from Anjaxx. What's his name?"
Michael struggled to suppress a laugh; Bienefelt's face had colored brick red. "Er," she muttered, "er, umm… Yuri, sir. He's fine, thank you, sir."
"Please to hear it, Chief. When you get married, be sure to send me the holopix. I can't wait to see you doing the virginal bride thing all in white. That'll be one for my living room wall. Now, Captain," Jaruzelska said, turning back to Michael, leaving Bienefelt speechless and the rest of Redwood's gangway crew trying not to laugh. "Where to first?"
"Ship tour, sir," Michael said with great difficulty, forcing his face to behave. "If you'd follow me, please."
Jaruzelska's trademark whirlwind tour of Redwood over, she and Michael sat back in the comfortable armchairs that dominated his day cabin.
"Congratulations on your new appointment, Admiral," Michael said, raising his coffee mug in salute.
"Thank you, Michael. It's the right job for me, and I'm pleased to have it. I can hear the 'but,' though."
"No surprises there, sir. The loss of a dedicated commander for dreadnoughts will make life hard for us. Those cruiser types don't much like us."
"No, they don't, Michael. Not one bit. However, I've briefed Admiral Jensch and his staff on dreadnought idiosyncrasies. I think you'll get the support you need. Not every admiral in Fleet thinks dreadnoughts are the work of the devil."
"Pleased to hear it, sir. Any other developments?"
"One, not that it will affect you. The INTSUM will be out this week, so there's no harm in telling you that the reconsats have located the Hammer's new antimatter facility. Well, what will become their new plant in however many years' time. Bloody plant will be huge. Twice the size of the one you and your dreadnoughts destroyed."
"Oh, shit," Michael whispered. "But why won't that affect us?" he continued. "Surely dreadnoughts will be critical to any operation to destroy the plant. They were the last time."
"No, they won't, not this time. The Hammers have learned their lesson. Trying to hide the plant in deepspace like they did with their first plant is fine in theory. There's a lot of deepspace, after all, but we found the place and blew it to pieces, anyway. No, they've been much smarter this time around. It's located on Commitment itself, on a small island so far away from civilization that nobody will notice if it goes up in smoke."
Michael's face betrayed his shock. "They must be insane. Building an antimatter manufacturing plant on an inhabited planet? And not just any old planet, either. Commitment! That's the Hammer's home planet. What if it does go up?"
Jaruzelska shrugged her shoulders. "They're Hammers. They don't worry about things like that. Anyone who objects gets shot. You know how things work over there."
"I do, sir."
"Putting aside the risk to the rest of the planet for the moment, the decision makes good military sense. Our attack on the original plant at Devastation Reef will have showed them the folly of trying to protect such a high-value target so far from home. Better to have it tucked away dirtside underneath Commitment's planetary defense systems, where it'll be safe. It'll be a long time before Fleet's in any position to mount a planetary invasion," she added with a trace of bitterness, "because that's what it will take to destroy the place."
"So the race is on, sir?"
"Yes, it is. If we rebuild the fleet before they finish their damn antimatter plant, we can invade: We win, they lose. If they finish their plant first and get enough antimatter warheads onto those damn Eaglehawk missiles of theirs, they win and we lose. It's that simple."
Michael broke what had turned into a long and uncomfortable silence. "Our antimatter project," he said. "What about that? What progress are we making getting our own antimatter missiles into service?"
"Above your pay grade, Michael, so I won't answer. However, the Hammers needed decades to work out how to weaponize antimatter and even longer to work out how to manufacture enough of it to support high-intensity operations, so I leave you to draw your own conclusions."
"Oh, right," Michael said. "Changing the subject, sir."
"Yes?"
"Morale, sir."
Jaruzelska looked at Michael quizzically. "Morale? What about it?"
"Well, sir. Nothing official's come through, but the lower deck is awash with rumors about a mutiny on Palmyra, and-"
Jaruzelska sat upright. "Mutiny on Palmyra? How the hell do you know that, Captain?" she snapped, chopping him off, her eyes blazing with anger. "That's classified information you should not have access to."
"I keep my ear to the ground, sir," Michael protested, raising his hands. "Some things Fleet can't keep secret, and a mutiny's one of them."
Jaruzelska stared at him, the anger draining away. "If word's leaked out, obviously that's true," she said. "Damn. The trash-press will have a field day when they find out."
"There's more, sir."
"More?"
"Yes. Palmyra may be a symptom of a wider problem."
"Oh?" Jaruzelska said with a skeptical frown. "That's not the view inside Fleet. The briefing I received from Fleet personnel said Palmyra's captain triggered the mutiny. The man should never have been given command of anything bigger than a cargo drone. We don't always get our command postings right, especially now, when we are so short of good officers thanks to Comdur."
"I'm sure that's correct, sir, but I think there's more to it. Word is that the troops aren't too keen on the way Fleet's handling things. It seems there are more than a few unhappy spacers out there. They no longer think we can bring this war to a successful conclusion. Putting it bluntly, they're losing faith in management's ability, and that's a worry."
"Your troops, too, Michael?"
"Yes, sir. Not that it's affecting my ship's operational readiness, but they are all thinking people. They see what's happening, and they don't like it any more than…" Michael's voice trailed off into silence.
Jaruzelska finished the sentence for him. "Than you do," she said quietly.
"No, sir."
"How bad is the problem?"
"All I know is what my coxswain tells me, sir, so it's anecdotal, but I trust Chief Bienefelt with my life."
"You know what? I would, too," Jaruzelska said. "Sorry, you were saying?"
"Well, Bienefelt says it's bad. I guess Palmyra proves that."
"Damn it to hell," Jaruzelska said, grim-faced. "I was afraid of this."