Helfort's War Book 4: The Battle for Commitment Planet by Graham Sharp Paul Read Free Book Online

big feather in her cap. The politicians love her, so if she says she can swing it, yes, I think we’ll get what we want.”
    “Hope so.”
    Michael knew what Sedova was thinking. Fleet’s unwillingness to continue the dreadnought experiment despite the success the ships had achieved at Devastation Reef—against overwhelming odds, it had to be said—was inexplicable, not to mention a source of considerable frustration for all of
Redwood
’s crew. He broke the moment of silence that followed. “The rest of your team. All okay?”
    “Yes, all good.”
    “Fine. I’ll check on our guests, then I’ll be in the CIC.”
    “Sir.”
    Michael left the hangar and went forward to the drop tube. Stepping in, he dropped down to what had been the mine magazine when
Redwood
was a conventional heavy cruiser. Stripped back to bare metal, it housed over a hundred unhappy Hammer prisoners of war. Even with Kallewi’s marines, there were too many of them to take chances, so they had been locked in for the duration of the transit back to Nyleth, living off emergency rations and dependent on chemical toilets to meet the demands of nature. Michael hated to think what the magazine smelled like.
    The marines standing guard snapped to attention when Michael appeared.
    “At ease, Lance Corporal Karoly. How are our guests?”
    “Quiet, sir,” Karoly said, “and bored shitless. Lying around. Couple of hours ago, they tried the old fight routine, hoping we’d be dumb enough to come crashing in. Morons! We left them to it, and they gave up eventually. Apart from that, nothing much to report.”
    “Way I like it, Corp. Holocams still working?”
    Karoly smiled. “Didn’t take them long to find them, but even the most determined Hammer can’t get through armored plasglass. They spent ages trying, though. Slow learners, those Hammers. We’ve organized a temporary holovid if you’d like a look,” she said, waving a hand at a screen sitting on a battered old desk.
    Michael scanned the holovid with interest. Hammer prisoners littered the deck of the mine magazine, a scruffy bunch dressed in gray shipsuits and plasfiber boots churned out by
Redwood
’s overworked clothesbot. What made them stand out was the way they looked. Thanks to the Hammer’s blanket prohibition on cosmetic geneering, they were—Michael could not think of any other way to say it—an ugly bunch. By comparison, even the least attractive Fed had supermodel looks.
    “Look quiet enough to me, Corp.”
    “Well, sir, I hate tempting fate and all that, but unless there’s a thermic lance in there we don’t know about, they’re not going to cause us any problems.”
    “Let’s hope so. The good news is we’re on schedule, so we won’t have to tolerate them much longer. Anyway, looks like the green machine has things in hand, so I’m off to the CIC.”
    “Sir.”
       Back in
Redwood
’s combat information center, Michael settled himself into the command seat, his eyes instinctively scanning the holovids carrying the command and threat plots. Not that he needed to. There was nothing to see. Despite investing billions of FedMarks trying, nobody had been able to find a way to intercept starships in pinchspace, but the habit was deeply ingrained.
Redwood
’s coxswain, Chief Petty Officer Matti Bienefelt, had the watch. Michael waited until she finished talking to the ship’s navigation AI about a minor instability in the pinchspace generators.
    Satisfied that
Redwood
was not about to make an unscheduled drop into normalspace, Bienefelt turned to Michael. “Welcome back, sir,” she said, the concern on her face obvious. “You had me worried.”
    “I’ll be fine, Matti,” he said, ignoring yet another twinge of conscience. He and Bienefelt had been through a lot in a short space of time;
Redwood
was the sixth ship they had served on together:
DLS-387, Eridani, Adamant, Tufayl
, and
Reckless
were the others, and
Redwood
would not be the last. Bienefelt had