Chapter 41: War Changes

The cannon bucked in Jack's Stingray's hands and pumped a round clean through an onrushing green mecha, coring out its engine. The machine's momentum carried it into the Stingray. It bounced harmlessly away.

"Surrender, dammit," he shouted, hoping the Feds were even bothering to receive over open channels. So far, he didn't think he'd actually killed anybody in this fight, and if he could help it, he didn't plan on starting.

Jack had fought in the Civil War and done his share of killing in it. Hell, three months ago, he'd made damn sure some of the Reformer's mechaneers died back on Wellach. Nonetheless, he liked to think of himself as a basically peaceable guy.

Especially when he still wasn't sure he was on the right side.

"You're outnumbered and outgunned," he said to whoever was listening, adding 'and hella outflown' in his thoughts only – if he said it, it was liable to piss the Feds off enough they'd keep fighting. "We won't hurt you if you surrender, and if you keep going, you're gonna get killed!"

While he waited for a response, he fended off two more attacks almost casually. He could track and down the Fed regulars without breaking a sweat. His mecha and his still-rusty skills were just that much better.

How the hell could the Federal Navy be reduced to this just fifteen years after the Civil War? With the nobs still kicking around on the periphery, no less?

One of the Fed mechaneers soared up from below, firing wildly with his automatic cannon. Jack didn't even have to dodge. If he had, he probably would have increased his chances of getting hit. He snapped off two shots, one into the green mecha's shoulder, a second scraping down the front of its hull. It still tried to correct its aim, so Jack reluctantly lined up a third shot to go through its head and hull.

"Sorry, buddy," he muttered, starting to squeeze the trigger.

Abruptly, the Fed mecha released its gun and burned backwards. Since the gun had lost none of its momentum, it tumbled away from its wielder and eventually bounced off Jack's leg armor.

He lowered his cannon.

"Attention rebel forces." Jack's communications window displayed a haggard-looking Navy officer. He could have passed for a cadet if not for the captain's stars adorning his green uniform. "This is the Federal Navy frigate Equanimity. Cease fire. We are powering down our shields and weapons. We... surrender."

"Oligarchical forces," Jack corrected. "And we accept your surrender."

"That's... er, thank you," the young captain said.

"Round 'em up, boys," Jack called to the three Devil Rays accompanying him. Two were on the ship's hull, where they had already cut its shield generators from their moorings, while the third was acting as Jack's wingman. "And radio the Venture. Looks like we've got ourselves another prize ship."

Three grins answered his.

Another prize ship, another squadron of Navy mecha. That made three so far, to go with the two star systems the Feds had tried to guard. Jack and his new subordinates had suffered only a single casualty, and both he and his mecha would recover.

If the Feds had been smart, they would have stayed at the heart of the systems and made the Algreil Aerospace escort carrier Venture come to them. If they'd been smart, though, they wouldn't have been so damn easy to beat. Somebody in the Etemenos military bureaucracy had one hell of a poor tactical doctrine.

Maybe Otto was right. Maybe the Oligarchy could wrap up the Feds in a 'short, victorious war.' Maybe the next time Jack saw Ellie and Chloe, it would be on a platform on Etemenos with a medal hanging from his neck, celebrating the new galactic order.

Yeah.

And maybe they hadn't fought more than a skirmish and the Feds still had them outnumbered by a factor of ten galaxy-wide. To say nothing of the defenses of the capital world itself. Shields so powerful even the Imperials were supposedly not sure they could get through them and guns to match, powered by seven man-made suns and backed by a full fleet of the Federal Navy's finest.

Not to mention the Animus Hunter corps.

Thinking about the strategic situation soured Jack's mood as he and his men burned back to the Venture.

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It was a miniature carrier of the type the Oligarchy had deployed in droves during the waning years of the Civil War, about three times the size of the Mother Goose and almost all mecha bays and cargo space. It had just enough room for twenty mecha and its bridge crew. Theoretically, it had room for twenty mechaneers, too, but from Jack's recollection that was an exaggeration.

He didn't have to worry about space on the Venture now. It housed only eight Stingrays and a couple of bays worth of Mayfly scout drones converted into AI-controlled electronic warfare mines. The rest of the space doubled as mechaneer quarters and rec room.

Algreil Aerospace could build plenty of machines to fill the Venture, along with every sister ship in its fleet.

Pilots? Not so much.

He wondered if the Equanimity's young captain would have surrendered if he'd realized that the Oligarchical forces amounted to only one squad more than what was buzzing around his ship. Considering the disparity in mechaneering, Jack figured his men would have won the fight anyway, but it would have been a close thing.

Which was, of course, why Otto had the Venture fly with half its official crew compliment. If the Feds didn't catch on, they'd think they were up against twice as many opponents as they actually were. And if – when – they did catch on, the Algreil Aerospace forces would send out full compliments and catch them by surprise again. Actually, Otto would probably make the switch just before he guessed the Feds would catch on.

Otto knew how to run a war. Nobody ever doubted that.

"Message for you, Colonel," the Venture's captain said as Jack disembarked from his Stingray.

Jack nodded to the man. In most of the Federal Navy, a ship's captain outranked a any mechaneer officer. Marcel Avalon seemed to be the exception that proved that rule. In the Oligarchical forces, branch didn't matter, only rank. Technically, Jack was in command of the entire Venture, although he didn't know how to fight a capital ship and wouldn't have tried. "What's the word?"

"I don't know, sir," the captain said. "It's from Mr. Algreil."

Speak of the devil, Jack thought. "Gotcha. I'll take it on a private channel." He slipped the mask of his flight suit up.

Otto's face appeared before him. "Hear you caught yourself another fish, Jack," the oligarch said. 'Fish' was old mechaneer slang for a small capital ship like a frigate or escort carrier; big ones were 'whales,' their point defense craft 'sharks.'

Jack chuckled. "This one's pretty small. I'm thinking of throwing it back."

"Very funny," Otto said. "I'm glad you're getting tired of the small frys, though."

Jack's laughter died in his throat.

"A second Federal Navy fleet is gathering in the Etemenos system. Attack configuration. One of the ships that just returned is the flagship, the Reformer."

"The Divine Auric Drake again, huh?" Jack thought back to his and Otto's fight with Marcel Avalon. That was one Fed mechaneer he didn't outclass. "You sure about attack configuration?"

"Oh, yeah. Until the Reformer showed up, I didn't understand why they hadn't set off already. Seems they were waiting on their golden boy."

"You think they're gonna hit Algreil Prime?"

"Wouldn't you?"

Of course, Jack thought. The Oligarchy had declared war and started picking off federal garrisons piecemeal. The Senate had to respond or they'd lose control of half their systems and the confidence of the rest. And Otto had set himself up as the face of the Oligarchy. "You calling the Venture back?"

Otto nodded. "We're going to assemble the fleet here and move out to meet them."

Jack started to nod in return. Then he froze. "What about Chloe? Last we heard, the Reformer was tailing her and your brother, right?"

"That was... what we thought, yeah."

"You don't know?"

"If the Feds had the Heir," Otto said, "they wouldn't be shy about saying so. Morale around here would fall apart before you could blink. Hell, even Rudy's famous enough they'd boast about capping his worthless ass, not that it would take much."

Unless they didn't want to publicize what they planned to do to 'the Heir,' Jack thought. To Chloe. To my little girl.

And he'd wanted to spare those bastards? Principle, he'd –!

He took a deep breath. Even if the Feds wanted to keep catching and hurting Chloe under wraps, Otto was at least right about his brother. The Feds could boast about killing or imprisoning the famous Crimson Phoenix and still keep quiet about who else they had locked up.

Not killed.

Jack wouldn't, couldn't, believe 'killed.'

"They're still out there, Jack," Otto said. He almost sounded concerned, which for Otto meant 'less sarcastic than usual.' "When I hear from Rudy, you'll be the first to know."

"Thanks," Jack said.

"I'm not doing it as a favor, old buddy."

Jack didn't have to be told. Otto might have been bullshitting when he told the other Captains of Industry he'd planned having the Heir raised by a former subordinate, but the oligarch would play that card for all it was worth.

Nonetheless, Jack said, "Thanks anyway."