David Weber - Saganami Island 01 - Shadow of Saganami

Shadow of Saganami

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Epilogue

Character List for

The Shadow of Saganami:

The Shadow of Saganami

David Weber

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any

resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

ISBN: 0-7434-8852-0

Cover art by David Mattingly

Map by Randy Asplundh

First printing, November 2004

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Weber, David, 1952-

The shadow of Saganami / David Weber.

p. cm.

"A Baen Books original"—T.p. verso.

ISBN 0-7434-8852-0

1. Harrington, Honor (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Space warfare—Fiction.

I. Title.

PS3573.E217S54 2004

813'.54—dc22

2004015087

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH

Printed in the United States of America

For Anne McCaffrey,

because ideas, like dragons, fly,

and you helped give mine wings.

Baen Books by David Weber:

Honor Harrington:

On Basilisk Station

The Honor of the Queen

The Short Victorious War

Field of Dishonor

Flag in Exile

Honor Among Enemies

In Enemy Hands

Echoes of Honor

Ashes of Victory

War of Honor

edited by David Weber:

More Than Honor

Worlds of Honor

Changer of Worlds

The Service of the Sword

Honorverse:

Crown of Slaves(with Eric Flint)

The Shadow of Saganami

Mutineers' Moon

The Armageddon Inheritance

Heirs of Empire

Empire from the Ashes(Megabook)

Path of the Fury

The Apocalypse Troll

The Excalibur Alternative

Oath of Swords

The War God's Own

Wind Rider's Oath

with Steve White:

Crusade

In Death Ground

The Stars at War(Megabook)

Insurrection

The Shiva Option

with John Ringo:

March Upcountry

March to the Sea

March to the Stars

with Eric Flint:

1633

Prologue

The missile salvo came screaming in from astern.

Counter-missiles took out eleven. The crippled starboard tethered decoy sucked two more off. The port

decoy had been destroyed two salvos ago—or was it three? He couldn't remember, and there was no

time to think about it as he snapped helm orders.

"Starboard ninety! Hard skew turn—get her nose up, Chief! Stand her on her toes!"

"Starboard ninety, rolling ship, aye!" Senior Chief Mangrum acknowledged, pulling the joystick hard

back.

Defiant's bow pitched up. She writhed to starboard, clawing upward, trying to wrench her vulnerable

port side away from the enemy, and the incoming missiles tracked viciously after her. The wounded light

cruiser's point defense lasers swivelled, tracking with unpanicked electronic speed, spitting coherent light.

Another missile shattered, then two more—a third. But the others were still coming.

"Valiant's lost her forward ring, Sir! She's—"

His head snapped around towards the visual display just asDefiant 's sister ship took another complete

missile broadside from the nearest Peep battlecruiser. The heavy laser heads detonated virtually

simultaneously less than five thousand kilometers offValiant' s port bow. The deadly bomb-pumped

lasers slashed out, stabbing through her fluctuating sidewall like white-hot needles through soft butter.

Light armor shattered, impeller nodes flashed and exploded like prespace flashbulbs, atmosphere

belched outward, and then the entire forward third of her hull shattered. It didn't explode, it

simply . . . shattered. The brutally mutilated hull began to tumble madly, and then her fusion bottle failed

and shedid explode.

"HandleyandPlasma Stream are crossing the Alpha wall, Sir!" Franklin shouted from Communications,

and he knew he ought to feel something. Triumph, perhaps. But the fact that two ships of his convoy had

escaped was cold and bitter ashes on his tongue. The other merchies hadn't,Valiant andResolute had

already died, and now it wasDefiant 's turn.

Point defense stopped one, final missile—then the other six detonated.

Defiantbucked and heaved indescribably. Damage alarms shrieked, and he felt the concussive shocks

of failing structural members as the lasers' transfer energy blasted into her hull.

"Missile Seventeen, Nineteen, and Twenty destroyed! Alpha Fourteen, Beta Twenty-Nine and Thirty

destroyed! Heavy damage, Frames Six-Niner-Seven aft! Point Defense Twenty-Five through Thirty

destroyed! Magazine Four breached! Lasers Seventeen and Nineteen destroyed! Heavy casualties

Engineering and—"

The frantic litany of his ship's horrendous wounds rolled on and on, but he had no time to listen to it.

Other people would have to deal with that the best they could, and his universe narrowed to the helm and

his tactical repeater plot.

"Prep and launch Mike-Lima decoys, all forward tubes! Roll port! Evasion pattern Uniform-X-ray!"

Senior Chief Mangrum did his best.Defiant twisted back around to her left, doubling back on her

course, turning her bows towards the oncoming missile storm. The decoy drones—not Ghost Rider

birds, because those were all gone; weaker and less sophisticated than the tethered system, but the best

she had left—streaked out in front of her, spreading out, calling to the sensors of the missiles trying to kill

her. He could smell smoke, the stench of burning insulation and circuitry—and flesh—and the back of his

brain heard someone shrieking in agony over an open com circuit.

"Point defense fire plan Horatius!" he snapped, and what was left of his Tactical Department started

throwing canisters of counter-missiles out of the bow tubes. The canisters were seldom used, especially

by a ship as small as a light cruiser, but this was exactly the situation for which they were designed.

Defiant had lost over half her counter-missile tubes. The canisters used standard missile tubes to put

additional clusters of defensive birds into space, and despite her vicious damage, the ship still had

three-quarters of her counter-missile uplinks, which gave her control channels to spare.

At least two-thirds of the incoming salvos lost track, twisting off into the depths of space after the decoy

drones. More of them disappeared as the light cruiser's counter-missiles' impeller wedges swept a cone

in front of her.Defiant 's defensive fire bored a tunnel through the middle of the dense swarm of attacking

missiles, and she roared down it, her surviving laser clusters in desperate continuous fire against the laser

heads on her flanks. Bomb-pumped lasers lashed at her, but they wasted themselves on her impenetrable

impeller wedge, for her hairpin turn had taken their onboard computers by surprise, and the surviving

laser heads had no time to maneuver into firing positions.

And well they should have been surprised, a fragment of his brain thought grimly. His bleeding ship was

headed directly into the teeth of the overwhelming enemy task force, now, not away, and the heavy spinal

grasers of her forward chase armament locked onto aMars -class heavy cruiser.

They opened fire. The range was long for any energy weapon, even the massive chasers, but the Peep

had strayed ahead of her consorts and the more massive battlecruisers as she raced eagerly for the kill,

andDefiant 's gunnery had always been good. Her target staggered as the deadly blast of energy, dozens

of times more powerful than even a ship of the wall's laser heads, sledgehammered into her. It was as if

she had run into a rock in space. The chasers went to rapid, continuous fire, sucking every erg

Engineering and their own capacitor rings could feed them. Audible warning alarms added their shrillness

to the cacophony of damage signals, combat chatter, and beeping priority signals as the grasers

overheated catastrophically, but there was no point cutting back, and he knew it.

So did the grasers' on-mount crews. They didn't even try to reduce power. They simply threw

everything they had, for as long as they had it, and their target exploded into wreckage, shattering into

jagged splinters, life pods, and vac-suited bodies. The tide of destruction swept aft, tearing her apart

frame by frame, and then she vanished in a sun-bright fireball . . . two seconds before Chaser Two's

abused circuitry exploded.

There was no time to feel exultation, or even grim satisfaction. The brief respite his desperate maneuver

had won ended as the Peeps adjusted. The dead cruiser's squadron mates rolled, presenting their

broadsides. They poured out fire in torrents, hurling their hate at their sister's killer. More missiles were

shrieking in from every firing bearing, joining the holocaust of theMars -class ships' fire, and there was no

way to avoid them all. No more tricks. No more clever maneuvers.

There was only time to look at the plot, to see the incoming death sentence of his ship and all his people

and to curse his own decision to fight. And then—

"Wake up, Aivars!"

His blue eyes snapped open, almost instantly. Almost . . . but not instantly enough to fool Sinead. He

turned his head on the pillow, looking at her, his breathing almost normal, and she nestled against him. He

felt her warmth, her softness, through the soft, silken fabric of her nightgown, and the short, feathery crop

of dark red hair shifted on his shoulder—his right shoulder—like an equally silken kiss.

"It's over," she said softly, green eyes glinting like emeralds in the bedside light.She must've turned it on

when she heard the nightmare , he thought.

"I know," he said, equally softly, and her mouth twisted in a sad, loving smile.

"Liar!" she whispered, reaching up, touching his neatly trimmed beard gently with a slender hand.

"No," he disagreed, feeling the sweat of remembered terror, remembered grief and guilt, cooling on his

forehead. "It may not be as over as you'd like, Love. It's just as 'over' as it's going to get."

"Oh, Aivars!" She put her arms around him, laying her head across his chest, feeling the hard beat of his

heart against her cheek, and tried not to weep. Tried not to show her fierce, bitter anger at the orders

which were taking him away from her once more. Tried not to feel anger at the Admiralty for issuing

them, or athim for accepting them.

"I love you very much, you know," she said quietly, not a trace of anger or resentment or fear in her

voice.

"I know," he whispered, holding her tightly. "Believe me, I know."

"And I don't want you to go," she went on, closing her eyes. "You've done enough—more than enough.

And I almost lost you once. I thought Ihad lost you, and the thought of losing you again, for good,

terrifies me."

"I know," he whispered yet again, arms tightening about her with a welcome pain. But he didn't say "I

won't go," and she fought down another spike of anger. Because he couldn't say it. He could never say it

and be the man she loved. Hyacinth had wounded him in so many, many ways, yet the man she had

always known was in there still. She knew it, and she clung to the knowledge, for it was her rock.

"I don't want you to go," she repeated, pressing her face into his chest. "Even though I know you have

to. But you come back to me, Aivars Terekhov.You come back to me!"

"I will," he promised, and felt a single, scalding tear on his chest. He hugged her more tightly still, and

neither of them spoke again for a long, long time. There was no need, for in all the forty-three T-years of

their marriage, he had never broken a promise to her. Nor would he break this one . . . if the choice was

his.

Chapter One

Admiral of the Red Lady Dame Honor Harrington, Steadholder and Duchess Harrington, sat beside

Vice Admiral of the Red Dame Beatrice McDermott, Baroness Alb, and watched silently as the

comfortable amphitheater seating of the huge holographic simulator filled up. It was an orderly audience.

It was also quite a bit smaller than it would have been a few years earlier. There were fewer

non-Manticoran uniforms out there, as well, and the vast majority of the foreign ones which remained

were the blue-on-blue of the Grayson Space Navy. Several of the Star Kingdom's smaller allies had cut

back sharply on the midshipmen they sent to Saganami Island, and there were no Erewhonese uniforms

at all. Dame Honor managed—somehow—to maintain her serene expression as she remembered the

tight-faced midshipmen who had withdrawn from their classes in a body when their government

denounced its long-standing alliance with the Star Kingdom of Manticore.

She didn't blame the young men and women, many of whom had been her students during her own time

on the Island, despite her personal sense of betrayal. Nor could she really blame their government. Part

of her wished she could, but Dame Honor believed in being honest with herself, and it had not been

Erewhon which betrayed the Star Kingdom's trust. It had been Manticore's own government.

She watched the final midshipman take his place with a -military precision fit to satisfy even a Saganami

Marine. Then Dame Beatrice rose from the chair beside hers and walked with brisk yet measured strides

to the traditional podium.

"Atttten—SHUN!"

Command Sergeant Major Sullivan's harsh voice filled even the vastness of the simulator with a

projection the finest opera singer would have been hard-pressed to match, and a perfectly synchronized,

thunderous "Bang!" answered as eleven thousand brilliantly polished boots slammed together in instant

response. Fifty-five hundred midshipmen and midshipwomen came to attention, eyes front, shoulders

square, spines ramrod straight, thumbs on trouser seams, and she looked back at them unblinkingly.

They were graduating early. Not as early as some of their predecessors had before Eighth Fleet's

decisive offensive under Earl White Haven. But much earlier than theirimmediate predecessors had, now

that Eighth Fleet's triumph had been thrown away like so much garbage. And they were headed not to

the deployments of peacetime midshipman cruises, but directly into the cauldron of a new war.

A losing war, Dame Beatrice thought harshly, wondering how many of those youthful faces would die in

the next few desperate months. How many of the minds behind those faces truly understood the

monumental betrayal which was about to send them straight into the furnace?

She gazed at them, a master swordsmith contemplating the burnished brightness of her new-forged

blades, searching for hidden flaws under the glittering sharpness. Wondering if their whetted steel was

equal to the hurricane of combat which awaited them even as she prepared their final tempering.

"Stand easy, Ladies and Gentlemen."

The Academy Commandant's voice was even, a melodious contralto that flowed into the waiting silence,

filling the stillness with its own quiet strength.

A vast, sibilant scuffing of boots answered her as the thousands of midshipmen assumed the parade rest

position, and she gazed at them for several more seconds, meeting their eyes levelly.

"You are here," she told them, "for one final meeting before you begin your midshipman cruises. This

represents a custom, a final sharing of what naval service truly is, and what it can cost, which has been a

part of Saganami Island for over two centuries. By tradition, the Commandant of the Academy addresses

her students at this time, but there have been exceptions. Admiral Ellen D'Orville was one such

exception. And so was Admiral Quentin Saint-James.

"This year is another such exception, for we are honored and privileged to have Admiral Lady Dame

Honor Harrington present. She will be on Manticore for only three days before returning to Eighth Fleet

to complete its reactivation and take up her command once more. Many of you have had the privilege of

studying under her as underclassmen. All of you could not do better than to hold her example before you

as you take up your own careers. If any woman in the Queen's uniform today truly understands the

tradition which brings us all together this day, it is she."

The silence was utter, and Honor felt her cheekbones heat as she rose from her chair in turn. The cream

and gray treecat on her shoulder sat stock still, proud and tall, and the two of them tasted the emotions

sweeping through the assembled midshipmen. Emotions which were focused on her, true, but only

partially. For today, she truly was only a part, a spokeswoman, for something greater than any one

woman, whatever her accomplishments. The silent midshipmen might not fully understand that, yet they

sensed it, and their silent, hovering anticipation was like a slumbering volcano under a cool, white mantle

of snow.

Dame Beatrice turned to face her and came to attention. She saluted sharply, and Honor's hand flashed

up in answer, as sharp and precise as the day of her own Last View. Then their hands came down and

they stood facing one another.

"Your Grace," Dame Beatrice said simply, and stepped aside.

Honor drew a deep breath, then walked crisply to the lectern Dame Beatrice had yielded to her. She

took her place behind it, standing tall and straight with Nimitz statue-still upon her shoulder, and gazed

out over that shining sea of youthful eyes. She remembered Last View. Remembered being one of the

midshipwomen behind those eyes. Remembered Nimitz on her shoulder that day, too, looking up at

Commandant Hartley, feeling the mystic fusion between her and him, with all the other middies, with

every officer who had worn the Star Kingdom's black and gold before her. And now it was her turn to

stand before a new arsenal of bright, burnished blades, to see their youth and promise . . . and mortality.

And to truly sense, because this time she could physically taste it, the hushed yet humming expectancy

and union which possessed them all.

"In a few days," she said finally into their silence, "you will be reporting for your first true shipboard

deployments. It is my hope that your instructors have properly prepared you for that experience. You are

our best and brightest, the newest link in a chain of responsibility, duty, and sacrifice which has been

forged and hammered on the anvil of five centuries of service. It is a heavy burden to assume, one which

can—and will—end for some of you in death."

She paused, listening to the silence, feeling its weight.

"Your instructors have done their best, here at the Island, to prepare you for that burden, that reality.

Yet the truth is, Ladies and Gentlemen, that no one can truly prepare you for it. We can teach you, train

you, share our institutional experience with you, but no one can be with you in the furnace. The chain of

command, your superiors, the men and women under your orders . . . all of them will be there. And yet,

in that moment when you truly confront duty and mortality, youwill be alone. And that, Ladies and

Gentlemen, is a moment no training and no teacher can truly prepare you to face.

"In that moment, you will have only four things to support you. Your training, which we have made as

complete, as demanding, and as rigorous as we possibly could. Your courage, which can come only from

David Weber - Saganami Island 01 - Shadow of Saganami

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