Eagle (Jacob Hull) Page 8

  Jacob’s suspicions crystallized in that instant, and he folded his arms behind him. “You must have done something rather special to earn that kind of praise from him.” When Isaac remained silent still, Jacob pressed further. “I would love to hear about it.”

  Isaac’s smile grew slightly. “No, I don’t think you would.” Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Not the sort of thing a flag officer would want to get mixed up in, you see.”

  Frustration and worry spiraled up through Jacob, and he was forced to clamp down on a heated reply. He studied Isaac a moment longer, noting how his stance had shifted from rigid formality to casual contempt. Then Jacob spoke, his voice lethal and low. “Captain Bellworth, I want to know exactly what kind of game you’ve been playing. You can start explaining here, or you can explain to the Judiciary.”

  The smile disappeared. “I…don’t know what you are talking about, sir.”

  “I think you do.” Jacob started to pace, reeling off the list of events he’d uncovered as he’d looked back through the past six months. “After Tiredel, you were assigned to be a lieutenant commander under Captain Erlingstad. He lasted four weeks before someone anonymously posted details of his smuggling scheme to a public database. His successor saw to it you were promoted to commander two weeks later—and transferred out of his command.”

  Isaac shrugged. “I guess Captain Feras just thought I’d been doing a rather good job. Sir.”

  Ignoring the belated sound of Isaac’s ‘sir’, Jacob continued. “Five weeks after the transfer, the commanding officer of the Edward resigns. The only reason for his resignation is listed as ‘obligation to care for his family,’ even though Captain Tamerlane was a widower with no children and no surviving relatives of any kind. Your next commanding officer fills your personnel jacket with commendations, and then requests you be transferred again three weeks later.”

  Again, Isaac shrugged. “I seem to be the victim of my own extreme competence, sir. I still don’t understand what you are acting so upset.”

  Refusing the opportunity for a direct accusation, Jacob forged on ahead. “This transfer, when I heard of it, had me worried. The Kay was a good opportunity, but Captain Irving is a Federalist crony. He’s so far in Kenning’s pocket he probably hadn’t seen daylight for a decade. There was no way a commanding officer like that would have treated you with any kind of respect, not with the feud between Kenning and me. I was halfway tempted to pull strings to get you reassigned, but I didn’t know if that would just make things worse.”

  Isaac inclined his head slightly. “That was kind of you, Sir, but I was fine. I can take care of myself.”

  “Obviously.” Jacob snorted derisively. “Now Irving’s not only resigned, he’s recommended you for another promotion. To command the ship he’s leaving behind. Somehow, you’ve also managed to convince Captains Yurigrov, Tamashi, and Horner to agree, even though you’ve never served under any of them, and even though all three of them are solid, Federalist stock under Kenning’s thumb. Am I going to hear about their resignations soon as well?”

  Isaac frowned. “That’s unlikely. Yurigrov might eventually have to go that way, but Horner and Tamashi mostly just needed to see the error of their ways—and maybe a few interesting tidbits I happened to dig up. They’re no good to me dirtside.”

  The cold, calculating tone dug straight into Jacob’s heart, and he stared at Isaac. “You’re blackmailing them. Forcing them to recommend you and then resign. What the hell do you think you’re doing, Isaac?”

  “What has to be done.” Isaac’s tone was flat and lethal now; anger glittered like a knife blade in his eyes. “The officers you’ve mentioned were not good men, Jacob. They weren’t even capable officers, except maybe Horner and Feras. Do you know what Captain Irving said to me the first day I arrived on the Kay?” He continued before Jacob had a chance to respond. “Here comes the grieving widower. Let’s see how long he lasts.”

  Isaac gestured to where the rest of the officers had been sitting. “They were trying to drive me out of the Navy, Jacob, or to use me as a weapon against you. Some of them figured I would be a decent target because I was close to you; others thought I’d be vulnerable because of what happened at Tiredel.” For a heartbeat, Laurie’s death hung between the two of them, and Isaac drew back. “They deserved what they got, Jacob, and worse besides. If they resigned, it was because I gave them the option—which means I gave them more of a chance than that bastard gave Laurie.”

  Jacob rocked back on his heels by the venom in Isaac’s words. “You can’t just tear through the fleet like this Isaac. One day it will catch up with you. You’ll end up in the brig. At best, you’ll be court-martialed and thrown out of the Navy.”

  “What happens, happens.” Isaac grinned. The rest of his expression made that baring of teeth macabre. “Of course, once I’m no longer in uniform, I might be able to take a bit more direct action against them. Wouldn’t they hate that?”

  “Isaac, please.” Jacob stepped forward. “You have to stop this. It won’t bring her back.”

  “No, it won’t.” Isaac’s words grew harder, more clipped. “She’s gone, and I can’t change that. I know.” Then his fingers slowly clenched. “But what I can do is make sure nobody else in this fleet has to go through that again. Kenning might have resigned, but he’s still has friends throughout the Navy. Between him and his brother, they have enough pull to cause whatever kind of trouble they want, and they’ve been doing whatever they please for a while now. Now it’s my turn, Jacob, and whether they end up getting me or not, by the time I’m done they’ll wish they’d never laid eyes on me. I promise you that.”

  In the ensuing quiet, Jacob searched Isaac’s eyes, looking for some sign of hesitation or remorse. He found none. There was only that unshakable intensity, that lethal hatred, which had haunted his eyes whenever David Kenning was mentioned. Then Jacob grunted. “You’re going to end up regretting this, Isaac. Kenning is a threat—if anyone knows it, I do—but this isn’t the way to fight back. It may end up costing you more than just your career.”

  Isaac held Jacob’s stare for a moment longer, and then he looked away. “If they catch me—if they bring me down—then at least I’ll be able to tell her I tried. I did my best. Anything else and I’d disappoint her.” He met Jacob’s gaze again, and there was a hint of Isaac’s old smile in his eyes. “And at least then you’ll know I deserved whatever happened to me, right? What more can a man ask for?”

  For a very long moment, Jacob stared at his friend. There was nothing Jacob wanted more than to order Isaac through another round of psych evaluations, but somehow he knew they would never be enough. Isaac was sane; he was simply committed to his course, and clearly Jacob could do nothing to deter the man. He briefly entertained the thought of removing him from command—or even from the Navy completely—until Isaac’s mention of ‘direct action’ came back to him. A chill went through Jacob’s heart as he considered what those words could mean, and he shook his head in frustration at his lack of options.

  In the end, he only had two options. Jacob could let Isaac continue, or he could throw him in jail—and in the end, he knew which choice would leave David Kenning free reign to sabotage the Navy.

  “Fine. If you’re caught, if you’re brought up on charges, I can’t stop them.” Jacob glared at Isaac, wishing for some outlet to unleash his frustration on. “Damn you, Isaac. I already lost Laurie on my watch. If I lose you too…”

  Isaac’s hand landed on Jacob’s shoulder, and he looked back to see Isaac staring at him. His friend spoke plainly, without any hint of deception. “It wasn’t you, Jacob. Kenning was the one who got her killed; you did the best you could. Nobody’s perfect.” Then Isaac stepped back and came to attention. The impassive mask slipped back into place without any sign Isaac’s feelings had been exposed at all. Isaac saluted. “Permission to withdraw, Admiral?”

  Jacob watched Isaac for a moment more, and then returned the salute. “Granted, Captain.”

/>   Without a second glance, Isaac marched out of the room, leaving Jacob alone to ponder what had become of his old friend. Then Jacob banished those glum thoughts with a chuckle. Al-shira would not have been pleased to see him moping, and he had enough to do that he couldn’t afford to sit around. There was a plan to make.

  The Odurans, after all, were waiting.

  Chapter Seven

  The Eagle entered the Tiredel system above the plane of the planet’s orbit. Given their position and the relatively slow acceleration of the dreadnaught, they wouldn’t reach orbit for another six hours, but Jacob could afford to wait. The delay would give him plenty of time to survey the situation and decide on his next move.

  His seat in the Eagle’s command room offered him an unparalleled view. The compartment had been designed to display all the tactical data an admiral could wish for. A pit at the center of the room made enough space for the gigantic projection unit. Above the unit was a hologram of nearly the entire Tiredel system. Stationed around the pit were the officers who had been assigned as his tactical staff, each with their own set of controls. Jacob’s own console spread out in a bank of controls before him, complete with a smaller projection unit to one side.

  It was an effective arrangement that had been copied from the Badger, but Jacob was still growing accustomed to the differences in style. A part of him missed the relative simplicity of the bridge of the Wolfhound, but an Admiral couldn’t command a fleet from a destroyer.

  Lieutenant Urchel spoke up from her position at Logistics, breaking him out of his reverie. “Sir, the ships of the task force report no engineering problems. All ships are returning to standard formation.”

  Jacob nodded and searched out the dots in the hologram that represented his task force. The Eagle hadn’t come alone to Tiredel. Two Knight-class cruisers, Kay and Galahad, were also along for the ride, hanging off either side of the Eagle. Eight Hunter-class destroyers were riding in formation with the cruisers while a pack of six Knife-class frigates brought up the rear. Nine Arrowhead-class corvettes led the way in a forward screen for each branch of the formation, gliding quietly through space.

  All in all, the force contained nearly a third of Jacob’s personal command. That command had grown, thanks to Al-shira’s efforts to capture some of the most recently upgraded ships, but it remained the smallest out of the members of the Admiralty Board. The difference in size had helped her weasel several more refitted ships out of the other admirals, but not out of any generosity on their part. The fact was, the other admirals heavily mistrusted those refits, and they had been more than ready to let them malfunction under Jacob’s orders rather than their own. The barely concealed glee in their generous messages releasing the ships to him was not exactly encouraging; just once Jacob wanted to get a force that was expected to succeed.

  Still, it was better to have a small group in the right place than to have a large one dispersed and out of position. Jacob tried to push past his misgivings and turned his attention back to the situation. “Thank you Lieutenant Urchel. Lieutenant Hart, are any of our ships reporting a threat?”

  The officer at the Analysis console shook her head and bent over her console. “No, sir. It looks like the entire system is clear. The only active ships in the system are registered as friendly craft. There are no emergency signals or requests for assistance either. The Oathbound colony appears to be at normal status.”

  Jacob nodded and turned his attention to the craft in orbit. Though quite a few of the Oduran refugees had landed their ships on the surface to create living space on the frozen world, there still seemed to be numberless hundreds of ships in orbit. Millions were still waiting for the opportunity to join their comrades on the surface and abandon the collection of barges, converted warships, and transports they were depending on now. The ramshackle fleet looked like it was a junkyard for old Oduran equipment, and Jacob was surprised the refugees had not suffered any major catastrophes with so many half-functional ships in space.

  Yet those ships weren’t alone, and Jacob frowned. “It looks like there is a lot of merchant traffic. More than usual.”

  Lieutenant Hart answered his unasked question. “Yes Sir. Some of them are registered as charitable missions to help the refugees, but others are just bringing trade goods for the new colony.” He cracked a smile. “It’s probably more trade than Tiredel ever saw before now.”

  “Most likely, Lieutenant Hart.” Jacob watched the merchant ships a moment longer before he turned his attention to the last major area of activity in the system. “How are the…salvage…operations going?”

  There was a long moment of silence in the command center, and Jacob could hear the reluctance in Lieutenant Grey’s voice when she answered. “The operations are proceeding, sir. No unusual activity noted.”

  Jacob kept his eyes fixed on the spot. The ships there were the last remnants of the Battle of Tiredel, where so much of the Oduran military and the Celostian Navy had been destroyed. The remains of four of Eagle’s sister ships were there; all four Golem-class dreadnaughts were in a state of partial disassembly as engineers worked to pull them into more manageable chunks. Seven wrecked Oduran dreadnaughts, all Banner-class vessels, were beside them being harvested for materials. Their hulls were marked by the blast waves of missiles, punctured by railgun shells, or seared by plasma lances, a silent testament to the vicious battle that had broken them.

  Of course, those eleven ships were not the sum of the destruction wrought. Cruisers, destroyers, frigates and corvettes had been destroyed as well, but those ships had been much easier to move out of the system and back to places where they could be broken up more effectively. Dreadnaughts were simply too big to carry; they were at the absolute limit of riftjump capabilities already, so they had to be broken up and hauled away piece by piece. Even including those absent casualties was not enough, for the human cost had been high. The great Battle of Tiredel had killed thousands and had claimed both the lives of Laurie Bellworth and the former High Admiral, Alan Nivrosky.

  Jacob stared at the remaining wreckage and remembered the carnage, the chaos. He watched again in his mind’s eye as both a close friend and a trusted mentor died.

  Then a button lit up on Jacob’s console, and he stirred out of his thoughts. The message hadn’t come through Lieutenant Mendel at the General Communications station, so it had to be a high priority. He tapped the controls, and Captain Martino’s voice came over the speakers. “Admiral, we have a message coming in from a civilian ship in the system. They are requesting the chance to speak with you.”

  Jacob blinked, and he looked back at the hologram above them. There was a yellow dot pulsing there now, marking the position of the ship making the request. How they had anticipated his arrival here was beyond him, given that he’d just barely decided to move his forces three days ago. “Did they identify themselves, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir.” Captain Martino paused, and his voice was a little cautious as continued. “The message header indicated it came from a Mr. Roderick von Clarence, Sir.”

  Jacob sat bolt upright. The former High Seat was in the area—something he should have expected, given how close Tiredel was to San Marcos—but he shouldn’t have been briefed on Jacob’s mission or deployment schedule. The last thing Jacob wanted to deal with at the moment was the pompous former head of the Union, but a message from von Clarence was not something he could easily ignore—especially not after Smithson had taken such great pains to ask Jacob to support his predecessor in his mission to San Marcos.

  He sighed. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll take the message here.” There was a moment’s pause while Lieutenant Mendel rerouted the transmission, and then another button lit up. Jacob pressed it with an air of resignation, hoping he was wrong about what he would find as a result.

  An image of von Clarence appeared in the projector at Jacob’s console. He was an older man with the rough, hard-bitten look of a person who was used to fighting for what he’d earned. It was rather oppo
site the type of cultured exterior most of the would-be aristocrats of the Union projected, and in reality, the von Clarence fortune was nearly equal to that of the fabled Maxwell. His clothing, a fine suit with impeccable tailoring, reflected his wealth. None of that seemed to matter the moment the man began to speak.

  His voice was surprisingly gentle, with a calm sort of control that drew attention. “Admiral Hull. I am glad to see you’ve arrived in the system and would like the opportunity to discuss the strategic possibilities open to the Navy in the surrounding systems. Please let me know when we can meet.” Von Clarence’s gaze sharpened. “It would be best if we meet at the earliest available time. High Elder von Clarence, out.”

  The transmission ended, and Jacob tried to grab hold of his emotions. It was hard not to dislike the man, especially when he made such incredibly inconvenient demands. He had an entire campaign to plan and put in motion, and von Clarence wanted a moment of his time? Why couldn’t the man go pester the Independents in San Marcos instead?

  In spite of his reflexive instinct to refuse the meeting, Jacob knew he had to agree to see the former High Seat. Whether he liked von Clarence or not, Jacob had been ordered to help the man. A simple meeting wouldn’t set their operational plans back, especially if Jacob could find a way to avoid committing to any action on von Clarence’s behalf.

  Despite such solid reasoning, Jacob had a sneaking suspicion things would not turn out that way. For once, he prayed he wouldn’t be proven right.

  Jacob waited in the conference room, standing with his arms behind him and his feet shoulder width apart. He tried not to tap his foot; von Clarence was running late. It might have been a coincidence, but given the past few experiences Jacob had suffered through with the former High Seat, he didn’t think it was likely. It was just one more thing about the former leader of the Union that managed to worm its way under Jacob’s skin and itch.