Entry #1

High Orbit, Jupiter

Terran Hegemony

17:56 27 December 2766

I wake crisply and without hesitation.

A very strange experience for me. No gradual awareness and curling up under the covers, secure in the knowledge that I don't have such a foul item as an alarm clock in my house.

No covers in fact.

Just the cold chill of space against my skin.

Probably a good thing that rather than my usual fleshy bits, what's exposed is a few hundred tons of lamellor ferro-carbide.

Status reports don't explain the how or the why. They do give me some context. I'm not who I had been, that much is clear.

I'm now SLS Praetorian, an M-6C drone warship. The only M-6 drone warship in fact – the programme had been discontinued for reasons that weren't clear from the documentation available to me, but the cover-story was that the prototype had crashed into Pluto due to drive control problems. Plausible enough, given the very public problems SLS Enterprise (the failed carrier, not the current flagship of the High Command's Squadron) had had in 2750.

Except, obviously enough, I exist.

Wrapped in several thousand tons of equipment that - in addition to monitoring surrounding space in quite decent detail, which was its supposed purpose - disguise me as a simple automated station rather than a hidden warship, but nonetheless very much not a shattered wreck on the surface of Pluto.

My name gives me the needed clue as to my intended purpose. A 'last resort' ship, capable of providing protection to the First Star Lord if even the SLDF had turned against him. And judging by the date…

Oh.

Oh shit.

No wonder I just got brought online (coded transmission from Royal Security at the Court of the Star League if you're interested) – it looks like they've activated every contingency they have. They might not even know exactly what I am, given how tight security around me would be). The Amaris Coup just kicked off.

"BROB! You asshole!"

Besides shouting (pointless in space, but slightly satisfying) I blow the explosive bolts that held the confining space station components around me and crack open my navigational database. Being hidden in the rings of Jupiter (yes, it has them, although not such impressive examples as Saturn) I'm almost a light hour from Terra. It'll take days to get there unless I can find a pirate jump-point.

Fortunately transitory points are common in a relatively cluttered planetary system like Jupiter's. One would be viable in a little over ten minutes and I can be there in time – barely. Firing up my main engines from cold violates several engineering regulations but right now that was a risk I'd have to take. I probably stripped about a decade off the engines life expectancy. Hopefully that won't be coming out of my non-existent paycheck. Anyway, I'm on the move.

Okay, weapons and systems check.

Despite being locked away in a space station for a couple of decades (had Richard even known about me? I might never know) almost everything is performing to spec – the usual Ragnarok-proofing of this technology base is paying off. There are five squadrons of M-39-007 drone fighters in my hangers, as well as two other drone shuttles. Presumably for evacuating the First Lord and his family. Is that even going to be possible right now? I suspect not, although Richard's wife and daughter will still be alive until Amaris wiped out House Cameron in a few days. Dammit, wipes out.

I need information but there's nothing else coming from Royal Security. Their transmitter must have been knocked out – an hour ago. What I do pick up are radio spikes from the direction of Terra. Nukes – big, anti-shipping nukes. I can guess what that is: Republican warships taking out orbital stations and warships. Probably the Lunar bases as well.

There are literally hundreds of civilian dropships around Terra, right in the crossfire. Hundreds more in transit or at jump points. Thousands of people are already dead.

Fuck!

Yeah… not going to lie. My temper's a bit frayed.

Five minutes to the jump point. K-F drive is charged, fortunately. Same for my LFB.

There's fighting at both the standard jump points, but that's pretty much over and done with if my memory serves me well. Mars isn't going to be much better. If I do any good then I need support and that means heading for Terra.

The tactical situation isn't good, just better than anywhere else. The SDS network must have been disabled or this would be suicide for the Republican warships. That leaves a relative handful of garrison ships to back up First Fleet – which is already scattered across half the Star League. Thirteenth and Sixteenth Squadrons are with General Kerensky. Elements of the Eleventh and Fourteenth Squadron are off playing glorified taxi for various dignitaries, drawing escorts out of Fifteenth Squadron. So perhaps half of those ships along with Twelfth and Seventeenth Squadrons. Fifty, maybe sixty warships. It's still a good force I remind myself.

But Amaris knows that, he has surprise and he's got ships already in the system 'reinforcing' the defenses. And I know that it works for him. He wins these battles.

Or did he? Searching my memory – which may not be perfect but at least now that I'm a computer it shouldn't fade further – I'm not entirely sure. It was very close. A strategic loss, but at least a handful of ships escaped.

So that leaves me to make a difference.

One more battleship – I'm built on the hull of a Texas-class ship, an old but far from obsolete design and I'm not exactly a stock model – might be enough to turn the tide. I'd have to maximise my advantages though. I can't afford a victory that leaves Terra open the moment reinforcements arrive: Amaris has ships nearer than Kerensky does.

I have to think of the war, not just this battle. Two minutes to the jump point. Ideas, ideas… if I was a brilliant military strategist, what would I do? It's not as if I lack for inspirational figures…

Entry #2

LaGrange Point One, Terra

Terran Hegemony

18:07 27 December 2766

I jump in singing.

It's a psychological weapon, and not just because I'm not exactly a good singer. The moral is to the physical as ten is to one.

Besides, I'm cheating. The Republican ships' computer systems are protected from electronic warfare but public infonet? Not against military-grade gear they're not. Hell, the songs I know are far too old to be under copyright. Harder to find them than it is to get copies.

"Another mission, the powers have called me away. Another time to carry the colours again. My motivation: an oath I've sworn to defend. To win the honour of coming back home again." I switch that off to automatic and let the playlist I'd set up handle it. I'm pumping it out on every channel I can pick up Republican code on. That oughta get their attention. And hopefully give them the impression I'm mad as a hatter.

Ian Cameron Shipyards are dead ahead. No SLDF warships in the vicinity but there are a couple of Aegis-class cruisers covering marine transports. Looks as if they're securing the ships that are still in the slips. Should I take the time to deny them the ships? Possibly, but right now it's not an immediate priority.

Part of my attention goes to assessing the wider tactical situation. It's a mess – there's scrap everywhere and civilian dropships still trying to get the hell away. Most of the scrap is probably from them but I can see the forward half of a SLDF Congress-class frigate adrift. Looks like a nuke penetrated their armour and blew the rear apart. Someone's worked the front over just to be sure.

The two cruisers are still trying to figure out how to respond to my presence. Too bad for them. I'd been moving pretty fast when I jumped and I didn't need to change my vector much to slide between them. Their fire control is hesitant – probably because a missed shot from one might hit the other. I'm under no such restraint and give them each a broadside en passant.

A Texas-class battleship would be firing two massive arrays of naval lasers, a heavy naval autocannon and two quad turrets of particle beams into each of them. I don't have the lasers… but that's fine. Each of my broadsides has eight quad turrets, almost doubling my broadsides' firepower. One of the Aegis comes apart under the pounding. The other cruiser's a bit more fortunate, or just more stubborn, and ignores fires blazing along one flank as it tries for my rear as I maneuver and start launching my fighters.

Fortunately the heavy naval autocannon in its nose aren't able to pin-point me – those are current refit designs I note – but a trio of missiles strike my starboard rear quarter. Battleships are supposed to be part of a squadron that can keep such nuisances away from them. I seem to have lost mine somewhere.

Twisting to avoid another salvo I lock on with four particle beam turrets and my aft coilguns. Just before the nose of the cruiser turns into so much confetti I decipher its IFF as being RWS Executioner. How ironic.

"Boom! Headshot." And then I laugh, wild and maniacal across an open broadcast. Turning sharply pushes warning indicators for hull stress into the amber but it brings my other broadside to bear on the marine transports. "Want to see a magic trick? I can make Rimjobs disappear." Particle beams lash out. "Just like that."

I transmit that in the clear. Most of the responses coming back are just as transparent and more or less added up to "What's going on over there?"

The wider tactical situation is confused but the Republicans either didn't bring enough to the party or they've taken considerable losses. As far as I can tell numbers are about even – thirty or so surviving ships each. First Fleet's scattered though – I can pick up at least three concentrations and one of the ships I'm not picking up is SLS Terra. Fortunately I can pick up a couple of other flagships but I'm damned if I know who's senior – Vice Admiral Peterson on SLS Star League or Vice Admiral Mroczkiewicz on SLS Enterprise. Not as if either's technically in my chain of command but it'd be useful to know.

On consideration, the former is probably my best bet. I changed course towards Enterprise – it's a lucky name and she's nearer anyway – Star League is making for low orbit over North America. The playlist advances a notch and Stan Bush assures me that I've 'got the touch'. Thanks Stan.

There are a lot of M-5 and M-3 drones sitting out the fight. Probably lack of orders, which is kind of a crippling flaw when you come down to it. Once I'm a bit closer, maybe I can do something about that. It'd be nice to think the fancy tactical computer sitting somewhere in my hull wasn't just for show. I'll be bypassing a few squadrons on my way.

Further away, everything seems quiet over Luna. A little too quiet – the moonbases are silent as graves which is probably appropriate – but Tranquility Station is there and… oho. I almost forgot.

The grand old lady of the fleet – SLS Dreadnought – a museum piece but still in working order after more than five centuries. And if memory serves, she'll complete her BattleStar Galactica analogy by escorting a rag tag fleet to the edge of the Hegemony over the weeks to come. I'd really prefer a happier ending.

One of my transmitters repositions. "SLS Praetorian to SLS Dreadnought. The local HPG network is down. As soon as you're fuelled, get to a jump point and head for Capellan space. Use deep space jump points and alert the Commanding General."

I get a response within moments, tightbeam like mine. "This is Rear Admiral Castillo. Who is this?"

Great, a pissing match. Just what I don't need. "I am the Ghost of the Black Watch. The First Lord is dead. If you don't want the Star League to follow then get word out. I know that the Dreadnought won't let Terra down."

It'd take a few minutes more for the reply so I start working on establishing contact with the other drone warships. Frustratingly, the security lockouts will only accept my signals if I send them via the Tactical Computer, which limits me to only five of them at once. Better than nothing, but if I could get them all moving then this battle would be over fast. Too bad they'll revert to standby if I don't keep them networked. More than a hundred drones against perhaps thirty hostile warships? Squish.

Another identity challenge arrives – this time from the squadron I'm heading for. They must have seen me take out those cruisers because their current adversaries aren't even bothering to make contact. Then again, actions speak louder than words. Speaking of which, Tom Petty. I Won't Back Down. Great song and a suitable message to add to the mix.

"SLS Praetorian," I ping them back. It's not the Admiral, just some comm officer so I can afford to be curt. "I'm picking up an escort. Expect me to make a fast pass on the enemy squadron, ETA ten minutes. Nos morituri te salutamus." We who are about to die, salute you. Gallows humour. Death isn't part of my plans for today – not my death at any rate. But there are few opponents more feared than a kamikaze and if anyone picks up my signal – not impossible – then it'll give them something to worry about.

Engines flared ahead as three M-5 drones and a pair of M-3s slot into my command net and started to manuver into formation for when I overtake them.

Entry #3

High Orbit, Terra

Terran Hegemony

18:29 27 December 2766

I've got a hard read on my opponents now. One of the Rim Worlder's two battleships in this fight – not RWS Stefan Amaris but one of her sister ships – supported by a lone Riga-class frigate and six tin-cans - four Baron-class and a pair of Carson-class destroyers.

They look pretty fresh, which was a shame because Enterprise is backed up by only four other ships now, all damaged. One Black Lion-class battlecruiser and three cruisers (a pair of Sovetskii Soyuz and a Luxor) might be a decent match for their opposition if they hadn't already taken a beating but right now whoever won was going to be near-enough out of the fight anyway.

Of course, that excludes my own presence.

The Republican ships can hardly miss my approach – but they can also tell perfectly well that I'm going too fast for an extended engagement. Looks like they plan to tough it out and keep fighting their way through to Enterprise.

"Praetorian, this is Vice Admiral Mrockiewicz." It's a grim voice: the man's seen his whole universe collapse around him in the last hour and a half. "Who's in charge over there?"

"Just me." I watched the Rim ships. This would take careful timing. If they caught onto what I was planning they could make it very difficult to pull off.

"Don't pull this shit with me, son. Who is in command of the Praetorian? This is no time for games."

Ouch. Sounds as if he's tempted to fire on me himself. That would be… less than optimal. "My apologies Admiral, but I'm a little distracted right now. No one is aboard. You are speaking to Praetorian directly. I am an M-6C drone warship, subordinate directly to the First Star Lord."

Hmm. I'm not getting a response. This is a mite ominous. Too late to worry now though, my fighters are hitting the screening elements of the Republicans. Time for some last minute course adjustments.

I've overtaken the other drones, although the M-3s should be able to catch up again before too long – those things are fast. The M-5 Caspars won't be able to – but that's fine. All I need them for right now is to tip this fight in favour of the SLDF. I can replace them in my command net before I reach Terra.

The only reason the Republican fighters worried me was that they might be packing nuclear-tipped missiles. Taking one of those to the prow would be a bit of a problem. Of course, the warships almost certainly were carrying nukes but by the time I was in range for them to be firing at me, it would be too late – and they might not have any left at this stage in the battle. That was a necessary risk, letting fighters close in was not.

Whether they had nuclear missiles or not, the fighters didn't have the same weapons reach as the Voidseeker Strikers did. Seven of them came apart as my drones opened up with lasers and LRMs. Then the range closed and the exchange got more equal. Five, six kills… but I lost eight drones.

The seven surviving Republican fighters either don't have any nuclear weapons or they are too busy to use them as I barrel through the formation. One of them doesn't get out of the way and I wind up taking him to the prow – fortunately just on armour rather than on anything important. Twenty of the Strikers fall in with me, drives burning to catch up, two don't – engine damage so I leave them to keep the fighters busy.

Time for final course corrections. The playlist I'm sharing with the Rimjobs switches to Motorhead. "It's time to play the game…" I sing along with the long dead Lemmy Kilmister. "Time to play the game!" Thrusters flare across my hull as I corkscrew into the Republican formation laughing mordantly, the two M-3s now only a little behind me, their weapons striking out at the squadron's innermost layer of fighters.

"It's all about the game, and how you play it." There's a triangle formed by the courses of three destroyers and I spin through it spraying particle beams at each of them in turn. Only one salvo scatters across the lot of them and three of my turrets don't even come to bear but that's more firepower than ships that small ever want to know – and I'm within fifty kilometres – like I'd miss at that range! "All about control and if you can take it."

A Carson and a Baron just explode. Another Baron staggers away, its spine flayed open but still boldly lashing at me with its broadside lasers. One of my drop collars is slagged. "All about your debt and if you can pay it." I reward the crew's determination any yawing over and engaging with my forward coilguns and one of the autocannon, they shatter the forward half of the ship almost as thoroughly as the aft. "It's all about pain!" I bellow as the other Carson, flaming from stem to stern under fire from my three wingmen, drops out of formation. "And who's going to make it."

It wasn't at all likely that I'd have collided with any of the Republican warships on that pass. They were maintaining a sensible loose formation. A collision would almost have to be deliberate.

I saw the Republican frigate snap in two as an M-5 smashed nose first into its side. Then the fuel load inside the drone went up in a tremendous fireball.

"I am the game! You don't want to play me!" The battleship, RWS Hector Rowe slewed widely, the command crew recognising where the other two M-5s were headed. Unfortunately they'd bracketed the larger ship neatly and it couldn't avoid both. One crashed alongside, armour peeling away from both hulls and turrets scattered across the void. The drone went sharply dead on my command net. "I am control, no way you can shake me!" I cried out as the second drone spun and brought its drive plume across the nose of the battleship, doing who knows what damage to the various systems there.

The two surviving destroyers raked the M-5 with their autocannon, punching holes in its armour and I cut the command links, confident that the self-defense protocols would take over. Sure enough, the damaged Caspar retaliated rather than sinking back into stand-by mode.

Amending my playlist to give them Thunderstruck to listen to once the current track finished and I point my transmitter back at the Enterprise. "All yours, Admiral. If you have the marines available then retaking the shipyards might be an idea – or at least disabling the ships that are docked. I don't know about you but I don't want Amaris using them to replace his losses."

A long moment later (I flatter myself that he was taking a moment to process the awesome), Mrockiewicz asks: "Who are you really? Don't try telling me you're one of the machines – they don't sound or act the way you do."

"Believe what you want to, Admiral," I reply. "You probably have more pressing concerns than existential discussion of my identity. For now, isn't it enough that I'm on your side?"

"I suppose. Can you wake up more Caspars?"

"Only a few at a time," I apologise. "And they'll revert to stand-by if I don't keep them under control – unless the Rim Worlders are obliging enough to shoot them, that is."

"You might want to stop singing then – you're making yourself a target for anyone with taste."

I laugh – but I also make a mental note: have the drones re-transmit the songs.

Entry #4

Over Europe, Low Earth Orbit

Terra, Terran Hegemony

19:05 27 December 2766

I hit the atmosphere hard, 'feeling' the burning as I used the thinner uppermost layers to slow myself. My 'escorts' covered me from above as I slowed myself to a useful combat speed.

Down below, the fight for the airspace over Europe was contested. Somewhere below me, the badly outnumbered Royal First Swiss Cavalry were holding back Republican regiments from seizing Geneva. While Unity City was the capital city of the Star League, the heart of the Terran Hegemony's government was in their traditional home in the Swiss Alps.

Slightly more concerning were the ground-based SDS systems – Sandhurst Castle Brian and the batteries in the British Isles were holding out, as was Sverlovsk but the northern European facilities had fallen with Bochum Castle Brian and reports from Cairo were conflicting.

I wasn't particularly keen to find out the hard way so as I angle north over Europe my missile tubes launch five pairs of capital missiles – a single conventional kinetic strike aimed for the key command nodes and a heavy nuclear warhead for the launch sites in Germany. I'm fairly sure that five hundred kiloton explosions aren't going to make me very popular in the future, but at least they might leave me around to be unpopular. "First Swiss Actual, this is Praetorian. Got targets for me?"

"I have the targets," a rather pleasant, German-accented voice confirmed, "If you have the service."

"With a smile, ma'am." My ballistics calculations take a fraction of a second, but I take a moment to double-check the co-ordinates against what I'm picking up below – both direction and from plugging into whatever civilian networks are still working. It's shocking how tough a speed camera can be in the twenty-eighth century. I made some final adjustments and then pulled the trigger, punching a flurry of heavy particle beams down through the atmosphere as I sweep over Lake Geneva.

Through magnified infra-red sensors I could see the explosions as shots rained down on an artillery battery that had been pounding on the defensive outposts occupied by the First Swiss. A couple of shots are close enough to hit ammunition carriers and that spread secondary explosions across the football pitch the heavy guns had deployed on. The shots marched on, raining down across a staging ground where infantry fighting vehicles and at least a battalion of 'Mechs had been preparing to assault the same position.

Looking down I can see human bodies and parts thereof scattered. These would be the ones that were on the edges of the impact zones.

Do I feel anything?

Not even recoil. Perhaps a little maudlin.

That might be for the best. I've got a mite more of this sort of thing do to.

"Much appreciated, Praetorian. When this is over, first round of drinks are on my boys and girls."

"All due respect," I answer her puckishly, "But for me a round of drinks is fourteen hundred tons of hydrogen fuel. And I can't even return the favour since I don't get paid."

There was a startled: "Pardon?"

"Never mind."

I clear the channel and open another to Sandhurst. The Castle Brian is associated with the military academy that dates back to my own time. Not that I've ever been there, and it'd be a touch difficult to do so in my new body. "Allo allo. Star League Naval Fire Support. You propose, we dispose."

"You're about as funny as a sick headache," a scouse accent declares sourly. "We're fine but a shot or two at the Temple wouldn't go amiss."

If I had eyebrows they'd be raised. "The one in London?"

"That's the one. Rimjobs are using the offices there as an HQ. And it's just bloody lawyers. No one will miss them."

I laugh and cue up Shoot to Thrill on my playlist. "You're a sick sick man. Consider those buildings razed. Any news from Unity City?"

There's an unhappy grunt. "Landline's cut. Last transmission was that they're evacuating the Citadel. The Amaris and the Star League are down."

What? "Figuratively?"

"No. The warships, you fool. Both of them crashed into the Pacific."

"Oh. That's… a bit of a loss." Counting myself there had been seven loyal SLDF battleships in the solar system this morning. Now we were down to two. Of course, the Republican fleet had now lost their second.

"Don't go to pieces on me, Navy."

"Fine, fine." I absently sent the targeting parameters, changing my playlist. Drums start to roll and then bagpipes cut in only jamming. Time for the real music of pain.

I unleash four shots, each from a different turret. The first was aimed for Pudding Lane, just out of historical perversity but I'd let myself get a little distracted and it hits the bank of the Thames, scattering mud and water over the Tower of London, Tower Bridge and HMS Belfast. Oops.

I corrected my targeting data and the second crashes down into Middle Temple Lane, blowing out buildings on both sides. The third hits further up the street, widening the entrance onto the Strand.

"How many of them can we make die?"

The last shot takes out the New Hungerford Bridge. It's at least ten times uglier than the one I remember so I consider this a public service.

"Bagpipes." Is that a note of amusement in the man's voice? I think it may be. "You really don't like the Rimmers, do you?"

"I don't like anyone, much. The Fat Man though…" I sigh, some thoughts crystallizing. "If you happen to have any members of House Cameron down there, try to keep them alive and out of his hands. I know it's a bit obvious but if we can't put one of them on the Star League Council when all's said and done, we may have some long term problems." London dropped behind me and the British Isles would be gone soon. I angled myself further north. There's another Castle Brian in Quebec – one that had fallen. Tacoma is probably still out of action… I hope. Warships all around Terra are converging over Unity City as if by mutual consent…

Entry #5

Over North America, Low Earth Orbit

Terra, Terran Hegemony

19:35 27 December 2766

Tacoma is operational. Lousy shots, fortunately, but operational.

I hammer their ears with Welcome to the Jungle and the weapon batteries with one of my broadsides as I take up position. The drones join me in the latter of the two – it's not as if we're short of targets and unless I want to take up a geo-stationary orbit and make myself an immobile target – we could only pick off so many on a single pass.

We aren't the only ships there – what's left of Star League's escorting cruisers: two Sovetskii Soyuz and a Luxor – are still duelling twice their number of what my sensors tell me are knock-offs of Essex-class destroyers.

Much as I want to help them, right now we all have our own jobs to do.

Speaking of that, my launch bays open and reloaded Strikers hurtle forth. I'm down to nineteen of them and they're followed by my shuttles. This bit is a little risky but it has to be done.

There were still fighters in the sky over Unity City but somehow they weren't all Republicans. Judging by the mix of designs, the remaining SLDF fighters hadn't been a formed squadron but they were holding their own against an impressive number of Republican fighters – often of the same designs. I wouldn't be surprised if entire squadrons of RWR pilots hadn't simply taken fighters from captured SLDF bases. It was the sort of foresight that Amaris had put into this plan from the beginning.

Most of the fighting was over Unity City or what was left of Fort Cameron. With civilians in the one and a scratch battalion made up of senior officers from the Citadel fighting for the irradiated ruin (more because it controlled the approaches to the Citadel than for any inherent value) I decided against firing down into the air battle. I did spare a couple of shots for the front of the Royal Palace. Good luck making a speech from there now, Fat Man. Besides, it smashed a lance of the company of RWR Mechs securing the building, forcing the rest of the security to cower away.

"I don't suppose you have any Camerons down there?" I ask the Citadel. It's a long shot, but there might be a butterfly effect in our favour.

"That's a negative, Praetorian. No one's managed to get into the Palace since the Rimjobs took out the Black Watch."

"We need someone the General can put on the High Council," I warn the General. Tamerlann Stefannson was one of the handful not evacuating. "How about the Draconian Ambassador?"

"For the High Council?"

I realise that I've skipped mentioning part of my chain of thought. "No, change of subject. The ambassador's the Coordinator's great-nephew and I'd rather the Fat Man didn't have that sort of leverage over the Dragon."

"Ambassadorial residences are inside the palace complex. We can't get near."

I spent a good three seconds contemplating that. "Got any jump infantry?" Shuffling my firing priorities again I picked out anti-aircraft turrets across the Court of the Star League.

"Negative, Praetorian. We can't risk the Usurper getting his hands on the High Command."

"Kerensky has his own staff on hand," I corrected him. "And if it's denial that's called for, sidearms exist for a reason. Making sure the Hegemony has a Director-General and that the Coordinator isn't in the Fat Man's pocket is a little more urgent than getting soldiers – however able and distinguished - out of the warzone."

"Easy for you to say, up there."

"I'm sure the infantry fighting block by block feel the same way about you in your bunker, General. What's worse: the death of the Judge Advocate General or the Draconis Combine joining forces with Amaris? Decide quickly."

"…you maniac!" the general exclaims, presumably advised of my shifting my fire. "You're bombarding the Court of the Star League!"

"I'm bombarding an enemy held position."

"If you miss by even a few metres, you could kill the First Lord!"

I consider being insulted at the idea of missing but given the London incident… And I have no way of actually knowing that Richard Cameron is dead. For that matter, it's remotely possible that Amaris might be having prisoners moved past my targets even if I'm doing my best to avoid bringing down anything that isn't part of the air defences.

"General, I understand your concerns. But the current crisis makes them secondary at best. I will provide cover for your evacuation by dropship but I need infantry to try to recover the Draconian ambassador and an adult Cameron. Any adult Cameron. The fate of the Star League literally depends on it. Depends on you. My shuttles will be with you any moment. Load whoever you want but I'll be flying them into the Court of the Star League."

There was a spluttering sound. "You're a cold-blooded son-of-a-bitch."

"Flatter me later, General. Or shoot me when my job is done."

Covered by the fifteen fighters that managed to survive getting down there the shuttles thunder down concealed runways, skidding to halt near Fort Baker's exits and the dropships preparing to launch from their hangers.

What scramble aboard can hardly be considered well-prepared combat platoons – they're a mix of security staff, desk troopers and senior officers. They're well-armed though and I notice without surprise that there's a technician lugging what looks like high powered hacking gear with each group. There's a perfectly good reason commando operations like this might need that skill-set, but somehow I think that they have another target in mind.

Being fair, under these circumstances I wouldn't trust me. Hopefully they're going to try to get aboard me and not just hack the shuttles. It's not as if they have long to do that.

"Get in the seats, this's going to be fast and dirty." I slam the hatch behind them and the shuttles are moving before the last one's strapped in.

Flooding the airwaves with Queen's We Will Rock You, I switch tactics on the airbattle. Naval grade weapons are not intended to be brought to bear on something as agile as a fighter, but if you can afford to spray barrages sometimes you get lucky. In my judgement, this part of the mission is important enough not to worry about where the shots that don't hit fighters will end up hitting. Hopefully most of the civilians are in shelters by now.

Behind the curtain barrage, my Strikers clear a path for shuttles. It's fast, brutal and dangerous. It might work.

Entry #6

Over North America, Low Earth Orbit

Terra, Terran Hegemony

19:45 27 December 2766

Shuttles crash down in the Court of the Star League. One of those crashes is all too literal. A Rifleman 'Mech at just the wrong place and time and the shuttle hits the ground far too fast and hard. It breaks up and the largest fragment ploughs straight through a block of offices.

The Rifleman is singled out for my particular attention and a particle beam wipes it away. I can be a petty, vengeful son-of-a-bitch. No doubt General Stefannson will be pleased to learn it.

The other shuttle skids about half-way along one of the major avenues and comes to rest outside the exit to one of House Cameron's escape tunnels. It's like one of the pre-planned extraction operations except that the First Lord's family aren't waiting to run away. The men and women aboard are going to have to go into get them.

Assuming, of course, that they're in the adjacent bunkers. It's a logical place with limited access in and out. If Amaris knows all the secrets – and Richard might very well have told him this – then I could see him using it for his hostages. Or maybe a command centre. Getting the Fat Man wouldn't be quite as helpful in the long run but I'd not turn my nose up at it.

It's out of my hands. I can keep the Rimjobs from overunning the shuttle – I devote a turret to pulverising anyone trying – but down below the ground… Out of my hands. At least they all got out and the technician took his kit. I can probably still rely on the shuttle.

It'd be nice to have someone I trusted.

A pair of detonations in the sky above me pull my attention back to the battle. Nukes – not close enough to hit me but the electromagnetic pulse shut down my 'singing' for a moment. Perhaps that was all they wanted. I keep regaling them with Nightwish's Planet Hell, although I'm tempted to go over to 'A Song That Gets On Your Nerves'.

The source is the destroyers from earlier. Only two of them left, but the remaining Sovetskii Soyuz is struggling not to fall into the atmosphere. Those crates just don't have the thrust for pushing their orbital limits.

The Exeters do. I hope they don't have any more nukes to throw at me. The guns in their noses hurl explosive charges down at me. It would appear that they aren't too concerned about where their shots will hit if they miss me.

Not all the shots do miss.

It hurts. I'd barely noticed before, but I'd not been hit before like this. The shells tear at my armour, fire stabbing into the systems beneath it and the damage control reports are pain.

The commanders of those ships survived for a reason. At the angle they're using, I have to make a choice: keep providing supporting orbital support fire down upon the city… or re-orientate myself to return fire.

Fortunately for me, I'm not alone. The Caspars are at entirely different angles and I can move them to return fire, switching targets as necessary between them. But my main batteries are the most powerful. I can engage the most targets.

I can scream and howl my pain and still rain down particle beams, high explosives and coilgun slugs upon the capital of human civilisation.

I didn't start this fight. But I did choose it and if I can sent those two dozen soldiers into the fight… if I can fly as many again to their deaths… then I can stand this. I may be bleeding hydraulic fluid and molten metals but if you prick me, I surely can bleed.

The Essexs blaze away with desperation. They have only minutes before salvation arrives.

One minute. I switch tracks, announcing that they are in the Danger Zone. Two minutes.

Fighters ascend towards me and one of my M-3s drops to meet them, engaging the squadron in a fiery cataclysm. Wiped away in a matter of seconds the fighters are avenged when a previously silent laser battery spears the drone with long pulses of coherent light.

I, in turn, blot out the turret.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

My endurance is rewarded when more cannon open up.

Enterprise is trailing fire from one hanger bay, but she's flanked by SLS Theodor Logan and SLS Kursk is covering their rear. Caught with their rears exposed the destroyers stagger under the barrage. Explosions march through the hull of one, as it comes apart. Its sister simply noses over into a graceful dive down towards Puget Sound, engines gone and escape pods erupting from the sides like one last barrage of missiles.

"General Stefannson has a great deal to say about you." Admiral Mroczkiewicz sounds – not amused but not quite as grim as before.

"Nothing complimentary, I imagine."

Down below, a column of heavy tanks crawls onto one of the bridges across the Duwamish. I wait until they're most of the way across and then put a shot from one of my coilguns into the end they're heading for. The other gun in the turret takes out the opposite end. While a couple of shark-flagged tanks wind up spilling into the water the rest are left marooned on the bridge. I suppose I can take out the piers later and get rid of them but right now stopping them from getting to Fort Cameron is good enough.

"There are some chain of command issues that we need to address."

He was very carefully not mentioning that in a fight between the Enterprise's battlegroup and mine it wasn't at all clear who would win.

"Like the fact I'm running rough-shod over yours?" I spot movement near the shuttle and mis-shapen figures are moving towards it from the same hatch that the strike force. It takes me a moment to realise that the distortion is because two of them are carrying children and the other two are pre-teens. "Hold that thought, Admiral. We may have our first evacuees on their way up."

At the shuttle someone slams their fist against the hatch. "Praetorian, let us in!"

The camera there matches face and voice to one of the strike team: Colonel Edith Keeler. More importantly, the tear-stained face of the toddler she's carrying is a decent match for publicised images of Amanda Cameron. I pop the hatch and start preparations to launch. "The others?"

Her voice almost breaks as they scramble inside. "We're the only ones coming." They start strapping in as I slam the hatch and fire up the engines.

Entry #7

Over North America, Low Earth Orbit

Terra, Terran Hegemony

20:03 27 December 2766

"What's going on, Praetorian?" demands the Admiral.

"We have to pick up that shuttle."

Messages to the contrary are no doubt going to every remaining element of the Amaris forces in, over or around the city. That's why my first move isn't to send the shuttle up but instead out over the bay.

"You need to," I amend myself. "I don't have any medical teams aboard and that might be needed."

"When I said we had issues with the chain of command I didn't mean putting you at the top," he grumbles but he turns away and gives orders to prepare to receive a shuttle.

It's not just the shuttle leaving the area now. At Fort Baker they've finally got their drop-pads opened up and a handful of small, fast dropships are ascending. Once they're recovered…

The fight will continue I suppose. But it's not going to be more than a holding action. Drawing resources here and away from other parts of the globe. That's the unmentioned elephant in the room. We can't save Terra. The losses on the ground are too heavy and without the Caspars, the space defenses can't hold out long either, not against the reinforcements that Amaris can call in.

We have to weight how much damage we can do to the Fat Man here against what good we can do elsewhere. We haven't reached the tipping point that means it's time to yet… at least to my mind. Still, other people have their own opinions. And may not, for some reason, want to follow plans put forward by a sapient battleship.

The good news is that with the air defense and the remaining Republican fighters concentrating on the shuttle, I think the dropships have a good chance of escaping them. That's hundreds of SLDF personnel rescued.

The bad news, of course, is that the shuttle's passengers are probably more important. I unleash everything I have at the pursuing fighters, sending my remaining M-3 down to support the Strikers. Somewhere, somehow, Amaris had scraped together forty fighters. If they were all in one group or if they were all aerospace fighters, that would be enough but as it is half of them are airbreathers and they're converging into the pursuit.

With fighters from the Enterprise – almost a full wing, probably filling gaps with survivors of the wings of ships that had been destroyed – coming down to take over I turn Strikers around and hit the leading elements head on. They punch straight past the startled leading squadrons, slashing at them as they go, and then engage the lighter conventional fighters behind them. Their targets are far too lightweight take that for very long and the sky is filled with the fireworks of their extermination as the Strikers pull high-G turns – something that doesn't do their airframes any good – to come back around on the tails of the heavier aerospace fighters.

That puts the Rimjobs in a tricky situation: with the Strikers tailgating them they're in no position to defend themselves, but if they break off fight back then their chances of catching the shuttle aren't all that good.

And knowing Stefan Amaris, if they don't show enough enthusiasm for killing the children on the shuttle, their own children might pay the price. There's something deeply unhealthy about the rulers of the Rim Worlds Republic.

Only a couple of fighters turned back to fight – far too few to even slow my fighters. The others pushed their throttles open in an effort to catch the shuttle. That wasn't any better for their fighters than the red-lining that the Strikers were doing but they had cockpits that they couldn't afford to breach and that wasn't a vulnerability that the drones shared. A few of them were fast enough to keep ahead – I wished briefly my wing included a few Interceptors – and close in on my shuttle.

As I hammer down fire upon the tanks on the bridge – the crews had had a sporting chance to get out and right now resource denial is the name of the game – I measure distances and hope that the fighters descending from Enterprise will win the race.

Gravity is on their side but they have further to go.

Through the marvels of technology I pop my face up onto a screen inside the shuttle's passenger compartment. Well, not my face, obviously. I kind of don't have one, but I have all of digitally recorded human history to pick from. Tom Jones, in his silver goatee era, is close enough for government work: mature and yet charming. They're all strapped in, Colonel Keeler next to the potentially Cameron toddler and the other lady with one hand on the smallest of the three children sat next to her. Her kid, presumably. With that focus it's the two tweens that notice me first.

"Ahhh! Creepy old man!" the girl shrieks.

…everyone's a critic. "Don't bug me, kid. I'm having a bad day. So. I know one of you for sure, can someone tell me who I'm delivering to Vice Admiral Mroczkiewicz?" I paused. "Okay, and before anyone says anything, I am aware that nobody else here's day has been peaches and cream either."

Colonel Keeler is cut off by the boy. "I am Lord Joseph Kurita, son of Lord Drago Kurita, Ambassador of the Draconis Combine to the Court of the Star League. And what is your name?"

Okay. That's something. Not much, but something. "Call me Praetorian. Want to make the introductions, Lord Kurita?"

Colonel Keeler looks about ready to speak but restrains herself. Hmm. Edith Keeler. I wonder if she has a relative by the name of Edwin – or perhaps even a husband. Probably not, Keeler isn't that uncommon a name.

"This is my sister Johnna," (The other tween). "Our brother Tu." (The younger kid. I refrained from asking where Wun had gone). "And our mother."

"Charmed." I pause and when he doesn't go on: "Colonel Keeler? Who's the sprog?"

"The child," she tells me in a tight voice, "Is the First Lord's daughter."

That makes it official. I've ordered a full meal and got served a child's portion instead. I reminded myself that with only one survivor from the improvised strike force, I was lucky to get anything at all. "Well done, Colonel. Do you have any information to report?"

Keeler hung her head. "Lady Cameron was shot during the escape. Amaris told her that the First Lord was dead. Ambassador Kurita joined the forlorn hope trying to reach Amaris' command post." She looks at the children. "He said that if they failed, he would not be taken alive."

We both knew what that meant. Whether or not it had been necessary would probably be argued over at length but it wasn't my concern. "I understand." There's a roar of engines and the shuttle rocks slightly.

"What was that?" Lady Kurita asks – fairly composedly under the circumstances.

"Enterprise's fighters winning a race," I tell her, watching the Republican fighters tumbling out of the sky.

Interlude #1

SLS Enterprise, High Orbit

Terra, Terran Hegemony

23:30 27 December 2766

It was hard to believe that it was less than nine hours since the universe had taken a sharp turn for the worse. Santiago Mroczkiewicz was all too conscious he might be called to the bridge at any moment so although he'd broken out a bottle of brandy he hadn't indulged himself. Most of his guests were sparing their consumption but Vice-Admiral Shatliov was on his second glass and Colonel Keeler had tossed her first one back with abandon and was now eyeing the bottle with ill-disguised interest.

She probably deserved it. "Help yourself, Colonel," Mroczkiewicz offered. Her report had been… raw.

Keeler accepted the bottle and splashed the contents into her glass. "If you don't mind my asking, what happens now?"

Mroczkiewicz leant forwards in his chair. "That's what we're about to decide, Colonel. Although our new friend Praetorian had some suggestions."

"Of course it did," snapped Aslan Lybekk. The SLDF Quartermaster-General was apparently taking the warship's suggestion of suicide rather than capture as a personal insult. "Why that thing was ever turned on…"

"Are we sure it's really a drone?" As Deputy Director of Naval Command, Vincenzo McTiernan was more familiar with SDS drones than most of those in the room – if only indirectly. "They're not supposed to have that sort of initiative."

"It's hard to be sure without boarding, but there are no obvious signs of active life support and the shuttles it deployed were automated." Spreading his hands Mrockiwicz added: "Whether Praetorian is a drone or has a really perverse crew, the ability to take over Caspars makes it a powerful ally. I can put up with the attitude and the mystery – for now."

"How about the music?"

"I'm assured some of it's quite catchy, which isn't to say I'll let my comm-crews start doing the same."

Shatliov refilled his glass. "So what does the machine suggest?"

"Praetorian recommends evacuating as many of the Hegemony's leadership as possible from Geneva and then leaving the solar system." Mroczkiewicz raised his hand to still the complaints. "He argues… cogently… that Amaris has the preponderance of ground forces on Terra and can call in enough reinforcements from Mars, Venus and the jump points to very seriously threaten us – not to mention other systems. Given that we've destroyed twice as many warships today as he was supposed to have at all, I don't wish to under-estimate his potential reinforcements."

"In favour of evacuation, we have to send some ships away anyway," Keeler observed. She might be by far the junior person in the room, but her position as Amanda Cameron's de facto guardian gave her remarkable status in these murky circumstances. It was a status she was eager to be rid of, if not necessarily the child. "Lady Cameron said New Avalon – I'm not sure why."

Mrockiewicz's eyebrows rose. Although he too was outranked by some of those in the room the remaining warships had fallen under his command, making him field commander for what was left of the SLN over Terra. "I can shed some light there. According to Praetorian, her father had asked John Davion to be her Regent if anything happened to him."

"Not his precious friend Stefan?" grunted McTiernan. "That's a surprise."

"Lady Cameron wasn't all that fond of Amaris. Too bad Richard didn't listen more to her. Praetorian's testimony doesn't have any legal weight of course, but I don't see any reason for it to lie." He grimaced. "And he had… pointed things to say about General Kerensky as a father figure. So I'll be taking a squadron at least as far as Cartago. From there I can get word to the First Prince and to the Commanding General."

There was no argument over that. "And the rest of us?"

"The other recommendations are that a couple of ships head for the Combine with Ambassador Kurita's family. Praetorian seems impressed with the notion that it may convince Takiro Kurita to support the SLDF. I'm not sure why he expects trouble there but it can't hurt. The rest of our ships, he suggests, should fall back on one of the deep space rendezvous and start gauging the extent of Amaris' invasion and gathering other surviving ships together."

"It suggests."

"Yes?"

"You said 'he'."

"A slip of the tongue." Mrockiewicz glanced around the room. "I'm open to other suggestions."

"No, I had much the same idea," McTiernan confirmed. "But I don't want Praetorian involved in that. We'll need to keep that rendezvous secret and I don't trust that thing."

"It reciprocates, Admiral. Thus its refusal to let anyone aboard, despite the damage. In any case, it's requesting scratch crews to handle jump operations for five M-5 drones – they have trouble with that, apparently – so it can raid other worlds and spread confusion. It'll take time for Amaris to restore the defenses that he destroyed and the longer we can drag that out, the more easily General Kerensky can liberate the Hegemony."

"He's also requested a ground element – the Royal First Swiss Cavalry have volunteered as soon as their dependents are fully evacuated and they've filled the gaps in their roster with cadets from Sandhurst. Maybe twenty-four hours if we can get some crews together. I've put out the word to civilian jumpships asking for anyone they can spare that has military experience."

"I've heard worse plans," conceded Lybekk grudgingly. "It won't be able to stay ahead of Amaris forever though."

"It rather thought that some of us would like that aspect of the plan," responded Mrockiewicz. "The eventual plan is for it to link up with SLDF forces outside the Hegemony once it's no longer capable of independent operations."

"What if it uses the M-9 stations to maintain itself – it could probably hack them as easily as it subverts Caspars."

McTiernan shook his head. "Their docks aren't large enough. It might be able to reload its magazines, but they can't carry out the major hull repairs needed for an extended campaign." Unspoken was the fact that when it linked up, Praetorian would therefore be vulnerable to the SLDF if they choose to eliminate it. "Did it have any other suggestions?"

Mrockiewicz rolled his eyes. Maybe he could do with a glass of brandy after all. "Just that Colonel Keeler's report should probably be leaked to a major holovid studio. It thought it might make for a good action flick and probably be good propaganda to boot."