“At least they can’t be towing pods,” his chief of staff observed beside him. “Not with that accel.”

“Thank the Lord for small favors,” Tennard grunted, and the chief of staff nodded soberly, for the unhappy fact was that Tennard didn’t have anything like a full load of pods for his own ships, either. He could put a total of only seventy-three on tow, and that wasn’t going to give him anywhere near the salvo density he wanted for his first strike. On the other hand, the Peeps wouldn’t have anything at all to respond with, and his SDs had immeasurably better point defense. If he could take out a half dozen battleships in the first strike, then match courses and maintain separation for a classic missile duel, his people would have a fairly good chance of shooting the survivors up badly enough to make them think very hard about breaking off. Of course, the Peeps would be shooting up his ships in the meantime, and those damned missile-heavy battleships of theirs were just the thing to do it with. But—

He chopped his thoughts off and began issuing a steady stream of orders, and even as he gave them, he tried to pretend he didn’t know what was going to happen. Not that it would have made any difference if he had chosen to admit it to himself. There was no way he could withdraw without at least attempting to defend Zanzibar. Even if the honor of the Royal Navy hadn’t made that unthinkable, the act would devastate the faith of the Star Kingdom’s other allies in the worth of a Manticoran guarantee of protection. But the truth was that if the Peeps were willing to take their losses and keep coming, they had the numbers to weather his understrength pod salvo, cripple or destroy his ships of the wall, and still carry through to take out every ship and structure in Zanzibar orbit.

All Rear Admiral Tennard could really hope to do was make it expensive for them, and he set grimly out to do just that.

· · • · ·

“Coming up on translation in thirty-one minutes, Citizen Admiral,” the voice over the com said, and Javier Giscard reached out to press the stud.

“Understood, Andy,” he told Citizen Commander MacIntosh. “Citizen Commissioner Pritchart and I will be up to the flag deck shortly.”

“Aye, Sir,” MacIntosh said, and Giscard smiled crookedly at Pritchart as he released the stud.

“I do believe Andy has his suspicions about us,” he remarked.

“You do?” Pritchart looked at him sharply, and he nodded.

The two of them sat in his day cabin, already skinsuited while they waited for the alarms which would summon Salamis’ crew to action stations. No doubt most of their subordinates thought they were deeply immersed in some last-minute planning session—and so they were, in a sense. But none of their subordinates would have expected to see People’s Commissioner Pritchart sitting in Citizen Admiral Giscard’s lap, nor guessed exactly what sort of plans they were laying. Or so Pritchart had thought, and Giscard’s remark touched her topaz eyes with alarm.