|
(CONTINUED)
3 February 3068: the Blakist fleet, having retreated from Normandy, holds a council of war...
"If we are to defeat the Veiled Republic at all, we must do so quickly," the Precentor said as he looked around at the assembled officers. The robed figure at the head of the table was unreadable, his face hidden deep in his hood. Secretly, the Precentor despised the mystical bent of his superior; it wasn't becoming of a military officer. But this meeting of the Blakist fleet's commanders might be his only chance to make a case for his strategy...
The Precentor brought up a map of the Veiled Republic on the holograph. He marked a point west of Normandy. "We are here, in an area that the Veiled Republic calls Davey Jones' Locker. Normandy is here, as is the majority of the Republic's navy." He paused for impact. "The warship losses we inflicted account for about a third of their known fleet."
A voice came from within the hood. "And OUR losses?"
The Precentor took a deep breath. His commander was baiting him. "Significant, but acceptable, given our superior numbers. In the short term, their losses are much more damaging than ours."
"And in the LONG term?"
The Precentor steeled himself, then stared straight into the hood. "The opposite." He turned back to the holograph, and marked a second system southeast of Normandy, two jumps from both Normandy and their present location. "This is Bocage. The Republic has developed an advanced industrial capability there which, if not stopped, could eventually turn the tide against us. The Republic's navy is badly injured, and most of them expended their jump drives entering the last battle, so they must repair and recharge before they can engage us. That gives us time to launch a major strike at Bocage using the majority of our fleet; a victory there is likely to account for most of the warships that we did not see at Normandy, and will greatly reduce the Republic's industrial advantage."
"I see," the hooded figure said. "A problem, and a plan to solve it." He nodded. "Very good."
"I disagree."
Everyone looked at another officer, who was also hooded. The Precentor couldn't restrain a scowl as he stepped back to give the man the floor; this "officer" was a notorious sycophant, always trying to advance himself within the hierarchy.
"The Republic's navy is concentrated at Normandy, on blown horses as you say." He indicated Bocage. "You also expect the rest of their fleet here," he paused, "and we saw what their ships can do." He then began marking off the Republic's other worlds, one by one. "That means they are NOT defending all these worlds. We have an entire fleet of ground troops waiting to be put to use, and these other worlds would be prime opportunity to use them. Why attack one defended world, when we could potentially gain most of the Republic in one fell swoop? Without their navy in the way, we can divide and strike with impunity. Forcing landings should be a simple matter..."
"Yes," the Precentor said with a cynical snort, "on worlds defended by entire divisions."
"Divisions of what?" The man laughed. "Conscripts and reservists. They lack the faith and vision that drives our own forces. Our men have trained for years..."
"So have they." The Precentor glared darkly at his rival. "Do not underestimate the Republic."
"I don't," the man said as he sat back down with a smile. "Rather, I think you underestimate the wisdom of Blake. Where is your faith, brother?" The unspoken accusation hung heavy in the air, and it forced the Precentor to remain silent.
"How about a compromise?" A third man spoke up. "We can send a strike force to disrupt Bocage in the interim, while our ground forces take those other worlds. By the time Bocage recovers, the rest of the Republic will be beyond help."
"Even better," said the sycophant with a smile of victory.
"Very well, then." said the hooded figure at the head of the table. He gestured to the hooded sycophant. "We shall divide our forces accordingly, and sweep across the Republic. Make it so." He looked to the rest of the room. "Dismissed."
The Precentor stood silently as the other officers filed out, and the hooded sycophant gave him a mocking smile as he passed. Finally, the Precentor turned to go himself, but was stopped by words from his leader.
"Your silence was notable, brother."
The Precentor framed his words carefully. "There is no right answer to such an accusation, and no point arguing with decisions that have already been made."
The hooded figure nodded. "Of course." The Precentor sensed a smile within the hood. "So tell me, what do you think of the plan?"
The Precentor hesitated.
"In good faith, brother. Your candor has always been admirable."
The Precentor sighed, then finally looked directly into the hood. "I think we have lost this war."
With that, the Precentor turned on his heel and departed.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
_________________ Be careful what you wish for. I might let you have it. 
|
Login
FAQ
Search
