She paused for a moment, then went on in a much more somber voice.

“Nonetheless, a good shot will hit even a difficult target, and if one of these LACs is hit by almost anything, it will be destroyed. So once we commit them to action, we will lose some of them, people. But even if we lose a dozen of them, that’s only a hundred and twenty people—a third of a destroyer’s crew and less than six percent of a Reliant-class battlecruiser’s crew. And between them, those twelve LACs will have twenty-one percent more energy weapon firepower than a Reliant’s broadside. Of course, they won’t have a fraction of the battlecruiser’s missile power, and they have to get to knife range to really hurt the enemy. No one is trying to say they can magically replace capital ships, but all the projections and studies say that they can be a major enhancement to a conventional wall of battle. They should also be able to provide us with a local defense capability that can stand up to raiding Peep squadrons and let us pull our regular capital ships off picket duty, and their range and endurance on station should also make them invaluable for raids behind the enemy’s frontier.”

Her three newest subordinates gazed at her, clearly still struggling to take in all the information she’d just dropped on them. But there was a glow in their eyes, as well, as they began to envision the possibilities she’d enumerated… and to wonder what else they could figure out to do with the new units.

“Captain?” Stackowitz half-raised a hand, asking permission to speak, and Truman nodded. “I was just wondering, Ma’am—how many LACs will Minotaur carry?”

“Allowing for docking buffers and umbilical service points, the total mass cost per LAC, including its own hull, is about thirty-two thousand tons,” Truman said in an almost off-hand tone. “Which means we can only carry about a hundred of them.”

“A hun—?” Stackowitz cut herself off, and Truman smiled.

“A hundred. The wing will probably be divided into twelve eight-LAC squadrons, and we’ll carry the other four as backups,” she said. “But I think you can see what kind of force multiplier we’re talking about if a single carrier Minotaur’s size can put that many of them into space.”

“I certainly can, Ma’am,” Stackowitz murmured, and the other two nodded firmly.

“Good!” Truman said again. “Because now, people, the trick is to make it all work out as nice and pretty as the planners and the sims say it should. And, of course,” she bared her teeth at them, “as nice and pretty as I say it should, too.”

Chapter Four

“LORD Prestwick and Lord Clinkscales, Your Grace,” the secretary said, and Benjamin Mayhew IX, by God’s Grace Planetary Protector of Grayson and Defender of the Faith, tipped back in the comfortable chair behind the utilitarian desk from which he ruled Grayson as his Chancellor stepped through the door the secretary politely held open.