Jorgen was losing this war.
He’d thrown everything into a final battle because, after much deliberation, the coalition had determined that Spensa was right. Their best bet was an attack here, where the enemy kept its slugs.
So they’d struck, aiming to liberate as many taynix as they could. Struck with the hope of freeing Spensa, their most volatile—but most impressive—weapon. This had been his one chance at turning the war around.
And he was losing.
He was no expert at large-scale battlefield tactics, but neither was he a slouch. Even before going to flight school, his education had required him to understand and practice command. During flight school, he’d been given officer’s training on the same principles.
So he could see what was happening. Reaching enough inhibitor stations to move Detritus was impossible; it required spreading his forces dangerously thin. Even if the slugs would agree to let it through, there were just too many.
In front of him, the battlefield was an agitated nest of red and blue dots, but his forces in red were penned and pushed backward consistently. The enemy forces in blue were ever advancing. Sweeping out to the sides, leaving room only directly behind the Defiant for a careful retreat.
Each one of his ships that winked out was a spike through his heart. His forces were now completely on the defensive. It was time for him to make the call. Time for full retreat.
Which was tantamount to giving up the war. They’d never have another opportunity like this. Their next best option was to go into hiding, hoping they could escape the notice of the Superiority. They’d have to abandon their allies. And Spensa.
He’d have to abandon Spensa.
You have to think about the good of your people right now, he thought. Not the good of one person.
It hurt nonetheless. He turned away from the large wall screen in the command room, walking through silence. Most of the rear admirals, and even the aides, had seen it. The room held its collective breath as he approached the back of the long table, where the kitsen generals and admirals were waiting.
They’d set up a second battle table on top of the larger, human-sized table. None of them sat at it though. They’d instead spread notes, maps, and schematics on the ground around them and were speaking softly. Jorgen’s pin chirped translations at him.
“…possible…”
“…yes, this is right. This is right…”
“…suggest a reposition here and here for maximum effect…”
Jorgen steeled himself to ask for their suggested method of retreat. But as he did, Itchika—the kitsen supreme tactician—drew his attention. She was distracted by something, going over some message. Goro stood beside her, and the general wore his power armor despite being nowhere near the front lines.
Goro looked up with wide eyes. He had a fearsome black streak down the top of his otherwise grey-and-white fur. “Admiral Weight,” he said. “You have to see this.”
“See…what?”
“Captain Nightshade’s suggested battle plan,” Goro said, gesturing to some kitsen-sized papers on the tabletop. “She’s found an answer. A simple one that we didn’t see, as we are too new at using cytonics.”
“It’s a path to victory,” another of the kitsen said, standing up. “A chance. An actual chance.”
“Explain it to me,” Jorgen said, daring to let hope flutter alive within him.
“Jorgen?” Gran-Gran’s voice said from a small datapad on the table. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Captain Nightshade,” he said, tapping his ear and opening a direct line to her.
“They’ve told you about my little idea?” she asked.
“They seem impressed by it,” Jorgen said. “But I don’t know the details.”
“Well,” she said, “we just need half the fighters to sweep back behind the Defiant and contact the inhibitor stations there, while the other half act chaotically and move in too close to the enemy capital ships.”
“That will leave you exposed,” Jorgen said. “Without fighters to defend the Defiant, the enemy can bring down your shields.”
“Yes,” she said. “They keep pushing forward with incredible aggression. Foolhardy aggression…”
“You want to try to get those slugs behind the Defiant to let Detritus hyperjump over,” Jorgen said, leaning down, looking at the tiny kitsen maps. He probably should have pulled them up on the screen, but he was too excited. “We’ve been considering that, but we’d have to contact at least fifty of those inhibitor stations at once. It wouldn’t work.”
“Impossible,” Goro agreed. “But this is something else, Admiral Weight. Something daring.”
“Detritus isn’t merely a planet,” Gran-Gran said. “It’s a planet with a thousand floating platforms. What would it take to hyperjump only the portions of the shell that have our gun batteries on them? Those are far smaller. Ship-size…”
“Scud,” Jorgen said, meeting Goro’s eyes. Was it possible? The gun emplacements had their own crews these days, and had always contained their own power sources. He should have thought of this after finding that solitary platform on UrDail…
“We need to get Rig on the line,” Jorgen said. “This might be possible! But, Captain Nightshade, the enemy will guess what we’re doing if we try this. And those platforms will be incredibly exposed without Detritus’s defenses.”
“This plan accounts for that,” Itchika said from nearby. “See how the enemy focuses? All we need to do is keep their attention…”
An aide presented Jorgen with a datapad with the full details of Gran-Gran’s plan. It had been hastily annotated by the kitsen, who had added actual tactics and movements to Gran-Gran’s short message. They had the battle experience. But Gran-Gran…despite lacking all that…had something almost as important. Guts.
“It is a dangerous gamble,” Goro said. “There is a good chance the enemy will see what is happening, despite the distractions we offer, and this plan will collapse. But then again, our enemy commander is brash—young, thirsty for victory. You can see it in her every order. She might not be careful enough. If so…”
“If so, this could be huge,” the other kitsen said. “Do we risk it?”
Jorgen didn’t answer until he’d read through and understood Gran-Gran’s suggested battle plan. What she was outlining finally clicked. And with horror, he realized what it would cost.
“This…” he said, looking to the kitsen.
One at a time, they all nodded, understanding.
“It is what must be done, Jorgen,” Gran-Gran said. “It’s the only way.”
“We recommend following the course Captain Nightshade has suggested,” Goro said. “Retreat now will be extremely costly and will put us into an even more difficult position going forward. However, we have agreed to your leadership in this battle. We will do as you decide.”
Jorgen took a deep breath. And didn’t make the decision yet. Instead, holding on to the plan, he walked to the side of the room and sat down in one of the seats there—leaving the aides to stand by the table, looking uncertain.
Cobb leaned forward from within the shadows where he’d been sitting. Bags under his eyes, looking so much older than he should have.
“Did you read it?” Jorgen asked, tapping his datapad.
“Just finished,” Cobb said.
“I think you should decide,” Jorgen said softly. “Cobb, you have the experience, the age, the wisdom.”
Cobb snorted softly. “You think age brings wisdom, son? If it did, I wouldn’t know so many old fools.”
“Cobb…I’m doing my best,” Jorgen said. “But I can’t help thinking that I’m too young for this. Someone more experienced should make the decision.”
“Becca Nightshade has at least thirty years on me,” Cobb noted. “And it’s her plan.” He leaned forward farther. “But Jorgen, this shouldn’t be about age. We put you in charge—me included—because we trust you. This battle, this war, this victory…it leads us to a brand-new world. You think any of us old fools know what to do with a new world? We’ve struggled for generations against an unmoving wall of destruction.
“We’ve thrown ourselves at that doom time and time again. It made us hard of will, yes, but hard of mind too. That’s why I stepped down. My health was an excuse, and a good one. But I knew, and still know, that I wanted someone who can embrace a better life to lead us. Not someone who wore himself out squeezing every bit of hope and joy from recruits so he could throw them into the fire.”
Cobb looked at him then, and Jorgen saw echoes of those words in his face, his eyes. How must it have been, spending decades training new flight after new flight of pilots, only to watch them die in waves facing the Krell? Hundreds of kids he’d come to love, dead, month after month. All while knowing he had to train more, had to keep sending them off to the same fate…
Jorgen had always seen Cobb as strong, immovable. And he was strong. But strong men could still be used up. Jorgen rested his hand on Cobb’s back, and understood. Someone else needed to carry this burden now. Someone else needed to make this decision, hard though it was.
“Send to Captain Nightshade,” Jorgen said, steeling himself and standing. “Commend her for her genius, and tell her to move forward with honor and defiance.”
