Task Group One, 0112 hours

Isaac Gauss blinked hard as the overhead light in his Flag stateroom went on suddenly.  He turned his head slightly, prepared to unleash his Jovian wrath at whoever invaded the Flag quarters.  He relaxed slightly on seeing Captain Jensen standing there, wrapped in a worn Air Force Academy bathrobe.

“What’s up, Jerry?”  Gauss sat up, yawned, and rubbed his eyes.

“Sir,” Jensen said, his voice noticeably tense, “There’s a privateer ship just popped through, they want to send a lander over to the flagship.  The Captain wants to talk to you personally.”

“Which ship?”

“The Shade Tree, sir, out of Earth.”

“Good ship.  They’re the ones that took out that Occupation ship.  All right, signal them to send their lander over in thirty minutes.  We’ll meet them in the Flag office.”

Jensen nodded.  “Yes sir.  I’ll have some coffee and sandwiches sent up.”

“Good idea.”

Jensen left, leaving the light on. 

Gauss stood up slowly, stretching out his sleep-tightened muscles.  Little after zero-one, he thought, staring at his wall clock.  I really am getting too old for this shit.

A static-jet shower, a shave, and a clean uniform took him twenty minutes.  He used the remaining ten minutes before the Shade Tree Captain’s arrival to review the data the Navy had on the privateer.

The ship had been commissioned at Earth’s shipyards only three years earlier.  Smaller than the Navy’s Pritchard-class frigates, the privateer carried a crew of twenty-five, and mounted particle beams and Shrike missiles.  Captain Jean Barrett had also purchased two almost ninety-year-old thermonuclear magnetic mines, Navy Intelligence had learned; Gauss had personally discouraged further action on the illegal purchase after the privateer had used one of the mines to knock out one of the Grugell’s Leviathanic Occupation ships. 

Mounting one of the newest marks of the Gellar Star Drive along with a rather unique, charcoal black polymer hull, the Shade Tree would be fast and stealthy, although rather cramped for her crew.  The Navy could use a few like those, Gauss told himself.

The clock clicked over to 0142.  Gauss stood up, straightened his green shipboard uniform jacket, and headed for the Mountain View’s Wardroom.

Captain Barrett was a surprise.  She was young, no more than forty.  Gauss thought that very young for a starship Captain – even for a privateer.  Gauss remembered a rumor he’d heard on Tarbos that Captain Barrett was involved with his own friend and the Navy’s patron in the Confederate Senate, Michael Crider (L-Forest.)

Barrett stood as Gauss walked in.  He smiled disarmingly at her, shook her offered hand – he was tempted to bow over it; Captain Barrett was undeniably attractive – and motioned for her to sit as he took a chair at the side of the table.  “Pleasure to meet you, Captain Barrett.  Good work you’re doing out there.  What can the Navy do for you this morning?”

Jean Barrett was as impressed by Admiral Gauss as she’d expected to be, but she didn’t let that distract her.  “Admiral, I’ve got something you need to see.”  She tossed a small plastic chip on the table.

“A phoebe,” Gauss said, picking up the tiny data chip.  “Where’d you get this?  The Navy’s only been using them a few months.”

“I got it from the wreck of the Giles Davies, Admiral.  I’ve got their survivors aboard the Shade Tree now – my lander should be on its way back there now to transfer them over here to the carrier.  The Bob Pritchard was already a total loss when we got there; the Giles Davies was dead in space.  We boarded it…”

“The Giles D’s Captain – what about him?” Gauss snapped the question.

“Dead, sir.  He gave me this phoebe before he died.”

Gauss frowned.  He’d known Jim McAllister from the old USAF days.  “All right.  Go on.”

“Sir, the Giles D had hacked the main computer of a wrecked Grugell frigate the day before they were hit by a Grugell Task Group.  The chip contains the data they retrieved, plus our interpretation and analysis of some of that data – sir, the big thing is that the Grugell have located Earth.  There’s an operations order in there detailing their plan to strike at Earth with the better portion of their Fleet.  It’s got rally points, jump coordinates, everything.  My Navigator was able to convert most of their course – we’ve got it there on a standard Confederate star-map, along with the original data so your own people can double-check his work.”

“Good God,” Gauss breathed.  “They’re ambitious bastards; if they could do to Earth what they did to New Albion, that would pretty much take us out of business.  But if we can ambush them at a rally point…”

“You could take out the better part of their Fleet.”

“Jerry,” Gauss barked.  He tossed the phoebe to his ever-present aide.  “Take this up to Intelligence.  I want a full analysis by noon.  Get them going.”  Jensen caught the chip and left.

“Captain Barrett, I have to thank you for this.  You may have just single-handedly won this damnable war.  You know,” Gauss said, “I could use another ship on this ambush.  Frankly the Navy can use every ship it can find.  If you’re willing to put yourself under the Navy’s tactical control, I’d be pleased to have you come with us.”

“I’m flattered, Admiral, but I’ll have to decline,” Barrett said gravely.  “I’ve got a plan of my own, one that I’m just in the middle of.  Once we’re done with the task at hand, I’ll make best time to join up with the Fleet, but not until.”

“Very well.  May I ask what it is you’re up to?”

“You may ask,” Barrett grinned.  “But I’m afraid I’ll have to keep it to myself for now.”

“Suit yourself.  Just the same, I’d like you to talk to my Intel watch staff about your finding our two frigates; we didn’t even know anything was wrong with them until a couple days ago, when they missed a routine transmission.  You’ve brought the first news.”

“I will be glad to, sir, preferably quickly.  I do need to get back to my ship.”

“I’ll walk you up there right now.”

A rally point in space, near the Grugell/Confederate border

Group Commander Kaddaschik II looked carefully over the holographic representation of the Fleet in his flagship’s main scanner tank.  Almost eight ships in ten were being sent to join the strike on the Confederate’s home world, leaving behind only a few small ships for local defense of key planets and installations. In what amounted to another Grugell month, the attack force would be assembled, and the Fleet would jump for their target.

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