Toll of honor, p.1
Toll of Honor, page 1
part #15 of Honor Harrington Series
Table of Contents
Book One Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Book Two Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Author’s Note
TOLL OF
HONOR
DAVID WEBER
Baen
Toll of Honor
By David Weber
A NEW SOLO NOVEL IN DAVID WEBER'S NYT BEST-SELLING HONORVERSE
“It is our duty to pay for our liberty with our own blood. The freedom that we shall win through our sacrifice and exertions, we shall be able to preserve with our own strength.” —Subhas Chandra Bose
Lieutenant Brandy Bolgeo has come home from the Battle of Hancock station wounded in both body and spirit. She will need months to regenerate her lost leg, but how long will it take to heal her heart?
She’s come home to find that her wounds, her ship’s brutal damage, the deaths of so many friends, were the fault of an arrogant, aristocratic coward who broke and ran in the face of the enemy. Who left her ship to pay the price for his craven desertion under fire. And whose powerful political allies are determined to protect and preserve him at any price.
They have held hostage the declaration of war until Lord Pavel Young escaped the consequences of his cowardice. They didn’t care what it cost the Navy. They didn’t care what it cost the entire Star Kingdom of Manticore. Their tactics have cost the Royal Navy the priceless initiative as revolution and military purges wrack the People’s Republic of Haven, and that lost window of opportunity will cost the Star Kingdom seventeen years of bloody warfare and hundreds of thousands of deaths.
Now Young is free to seek vengeance on the people he feels have “wronged” him. People like Paul Tankersley and Honor Harrington. Paid duelists, smear tactics, hired assassins in public restaurants . . . nothing is beneath Pavel Young. But Captain Harrington can look after herself, and Pavel Young is about to face the fury of the woman the newsies call the “Salamander.” Yet who will save the Star Kingdom from the repercussions of his actions?
Women and men like Brandy Bolgeo are about to pay the toll for the Star Kingdom of Manticore’s honor.
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
At All Costs • Mission of Honor • Crown of Slaves with Eric Flint
Torch of Freedom with Eric Flint
The Shadow of Saganami • Storm from the Shadows
A Rising Thunder • Shadow of Freedom
Cauldron of Ghosts with Eric Flint
Shadow of Victory • Uncompromising Honor
EXPANDED HONOR
Toll of Honor
WORLDS OF HONOR edited by David Weber
More than Honor • Worlds of Honor
Changer of Worlds • The Service of the Sword
In Fire Forged • Beginnings
What Price Victory?
MANTICORE ASCENDANT
A Call to Duty with Timothy Zahn
A Call to Arms with Timothy Zahn & Thomas Pope
A Call to Vengeance with Timothy Zahn & Thomas Pope
A Call to Insurrection with Timothy Zahn & Thomas Pope
THE STAR KINGDOM
A Beautiful Friendship
Fire Season with Jane Lindskold • Treecat Wars with Jane Lindskold
A New Clan with Jane Lindskold
GORDIAN DIVISION SERIES
The Gordian Division with Jacob Holo
The Valkyrie Protocol with Jacob Holo
The Janus File with Jacob Holo
The Weltall File with Jacob Holo
The Thermopylae Protocol with Jacob Holo, forthcoming
MULTIVERSE SERIES
Hell’s Gate with Linda Evans
Hell Hath No Fury with Linda Evans
The Road to Hell with Joelle Presby
TOLL OF
HONOR
DAVID WEBER
Toll of Honor
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.
Copyright © 2024 by Words of Weber, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 978-1-9821-9331-7
Cover art by David Mattingly
First printing, April 2024
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Weber, David, 1952- author.
Title: Toll of honor / David Weber.
Description: Riverdale, NY : Baen Publishing Enterprises, 2024. | Series:
Expanded honor ; 1
Identifiers: LCCN 2023055257 (print) | LCCN 2023055258 (ebook) | ISBN
9781982193317 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781625799548 (e-book)
Subjects: LCSH: Harrington, Honor (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Women
soldiers—Fiction. | Space warfare—Fiction. | LCGFT: Science fiction. |
Novels.
Classification: LCC PS3573.E217 T65 2024(print) | LCC PS3573.E217
(ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23/eng/20231204
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023055257
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023055258
Printed in the United States of America
Electronic version by Baen Books
www.baen.com
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Book One
HMS Pasteur
Manticore Planetary Orbit
Manticore Binary System
March 17, 1905 PD
“how you doing there, Lieutenant?”
Brandy Bolgeo turned her head on the pillow and smiled. It was a worn, crooked smile, and she raised the cast on her right hand and forearm.
“I’ve been better, actually,” she told the sick berth attendant.
“I hear that.”
The petty officer tapped the display on the end of Brandy’s bunk to check her chart, then nodded in satisfaction.
“I expect you’re tired of hearing this, Ma’am,” he said, “but you really are going to be fine. It’ll take a while, but they do good work at Bassingford.”
“I know.” Brandy nodded. “They put my dad back together after that explosion on Vulcan in ’97. Of course, he still had most of his original parts, except for one hand. They were busted up, but he still had them.”
She looked down at the flat sheet covering the space her right leg should have occupied and grimaced.
“Hey, your chart says regen will work fine in your case!” the SBA said.
“But I’m going to be down with this for months.” Brandy’s grimace turned bitter. “This isn’t the best time for any of us to take a vacation, PO!”
“Getting yourself put back together is not a ‘vacation,’ Ma’am.” The SBA’s tone was sterner. “It’s called doing your job. And you and your people damn well earned the right to take however long it takes.”
Brandy’s mouth tightened as memories of all the shipmates who’d never have the chance to put themselves “back together” flowed through her. HMS Cassandra had been brutally hit in what the newsies had dubbed the Battle of Hancock Station. Not that its name mattered a single solitary damn to anyone—like Brandy—who’d survived it. Almost a third of her crewmates aboard Cassandra hadn’t. In fact, it was a miracle the battlecruiser herself had escaped destruction, and a quarter of her survivors—like Brandy herself—had been badly wounded. If Admiral Danislav had arrived with Battle Squadron 18’s dreadnoughts even twenty minutes later than he actually had . . .
“You’re probably right,” she said after a moment. “I wish it wasn’t going to take so long, but you’re probably right.”
“I am right,” the SBA corrected her firmly, then smiled. “But once they get you back up on your feet—plural—do me one favor, Ma’am.”
“And what would that be, PO?”< br />
“Well, I think we do pretty good work here aboard the Louie, and we’re always glad to be there when you need us, but we do try to discourage repeat customers. So try real hard not to end up in the body shop again, okay?”
“I think you can safely assume that’s on my list of priorities.” Brandy smiled back, more naturally. “This is probably something somebody should only do once.”
“Actually, even if it would leave me with nothing to do, I’d prefer that people never did it.” The SBA patted her gently on her good shoulder. “If I don’t see you again before they transfer you, it’s been an honor taking care of you and everyone else from Hancock. We’re proud of you, Ma’am.”
Brandy nodded, although she felt uncomfortable every time someone told her that. She supposed they had a point, and she knew they were sincere, but it still felt . . . wrong. Like she was stealing somehow from the men and women who would never come home from the Hancock System. Logically, she knew that was stupid—or at least irrational. But logic wasn’t a lot of help just now.
The SBA headed on along the ward, and Brandy heard him checking in with his other patients. The enormous hospital ship had gathered in all of the Fifth Battlecruiser Squadron’s wounded—including Admiral Sarnow, its commanding officer—immediately after the engagement, and they were damned lucky she’d been attached to Danislav’s command. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have been, but given the level of tension with the People’s Republic and Hancock Station’s exposed position, the Admiralty had realized the odds that Danislav’s squadron was sailing straight into battle were high, and Hancock’s medical facilities were rudimentary, at best.
At that, though, the station’s facilities had been better than the ones on Cassandra. After the battle, at least. Brandy’s memories of the final stages of the engagement and its immediate aftermath were thankfully vague, but she remembered the battlecruiser’s skinsuited sick berth attendants desperately sealing her into the emergency life-support pod as sick bay lost pressure. And she vaguely recalled the way the ship had lurched as laserhead after laserhead pounded her even as Brandy slithered down the slope into unconsciousness and wondered if she’d ever wake up again.
It was hard to believe that had happened barely ten days ago, but Pasteur had headed back to the Manticore Binary System within forty-six hours of the battle. Some of the damaged warships had left even before that. Pasteur had been delayed until search and rescue operations were officially completed, but the cripples like Cassandra—far too badly shot up to be combat effective but still capable of movement under their own power—had been sent directly home. Some of them were probably beyond repair, but those which could be repaired would be needed—desperately—as quickly as they could be returned to service.
Too bad battlecruisers don’t regenerate, she thought. The yard dogs on Hephaestus and Vulcan are good, but they’re not miracle workers. Cassie snuck off before I could get a good look at her, but just from the damage she’d taken before I got clipped, she’s going to be down for months. Probably almost as many as me.
She closed her eyes, remembering her own terror amidst the roaring inferno in the ship’s environmental spaces. Remembering how the ship lurched again and again as she fought her way back through the passages to her duty station in Damage Control Central. The lurid schematics, blazing bloodred with battle damage, when she got there at last. Remembering the chatter over the com. The staccato damage reports. The high-pitched stress in those voices. The voices that chopped off in mid-syllable as they took still more hits.
And then the moment the blackness fell and everything just . . . stopped.
They try to get us ready for it. They really do. That’s what the Last View is all about. But Commandant Vickers was right. They can’t really prepare us. Nobody could.
But at least she’d survived, she told herself. And the SBA was right. Bassingford Medical Center did do good work.
Maybe by the time they got done with her, she’d actually be ready to return to duty.
At the moment, she doubted it.
* * *
“I don’t want you wearing him out, Sir.”
The stern voice penetrated Mark Sarnow’s semi-doze, and he opened his eyes. He also found himself trying not to smile, despite all the drugs floating through his system, as he saw the barrel-chested man trying to tiptoe into the compartment.
Sir Thomas Caparelli hadn’t been designed by nature to tiptoe anywhere, Sarnow thought. As a midshipman, he’d collected at least three broken noses, two concussions, a broken shoulder, and an awesome total of yellow—and red—cards on the soccer pitches of Saganami Island, and in some ways, he’d changed very little over the ensuing decades. His weight lifter’s torso and sprinter’s legs were an only too accurate reflection of his preference for going through obstacles, rather than around them, and he looked ridiculous trying to sneak into an invalid’s sickroom.
He was also the Royal Manticoran Navy’s First Space Lord, however, and Sarnow reached for the controls to raise his bed into a sitting position.
Caparelli opened his mouth, probably to tell him to stay right where he was, but then the First Space Lord shook his head.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said instead as the powered bed brought Sarnow upright. “And I don’t think you’re supposed to be sitting up yet.”
“Probably not, Sir,” Sarnow agreed, but he made no effort to lie back flat again, and Caparelli snorted.
Sarnow’s tenor was weaker and hoarser than it ought to have been, the First Space Lord reflected. But for a man who’d lost both legs below the knee, broken all but one of his ribs, and had somewhere around a quarter kilo of splinters from his command chair’s armored shell removed from his back, the admiral actually sounded far better than he’d anticipated.
“I’m not going to stay long,” he said. “For one thing, your doctors would murder me if I did! For another, they’re moving you dirtside in a couple of hours, so they’ll need me out of your hair by then. I wanted a few words before they haul you off to Bassingford, though.”
“Of course, Sir. What can I do for you?”
“The first thing you can do is not wear yourself out trying to do anything for me. Just listen.”
Sarnow nodded, and Caparelli flashed a brief smile. Then his expression sobered.
“First, you and your people did magnificently,” he said. “I know right now what you’re feeling most is how badly you got hammered and how many of those people of yours you lost, but what you—and they—did to the Peeps was—Well, it was damned amazing, is what it was. We never expected them to hit you that quickly, and given Admiral Parks’ dispositions—”
He shrugged, and Sarnow nodded in understanding. There were limits to how severely the First Space Lord would permit himself to criticize a station’s official commander, especially before the full reports on something like Hancock were in and analyzed. Sarnow suspected a lot of other flag officers would be less reticent, yet the truth was that in his own opinion, the wisdom of Sir Yancey Parks’ response to the Admiralty war warning could have been argued either way. It wasn’t the one he would have chosen. In fact, it wasn’t the one for which he’d argued. But given what Parks had known at the time, it hadn’t been totally unreasonable. And in the aftermath, Parks had moved with commendable speed to counterattack and crush the Peeps’ forward base in the Seaford System from which the attack had come.
It was unlikely that would absolve him in the Navy’s eyes for what had almost happened—hell, what had happened—in Hancock, but at least he’d moved swiftly to claim the prize for which Sarnow’s squadron had paid.
“What you may not have heard yet,” Caparelli continued, “is that White Haven hammered Parnell in Yeltsin even harder than the Peeps hammered you in Seaford. They got out with almost half their fleet, but White Haven shot hell out of them before Parnell could disengage. From the tac data, it looks like at least a third of his survivors will be in the yards for months, if not longer. Between the two of you, you gave us a pair of overwhelming victories in the opening engagements. With a little luck, we’ll be able to ride that while they’re still off balance. At the moment, White Haven’s moving from Yeltsin against Mendoza. Hopefully, he’ll be able to take out Chelsea before they can redeploy, as well.”
