Chapter 31: The Visitor

Sebastian (aside to Antonio): He receives comfort like cold porridge
Antonio (aside to Sebastian): The visitor will not give him o’er so.
- The Tempest, Act II, Scene I

Lieutenant Whitefeather called up Captain Agathe Katsaros. He didn’t break stride as he headed for his company’s command bunker. “Remember that peacemaking mission?” he said. “The one where you won that Medal for Gallantry?”

The Medal of Gallantry, Greece’s highest military award, had not been previously bestowed. After that publicly-broadcast battle, three Hellenic Navy soldiers had been granted the honour, the two who had been granted the highest rank of Grand Cross posthumously. Hers was the next level down, a Grand Officer. “The same one you and Captain Deschenes won the Victoria Cross? That incident still haunts my nightmares. It was no ‘peacekeeping’ mission, more a ‘peacemaking’ one. What of it?”

“What was that battle cry of yours? The one you and your crew shouted as you approached the wharf?”

“Oh, ‘alala’. Startled the shit out of the Fundies, didn’t it?” She chuckled at the remembrance aboard the Hellenic Navy gunboat HS Kyzikos. She missed that little ship, her first command. Last she heard, even after all these years the Greek government was still debating whether to scrap the shattered hulk, preserve it in its current shattered condition as an abject lesson in the dangers of religious fundamentalism, or restore it as a museum ship to honour the many crewmen lost in Krzikos’ valiant final battle. Katsaros herself had been retired medically from her wounds. Unlike poor old Kyzikos, her legs had been easy to replace, her shoulder easy to repair using just a few hours in a Confederacy medtube.

“I assume you’ve got your battle plans ready?”

“Well, Barnard Castle and her crew are as ready as I can make them, but the plans are kind of loose. We’ll be heading out tomorrow to take up a position near where that trace appeared. I’m sure the invasion fleet will approach from there.” Her face was grim. “We’ll buy you all the time we can.”

Whitefeather knew well that look. She was quite aware this would be a one-way trip. CSS Barnard Castle would have no chance against any fleet the Sa’arm was sending them. This battle would be the space version of HMS Jervis Bay’s gallant stand against the pocket battleship Admiral Scheer, sacrificing herself so that the convoy she was protecting could escape.

She suddenly stopped in the corridor and turned to face Whitefeather. “Just promise me you’ll look after my concubines.”

“I will, Aggie,” Whitefeather vowed. “They’ll be as safe as my own.”

She smiled sadly. “Thanks. That feels better.” She turned into the transporter room. “And it’s not ‘Aggie’, dammit.”

Whitefeather chuckled good-naturedly. The nickname was a running gag between the two of them since the day they’d met.

Agathe’s transporter trip took her to CSS Dance of Spirits and an at first energetic, then slow and loving boink with her concubines. Just as Whitefeather was, they too were under no illusion that this was her good-bye to them. As the four teared up, she put her duty uniform on and headed over to CSS Bernard Castle to confront her fate.

Captain Katsaros strapped herself into her bridge chair and called up a checklist on the data pad. “All crew aboard?”

“Aye, Captain,” her executive officer reported. “And all concubines have been transferred to CSS Dance of Spirits.”

“Excellent. Prepare for space flight. Commencing preflight checklist.”

Shortly afterward, the stalwart corvette CSS Barnard Castle slipped her moorings and headed for a rendezvous with Sentry Drone Alpha Three Niner.

As CSS Barnard Castle broke orbit, a meeting was being held in the main briefing room planetside. If Colonel Palmer had known of the meeting, he would have had all hands thrown in the brig, charged with mutiny. But, Whitefeather considered, what the Old Man didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Around the horseshoe-shaped table sat every lieutenant and the holographic images of every Fleet Auxiliary captain. Two holographic Aurora-class freighters took up the corners farthest away from the base of the horseshoe.

“Status of concubines and dependants?” he demanded.

“Friend William,” T’kliktguul advised, “the only concubines who remain ashore are those youngling-free belonging to men of the Third Marine Brigade with a rank of Sergeant or higher. The only dependants who remain are members of the Corps of Cadets over ten years of age. The evacuated concubines and dependants are scattered between myself, Rosencrantz and Confederate Systems Ship Dance of Spirits.”

Whitefeather nodded. “That leaves us how many humans ashore?”

T’klikrooz joined in. “Friend William, we have six hundred forty-seven humans on Planet Nova Alabama. All are currently located in the settlement.

“Very good. Now, defences? Trenches?”

This was Lieutenant Kirk Boland’s bailiwick, and he knew his job well. “All trenches now meet standard. All companies of the 3^rd have underground sally bunkers and command bunkers, communications trenches, and four lines of barbed wire. The armouries in those bunkers are fully equipped, as are the medical supplies. Emergency rations have also been placed there. Additional ammunition lockers have been added to the trenches, stocked with laser rifle ammunition, hand grenades and additional medical kits. Multidirectional land mines have been laid to completely ring the base. We have seven remote controlled fire bases ready, although I’d like more time to add to the tunnels under them to give me more firing points to shift the cannons to.”

“We’d all like more time,” Cho noted ruefully.

Boland gamefully carried on. “I’ll keep the tunnelling machines working even after the enemy lands. Are we still expecting them to land?”

“Yes,” Whitefeather confirmed, “unless we can talk the Colonel into completing the evacuation. We’re going to paint ourselves as a nice big inviting target if they try to take on the transports.” He turned to the three in Fleet Auxiliary blue. “If we tell you to bugger out, you go. If you lose communications with the base, go. No heroics, hear?”

The three men nodded vigorously.

“That goes double for you two, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. When we say go, acknowledge AFTER you’re on your way. We’ll try to keep them occupied long enough to escape.”

“Baaa,” the two aged freighters responded in unison.

“And keep yourselves fully fuelled and supplied so you can get back to Earth with a reserve to spare.”

He then turned to the hologram depicting the base and its surroundings, glowing between the horseshoe’s arms. “We’ll have to keep the plans loose. We haven’t a clue where they’ll land, how close, what direction, anything. We’ll scatter the First, Third, Fourth and Fifth evenly around the perimeter. We’ll hold the Second back as a ready reserve to fill in any holes caused by the attack, and possibly for a counterassault if the situation permits.”

Everyone nodded. The plan made sense so far. Janke puffed up with pride: his company was given an important assignment indeed, and one it had trained for. What he was unaware was that his company having had the least training, Whitefeather felt he couldn’t trust it to hold its discipline. He intended to keep the Second in reserve unless the situation reached that level of desperation.