Chapter 23 – Home Fires

Samantha dashed into the Navy command centre and demanded, "What's going on?" It was late, and ten minutes previously she had been peacefully asleep, snuggling with her mother, aunt, Thule's lone vet Victoria and Victoria's two children, all on her father's vast bed.

A Marine ensign turned to her, bleary-eyed and wearing his uniform as if he'd just put it on before he was fully awake. He had pulled it on before he was fully awake, but as a Marine he didn't have that excuse. He'd obviously, therefore, not been a Marine for very long. "There's something on the sensors – we're going to have company, and soon, and it isn't Confederacy. I've alerted the pilots in orbit."

"Great," muttered Samantha fiercely. "Who's the senior duty officer?"

"I am."

"Who is the senior officer on the planet?"

"By rank, me. By seniority, that would be you." He had the grace to blush. "I came out on the last transport. I haven't been fully trained yet – the rank's still provisional."

Samantha stared at him in shock, rapidly coming fully awake. "What other officers do we have available?"

The man confirmed her worst fears. "None. We're it. The Colonel and the Admiral called for an all-out effort."

"What defences have we got, anyway?"

"No ships. A platoon of armoured, none of whom have received any training on any tank, in fact they only just qualified on the RLI-1, and the highest rank there is a Lance Corporal, his rank is like mine: provisional. All the trained tankers are with the Fleet."

"Wonderful. Any more good news?"

"We also have six Star Arrows, their pilots are currently scrambling. A handful of Navy ratings, there's apparently some gunners there. We have some Starfighters, but no more pilots for them. Nothing else."

"What about equipment?"

Samantha's question would have to wait. A klaxon began blaring, and the emotionless voice of an AI began a repeated announcement, "Sa'arm ship detected in system. Sa'arm ship detected in system."

Another AI's voice – female this time, Samantha noted – broke in with, "Optio Redburn, according to Governor Deschenes' orders upon leaving the system for Hesperus, you are acting Governor."

"I recall receiving that notification," she confirmed.

"Your orders, Acting Governor?"

The young ensign made an "all yours" gesture to the young Civil Service cadet. Grimacing, she turned her attention to the AI. "As acting Governor, I am taking command of all Confederacy forces within the Thuleat system. I confirm that the Star Arrows are to continue their launch and intercept of the Sa'arm. Sitrep, please."

The ensign stared at her. "What's a 'sitrep'?" he demanded, again demonstrating he was green as grass.

The AI responded before Samantha could. "A 'sitrep' is a situation report. There is a single Sa'arm ship that has entered the system, a Venti class destroyer. It has apparently been damaged in battle, as it is leaving a trail of debris. It is making for Thule at best speed. All six Star Arrows have launched and are making for the Venti at full throttle."

For the next two hours, Samantha and the young man with her, as well as the Navy communications techs manning the consoles in Defence Control, waited sweating as the six two-man interceptors neared the rapidly-approaching destroyer. Finally, the speakers crackled with the professional but electrifying, "Visual on bandit."

The senior commander, a sergeant, continued calmly and coolly leading his men into battle – undoubtedly their first battle ever. "Tango team, this is Tango Leader. Tango Six on me. Tango Two and Four, head top. Tango Three and Five go for starboard low, I'll take port low."

Samantha found herself studying her fingernails. Odd the things you remembered when you were trying to distract yourself – she hadn't needed to cut them since she popped out of the med pod all those months ago in Earth orbit.

"Enemy point defence has opened up," reported the unknown Sergeant, still as calm as milk. "Increase evasive manoeuvres."

"I'm hit!" came the call.

"Roger, Tango Four. Set your ship to ram and evacuate."

"We're out of here. Controls destroyed." Pause. "We're back at base. Sorry we couldn't activate ramming."

"Roger, glad you're safe. Tango Two, take over. I've just lost atmosphere and horizontal stabilizers. Evacuating."

Then there were three, as Tango Five took direct hits that damaged its avionics packages. Another two crewmen found themselves reluctantly cooling their heels back aboard the orbital defence base.

The remaining trio broke into separate ships, spiralling toward the single destroyer in an effort to confuse its point-defence predictors. Tango Six took a shot that impacted an engine. White-hot shrapnel flew through the after half of the craft, and its pilot and weapons officer quickly punched the button to activate their nexuses. The craft joined its three sisters in becoming glowing fireballs.

That left Tango Two and Tango Three.

"It's been nice knowing you," the ensign beside Samantha told her.

"If you think I'm giving up, you don't know me," Samantha advised him savagely.

Tango Two: "Here he comes!"

Tango Three: "There he goes!"

"Missile away. Closing – missed," reported Tango Three.

"Tango Two has launched missile." The sergeant manning the weapons station of Tango Two added, his voice heavy with disappointment and disgust, "Tango Two's missile attempting to sink the sun." His missile had locked on the largest heat signature it could find, which was unfortunately not a Sa'arm destroyer.

The ensign rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that."

Samantha broke in with, "Pursue if possible."

"Not possible. Fuel insufficient for high-speed pursuit. We need to head to Thuleat IV. There's a refuelling station there. Otherwise we'll just be floating dead in space before we can accomplish anything."

"Best speed, men. Thanks for your efforts." Samantha signed off, a feeling of icy fear in the pit of her stomach. She shrugged it off as much as she could. She realized that every concubine, every dependant, every Marine and every sailor everywhere in Thuleat – not just the planet, but the entire star system – was counting on her, and only her, for their very lives. Every sailor and every Marine at Hesperus was counting on her, and only her, to keep their families safe. It was a lonely feeling, and she wondered if that was how Colonel Michael Deschenes felt. She realized that she'd been taking his presence for granted. She swore she'd appreciate his presence from here on in – assuming they survived the next few hours, of course.

"Trajectory of destroyer plotted. It will pass by the orbital defence station." The communications tech turned to Samantha and added, "The crew on board are sitting ducks. It's not completed. The guns aren't installed yet."

"Bring them down, immediately," she snapped. "They'll do more good here than sitting on a sitting duck in space."

"Sir!" another tech turned to Samantha, who was in the beginnings of information overload. "If the destroyer stays on track here, it'll be able to survive and crash-land on the surface somewhere around here." The corporal pointed to a position east of both Scott Base and Camp Shackleton. "Arrival time four hours, twelve minutes."

"Beauty," she groaned. "And they'll have caught both settlements' heat signatures before they enter the atmosphere. They'll know right where to go to get food and raw materials." She turned the ensign. "Call out your platoon. Meet me at Camp Shackleton's drill square in thirty minutes. Bring their cold-weather gear, if they haven't got those heated armoured suits."

"We've got the standard Chosen Frozen kit. They'll be in their battledress."

"By the way, we haven't been properly introduced," Samantha announced. "I don't know your name."

"Greg Andrews, Sir. I turned fifteen just two weeks ago."

She stared at the man – no, the boy. He had taken the standard Marine package and looked to be closer to his mid-20's. "How old are the rest of the stay-behinds?"

"Between fourteen and sixteen, I think – except the Lance Corporal. He's seventeen."

Shaking her head, she turned to the crew in the control room. "Same with the Navy and Fleet Auxiliary. I'll take anyone who can hold a blaster or just tote ammo. Thirty minutes at the Shackleton parade square."

As the alerts went out to every able-bodied citizen, Samantha made a mental list of what else needed to be done. Arm the concubines? No, most didn't even have cold-weather gear, and were just as likely to hit each other as they were to hit the Swarm. Then she remembered all those red-coated kids. "The Thule Cadet Corps."

"What about them?" asked a puzzled corporal.

"They're probably better trained in land combat than any of the adults here – they've been taking the exact same sleep training their fathers, and in some cases mothers, have been taking, since before the Corps was formed. AI, call forth the Cadets. Drill square, Camp Shackleton, thirty minutes."

"Aye aye, Optio Redburn."

As the base and camp sprang into somewhat chaotic action, Samantha addressed both settlements' inhabitants, all suddenly jolted awake by the combination of blaring klaxons and yelled orders.

"Everyone, a single Sa'arm ship has decided to pay us a visit. It's small, just a destroyer, and damaged, but can still do us great harm if its cargo is not stopped. It's broken through our defences and is likely going to land, but far enough away for us to try to stop them. We're going to need everyone we can get to fire back at them, including the Cadets. Everyone else, stay in your pods. Straw bosses, get your pods ready to evacuate at a moment's notice."

Her next call was to her own home pod. She could hear scared, sniffling concubines and dependants. "AI, who in my home pod right now has the highest CAP subscore for organizing?"

"Victoria Arbuthnot has the highest with a subscore of 8.4, Optio Redburn."

"Vicky, you're straw boss right now. Get everyone ready to evacuate. Don't forget Smokey."

"We're ready," the Liverpudlian vet assured her. "Is it really going to be OK?"

"We'll get them. There aren't that many, and we've got time to prepare." Samantha didn't bother to let the woman know that if the situation got bad enough to justify ordering the concubines into the shelter, it would be approaching the end. The order would be but a gesture that would just postpone the inevitable, and that by only minutes.