Honorverse favorite passages

cthia wrote:BTW. Ginger's command is a repair/ammo ship. Probably over a year ago, I expressed how ironic it would be to be a repair ship Captain who was attacked and couldn't fight back, yet was carrying a shitload, oops shipload, of munitions! That thought of mine wasn't received too well IIRC. BUT! Methinks RFC might have kicked the "solution looking for a problem" upstairs to the Admiralty. Albeit, I haven't found out what they are armed with, yet.

And get this. The Charles Ward is part of the Taylor-class of FSV's. And my last name is Taylor. It could simply be a coincidence. But a nice one.

Think about it. Like I said before, phucking with a repair ship or missile collier ought to be the last thing one would want to do…

“Listen, you idiot. I am stocked to the gills with missiles. And I can fire them and roll pods all day long until I get tired. You got it?”

Of course, the Taylors are only 20 % larger than a BC.

SoV Ch. 42 wrote:She reclaimed her towel and wrapped it around herself like a sarong, then perched in the desk chair and keyed the display. The header of a recorded message came up, and she frowned. It was an inter-ship message, which meant it wasn’t from the Commodore, but she didn’t recognize the originating address. Charles Ward? What kind of name was that for a ship?

Well, I guess it’s no sillier than Quentin Saint-James or Marconi Williams, even if I never heard of him—whoever he was, she thought as she punched the play key. I wonder what he d—

Her thought chopped off in mid-word as the display image dissolved into the face of the message’s sender. She stared at it, unable—or maybe unwilling—to believe what she was seeing as the playback began.

“Hi, Helen,” Paulo d’Arezzo said. “Sorry I haven’t been able to get a message to you sooner. It’s been crazy! But they promise me a dispatch boat’s pulling out for Spindle this afternoon. I don’t know if you’ve heard about the Kitty.” His face twisted, but he continued unflinchingly. “She never had a chance when they took out Hephaesteus, but I’m fine—fine, you hear me? And Captain Lewis and Senior Chief Wanderman are fine, too. In fact, we’re all in the same ship now. There was a drill on Weyland that had all the R&D staff dirtside when the attack came in. And Aikawa made it to. He wasn’t in the ship when they hit us. He was in transit between Manticore and the station.”

He paused, his recorded lips seeming to tremble just a bit, as he came to the end of that first, rapid-fire spurt of words. Then he drew a deep breath, and his gray eyes were dark and shadowed when he spoke again.

“It’s…sort of hard to believe anyone’s still alive,” he said softly, “and the one person I most need to talk to about it’s off in some ship named Quentin Saint-James. I wish to hell you were right here right this minute, but, God—! When I heard about what happened to Hephaestus—and to the Kitty—I went down on my knees because Captain Terekhov’d taken you with him. I’ve run scared where people are concerned for too long, Helen. But the Yawata Strike clarified a lot of things for a lot of people, and one of the things it clarified for me is how I feel about you. I think you feel the same—or I sure hope you do, because I’m going to be a real pain in the ass if you don’t!”

His lips quivered again, this time with a smile—or Helen thought it was a smile, anyway. She wasn’t really sure, because she was crying, she realized—crying so hard she could hardly even see the imagery, even as she laughed—and her hands rose to cover her mouth.

“Look,” he went on, “the CW’s deploying to Spindle as soon as we get the new personnel worked up. And when we get there, I’m taking you to the best restaurant in Thimble. And after that, we’re finding a hotel, and—”

He went on talking, and Helen Zilwicki took one hand away from her lips and touched his face on the display—the face she’d known she would never see again—with trembling fingers while it wavered and swam through her tears.

ywing14 wrote:""Cease fire!" she snapped before her gunners could wipe out all of the cripples, as well. And, almost to her surprise, they obeyed. She felt a distant amazement at their compliance, for she knew how dreadfully most of them had hungered for revenge. But perhaps they were as stunned by the sheer magnitude of their success as she was.

She supposed it would go into the history books as the Battle of Cerberus, but it shouldn't. She felt an appalled sense of horror at the totality—as unanticipated on her part as on Paul Yearman's— of what she had accomplished. She had killed more people than this at the Fourth Battle of Yeltsin, but the sheer, blazing speed of it all stunned her. "Massacre of Cerberus" would be more accurate, she thought numbly. It had been like pushing Terran chicks into deep water filled with hungry Sphinx sabrepike. For the first time she could recall, she had fought a battle in which not one single person under her own command had been so much as injured, much less killed!

She glanced at her plot again. The transports had swerved wildly, turning to lumber uselessly towards the hyper limit, but they wouldn't get far. Already Scotty Tremaine was taking Krashnark in pursuit of one of them while Geraldine Metcalf went after the other in Barbarosa. There would be no one to oppose either of them, for the single Peep heavy cruiser had been the target of the port broadsides of every one of her ships except for Farnese herself. The failure of her fusion bottles hadn't blown PNS Rapier apart; they'd simply illuminated the splintered fragments of her hull in the instant that they consumed them along with her entire crew.

Honor sat a moment longer, staring at her plot, and then she shook herself, drew a deep, deep breath, and pressed the stud that connected her to the all-ships circuit.

"Well done, people—all of you. Thank you. You did us proud. Now do us even prouder by rescuing every survivor out there, People's Navy or State Security. I—"

She looked up without closing the circuit as Warner Caslet unlocked his shock frame and climbed out of his own chair. He turned to face her and came to attention, and her eyebrows rose as his hand snapped up in a parade ground salute. She started to say something, but then she saw other people standing, turning away from their consoles, looking at her. The storm of their exultation raged at her as, for the first time, they fully realized what their victory—and the capture of the transports—might mean, and she felt the entire universe hold its breath for just an instant.

Then the instant shattered as her flag bridge exploded in cheers. She tried to speak, tried to hush them, but it was impossible. And then someone opened the ship's intercom, and the thunder of voices redoubled as the cheers echoing through every compartment of her flagship rolled out of the speakers. The same deep, braying triumph came at her over the com from the other ships of the squadron, powerful enough to shake a galaxy, and Lady Dame Honor Harrington sat frozen at its heart while the wild tide of her people's emotions ripped through her with all the binding, cleansing fury of a nova.

They'd done it, the tiny corner of her brain which could still work realized. These were the people who had done the impossible—who had conquered Hell itself for her—and she couldn't think now, could no longer plan or anticipate. And it didn't matter that she'd led them, or that the odds had been unbeatable, or that no one could possibly have done what they had. None of that mattered at all.

She was taking them home, and they were taking her home, and that was all in the universe that mattered."

Echoes of Honor

ywing14 wrote:
I also like this one from At All Costs

"Pritchart had felt almost awed when she realized she was in the presence of a true romantic. A man who actually believed in the rule of law, the sanctity of solemn oaths, and the inviolability of personal responsibility.

She wondered if he'd always been so divorced from reality, or if he'd become that way as his own defense mechanism as he watched the star nation of his birth go insane about him. It didn't really matter. What mattered was that he was truly and absolutely committed to the very principles for which the Aprilist Movement had come into existence . . . and that she was almost as hopelessly romantic, in that respect, at least, as he was."

SoV Ch. 56 wrote:“You don’t ’pear t’ be enjoyin’ yourself,” Westman observed quietly in her ear, and she turned to look at her tablemate.

“I know. And I hate it,” she admitted, equally quietly. “Admiral Tourville’s done everything he could to make me and everyone else genuinely welcome. But I just can’t seem to forget he was once a Peep admiral.” She bit her lip, and her nostrils flared. “I don’t know if Aivars ever told you about his time as a POW or what State Security did to the survivors of his crews, but it was…horrible. Just horrible, Steve. And on top of that, Tourville’s the one whose ships captured Duchess Harrington and handed her over to StateSec. Who proceeded to torture and abuse her…and would’ve hanged her if her people hadn’t managed to escape! I know it was a different war, and I know the People’s Republic was a different star nation, and I’m ashamed of myself, but I just…I just can’t seem to forget that.”

“I didn’t know—” Westman began, but then a quiet voice interrupted.

“Excuse me, Ms. Terekhov,” Berjouhi Lafontaine said, and Sinead whipped around in her chair, eyes wide and beginning to flush in mingled fury and embarrassment as she realized Tourville’s flag lieutenant had been standing behind her the entire time she was speaking.

“Lieutenant!” she snapped. “I don’t know what—”

“Ma’am,” Lafontaine interrupted, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. The Admiral sent me to ask you if you’d join him for drinks and a brief conversation after the banquet. But, if I may, I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me say something to you on a personal level. Something I’m pretty sure the Admiral wouldn’t approve of my saying.”

“And what would that be, Lieutenant Lafontaine?” Sinead asked coldly.

“Two things, Ma’am,” Lafontaine said, meeting her eyes as levelly—and fearlessly—as Sinead knew Helen Zilwicki would have met someone’s on her husband’s behalf. “First, Admiral Tourville knows what happened to your husband’s squadron. In fact, he was one of the officers on the court-martial of the three State Security personnel who were ultimately hanged for what happened to those people, and he deeply regrets that the rest of the perpetrators managed to disappear before Republican forces liberated the planet on which they were held. He’s aware of all the reasons Sir Aivars—and you, as his wife—have for hating the People’s Republic of Haven, and he’s impressed that upon his entire staff.

“Second—and this is what I think he wouldn’t approve of my telling you—even though Count Tilly, his flagship, escorted Cordelia Ransom and Tepes when Duchess Harrington was delivered to Cerberus, he loathed every moment of that trip. In fact, it was evident to everyone on his staff that once Ransom—and she was the one who insisted Admiral Theisman assign that duty to him—finished at Cerberus, she intended to take the Admiral back to Nouveau Paris to be tried before a People’s Court for treason against the Revolution because he’d protested the decision to hang the Duchess as a violation of the Deneb Accords. And he’s the one who allowed her and her people to reach the surface of Cerberus undetected.”

“I beg your pardon?” Sinead said with cold skepticism. “And how did he do that?”

“It’s never appeared in any official report, Ma’am,” Lafontaine said steadily, “and the Admiral’s never mentioned it, even to the Duchess. But when the two pinnaces her people stole for their escape separated from Tepes, they were tracked…but not reported. In fact, the tracking data was deleted.”

“And how did this extraordinary series of events occur?”

“Admiral Tourville personally deleted the data while People’s Commissioner Honecker was still staring at the main visual display.”

Lafontaine never raised her voice, but her tone was flat, almost hard, and Sinead stared at her in disbelief. Then she gave her head a small shake.

“And exactly why, do you think, the Admiral’s never told a soul about this?” she asked. “And, forgive me for asking, Lieutenant, but if he’s ‘never mentioned it’ to anyone, how does it happen you know?”

“I can’t tell you for certain why he’s never mentioned it, Ma’am,” the lieutenant replied, still meeting her eyes unwaveringly. “My best guess is that it’s because he feels it would seem self-serving and because there’s no evidence he actually did it.” She shrugged ever so slightly. “It’s rather difficult to use erased tracking data to prove a point, Ms. Terekhov.”

“All right,” Sinead said unwillingly. “I’ll admit that’s true. But I’d still be very interested to hear how it is you’re aware of this top-secret good deed of his.”

“Admiral Foraker—she was only Citizen Commander Foraker then, of course—was Admiral Tourville’s operations officer, Ma’am,” Lafontaine said quietly. “She was the one who realized the pinnaces had separated from Tepes, and she was about to delete the data from Count Tilly’s database when she realized the Admiral was looking at her display over her shoulder. Then he reached past her and erased the data himself. And after he did that, he walked back across to People’s Commissioner Honecker and he said—these are his exact words, Ma’am—‘Too bad. There can’t be any survivors. Too bad…Lady Harrington deserved better than that.’ And the reason I know he did that, the reason I’ll never forget what he said, is that a very young ensign, by the name of Lafontaine, was Admiral Foraker’s assistant tracking officer on Count Tilly’s flag bridge that day.”

The shock of it went through Sinead Terekhov like a splash of ice water, but those bright blue eyes never wavered.

My God, it’s the truth, she thought. I don’t have to be a treecat to recognize the truth when I hear it. And he’s never told anyone? Not even Duchess Harrington herself?

She turned her head, looking at the smiling Havenite officer with the bushy mustache, laughing at something Admiral Culbertson had just said, and then she looked back at Lafontaine.

“Lieutenant,” she said, “please accept my profound apology for any rudeness I’ve shown you this evening. And thank you for sharing that with me. Should I assume you’d just as soon I didn’t tell Admiral Tourville you have?”

“Ms. Terekhov, I think the Admiral would probably rip my head off if you told him,” Lafontaine said wryly. “Mind you, I think he’d hand it back later, and I really, really hope that someday all of this will come out. But if it does, I don’t think it’ll ever be because he told anyone. Personally, I’m hoping Admiral Foraker will be a little less reticent the next time she and Duchess Harrington come face-to-face.” The lieutenant smiled. “As you may have heard, Admiral Foraker isn’t a real stickler for strict military protocol. And she’d probably figure that, as a fellow admiral, she’d have a pretty fair chance of surviving his reaction!”

“I understand.” Sinead’s smile was far warmer, and she reached out to lay a hand on Lafontaine’s forearm. “And I also understand how fortunate Admiral Tourville is to have you, Lieutenant.” Her fingers squeezed gently, then she removed her hand and reached for her dessert fork. “And please tell him I’ll be delighted—and honored—to meet with him after the banquet.”

cthia wrote:I'm trying not to jump the gun here. Shit, it's too late for that. Why on Earth was everyone complaining about SoV when it was first released? I thoroughly enjoyed it. Its chocked full of goodies.

Uncompromising Honor wrote:“And if you’re unwilling to destroy your warships yourself, I’ll take care of that for you, too. You can just leave them where they are, and I’ll take them out from here. Or you can come out to meet me. Unlike the Solarian League, the Grand Alliance has no interest in massacring millions of civilians. But you and your ships, Admiral Kingsford—the gallant personnel of the Solarian League Navy—are another matter entirely. So please leave orbit and come out to meet me. There’s nothing you could do that would make my people happier.”

Her eyes bored into him, daring him—begging him—to take up her challenge. To take his ships out where she could kill every one of them without endangering a single civilian life. He saw that challenge, understood it perfectly…and something shriveled inside him. Twenty brittle seconds stretched out. Then her nostrils flared, with what might have been contempt or might have been disappointment, when she recognized his refusal to take up that iron gauge.