by Jay Allan
Stockton angled his vector slightly, an instinctive move to add some evasive maneuvering to his course, but he’d also mostly stayed on a direct line. He didn’t have the time or the fuel to waste, any more than any of his people did. He would just have to take his chances, and hope the rapidly increasing range from the firing batteries was enough.
He glanced down at the display. The pursuing Hegemony forces were accelerating. It had taken considerable time for the ships to reverse their vectors toward Megara, and for a large portion of their line to come about to pursue Barron and the fleet, but, now, they were blasting at full thrust, even as the fleeing Confederation vessels had cut back to 30g or less. That was still fast, but it was a lot slower that the Hegemony ships chasing them. Stockton had been surprised the fleet had managed to maintain the massive overloads as long as they had, and yet disappointed they couldn’t manage it further. Another fifteen minutes would have eliminated any possibility the fleet, or even part of it, would get caught still in the Olyus system. Right now, the whole thing was too close to call. Some ships would get through, almost certainly, but there was a good chance some would get hit before they could transit.
Or, they just might all make it through. Stockton tried to analyze the data, to come up with his own estimate, but it was just too complex. Some of the fleeing ships had battle damage, others had suffered malfunctions during the reactor overloads that had made the breakout possible. Over a dozen ships of various classes were strung out behind the fleet, unable to keep up, doomed to almost certain destruction if their sweating damage control teams couldn’t repair their engines quickly enough.
Stockton had run the calculations on his squadrons as well, and the results were no less frustrating. There was time, in theory, to get all his people landed before the fleet transited. But, theory and reality were different things, and human error, damaged landing bays, and a hundred other factors clouded his view.
One thing he knew, almost for certain, though, was that he had the longest odds. He was too far back, and even redlining his reactor and drives could still leave him behind when Dauntless transited.
And, he knew Tyler Barron well enough to guess that Dauntless would be the last ship to go through, the last chance to get a ride out of Olyus.
If he missed that, he’d have to take his damaged ship into the point, and hope his dwindling fuel reserves held out long enough to take him through…and to get him back onboard.
Otherwise, he might make it through, only to watch the fleet pull away, as he waited for his life support to slip slowly away.
* * *
“Admiral, we’re out of time.” Moments before, Atara Travis had accepted Barron’s orders to decelerate at maximum thrust. It was a wildly risky maneuver, but one she understood. There were still fighters trying to catch the fleet, several dozen of them, and while Barron and Nguyen had agreed the fleet could not slow down to wait for the last of the squadrons, Barron had issued the command almost immediately after the senior admiral’s ship had transited. It was mutiny, at worst, though Travis doubted anyone would see it in such severe terms. She understood Barron’s attachment to the fleet’s pilots, his recognition and appreciation for all they had done, in Olyus, and in previous battles.
And she also knew that Jake Stockton was still out there.
Stockton had served under Barron—and her—for over a decade, and the two of them had watched him grow from a wild and somewhat crazy, if extremely talented, squadron commander, to an almost legendary leader, and arguably the one single man who had done the most to push back against the Hegemony. She didn’t like the idea of leaving him behind any more than Barron did…but she’d checked the numbers five times, and he was just too far away. If Dauntless stayed long enough to pick up Stockton, none of them would get out. The battleship would be caught against the point, with at least half a dozen railgun-armed enemy warships in range. It likely wouldn’t take more than one hit from the deadly weapons to slow Dauntless down, at least enough to allow the rest of the Hegemony forces to close and fire again.
She’d started to run the numbers. Then she’d tried to stop herself, but, her brain didn’t work that way, and it continued over her own internal protest. One chance in six. It was rough, based on considerable supposition, but in her gut, she knew that was close to the mark.
Dauntless had a one in six chance of escaping if the ship stayed long enough for Stockton to land.
She was as fond of Stockton as Barron was, as loyal to the pilot she called one of her closest friends as anyone. But, there was no justification for risking almost a thousand crew on the battleship, and the fleet commander she considered most likely to find a way to defeat the enemy. Not even to save Jake Stockton.
Barron hadn’t answered her, so she repeated herself. “Tyler…we have to reaccelerate and transit now.” Even as she spoke, fighters were landing on Dauntless’s flight decks, some of her own, and others from a number of different ships, strays and refugees seeking any place to go. Even if Barron gave the order now, pushed the thrusters back to full acceleration, most of the ships out there were close. They would be able to get aboard, at least if the flight crews could cram them all in the bays somehow.
All except Stockton, and maybe seven or eight others…
She knew Barron had heard her, and despite their close friendship, she rarely repeated herself. Pushing too hard came close to borderline insubordination, but she knew he needed a push now. He needed her to help him leave Stockton behind.
She just wasn’t sure how hard she could pressure him. The thought of abandoning her friend tore her own guts out, and more than a small part of her wanted to say, ‘Damn the one in six odds, let’s stay until we’ve got everyone onboard.’
She stared across the short space toward Barron, her eyes wide, locked onto the side of his face. Finally, he turned toward her, and she could see the pain in his own.
“I know, Atara…I just…” His words trailed off, and she realized she didn’t have the strength to push harder, to continue the argument to leave her friend, and one of the fleet’s great heroes, behind. She knew it was her duty. She owed it to the crew of the ship, her ship. But, she was tired to the bone, and the fight in her was just about gone.
Then, she saw the light flashing on her board, an incoming communique. She paused for a second, confused. Dauntless was the only ship still in the system.
Then, she realized. She flipped the controls and Stockton’s voice filled her headset.
“Dauntless, what the hell are you doing?” His voice was hoarse. It was clear it took all the strength he could muster to force the words out. “Why are you decelerating? Are you insane? The whole Hegemony fleet is right behind you.”
“Jake…” She knew she had to respond, but she didn’t know what to say. “…we’ve got to…”
“You don’t have to do anything, not here in Olyus.” A pause. “I can make the transit…and I can get the others through, too.”
He was trying his best, but she could tell immediately he was far from sure he could do what he claimed. At his best, he’d done it more than once. Now, he was exhausted, almost out of fuel, nursing a battered ship. With seven other pilots to lead through.
“Admiral…I’ve got Jake Stockton on the line.” I wasn’t her proudest moment, but she pushed the matter to Barron. It was going to be his decision anyway.
“Jake, we’re cutting our thrust, but you’ve got to get here…”
“Forget it, Admiral. I’ll never make it…and, if you wait, you won’t either. Reengage your thrust, sir…I’m begging you. Don’t make me watch you all die waiting for me. I’ll make it, and I’ll bring the last stragglers with me.” A pause. “You know I can do this, sir.”
Atara was listening, and, again, she could hear uncertainty in Stockton’s voice, despite the words he’d spoken. She was one hundred percent certain he was planning to make a herculean effort, but just as sure he rated his odds of success probably right around fifty percent, and proba
bly less to get the others through.
“Jake…” Atara could see the pain in Barron’s expression, but she also realized Stockton was giving him a way out, enough of a push to do what he already knew he had to do.
“Admiral, you know me better than anyone. I can do this. We’ll get through…and there will be time to pick us up on the other side. The enemy formation is a mess, and they’ve got Megara sitting behind them. They’re not going to follow, not yet.” He sounded sure of himself, more so than Atara suspected he was. But, his logic was sound nevertheless.
Barron was silent, but even as he sat there, he turned toward Travis, and she could see he’d made his decision. She felt relief, and the same fear she knew Barron was feeling.
“I’m taking your word for it, Jake, but I damned well better see you follow us through that transit point.” It was a pointless statement, but she knew why Barron had to say it. If it helped him believe he wasn’t leaving his friend behind to die, at least long enough to get Dauntless through, it served its purpose.
“I’m right behind, Admiral. All of us are.”
Travis looked out over the bridge, hearing Barron’s words before he even spoke them.
“Full thrust forward, Atara…take us through the point.”
“Yes, sir.” She worked the controls, leaned back as the thrust cranked up to maximum, and ran some quick calculations. “Transit in one minute, ten seconds, Admiral.”
She turned and looked at the display. She had a minute before the jump and nothing to do, so she stared at the Olyus system, and at the symbol representing Megara, now almost two billion kilometers distant. She’d never had a second thought about the capital, or for that matter, given two shits for a nest of pampered and corrupt politicians, but now it struck her how deeply wounded the Confederation was, how close to defeat, even with a good portion of the fleet escaping.
It was hard to see a route to victory, a way to defeat the invader. But, even through the exhaustion and the grief, there was still a spark inside, a flicker of what made Atara Travis herself. She looked at Megara on the display, and she had one thought in her mind, one vow, and as unlikely as it seemed, in that moment, she believed it with all her heart.
We’ll be back.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hegemony’s Glory
Orbiting Planet Megara, Olyus III
Year of Renewal 263 (318 AC)
The Battle of Megara – The Landings
“Our course now is clear. The enemy navy has been critically damaged, and what remains has fled the system. We will pursue and secure their surrender—or their total destruction—in due time, after we have repaired our battle damage and resupplied our forces.” Chronos knew he was oversimplifying the enormity of the tasks of which he spoke. Once again, the escorts had suffered appalling losses, and he needed to convert more of his existing small vessels to the anti-attack craft configuration. His battleships had been badly hurt as well, and the magnitude of ordnance expended was almost incomprehensible. If it hadn’t been for the logistics fleet, he’d be stuck at Megara for a year, even two. Worse, he’d be dependent on a long and tenuous supply line subject to interception at multiple points. But, a preliminary survey of the system confirmed what his previous intelligence had suggested. There were adequate resources in the Olyus system to produce everything his fleet required.
Everything but antimatter. He still had stores of the precious resource, enough to keep the fleet’s railguns firing for a while, but he was becoming highly dependent on receiving new shipments from home.
“The Confederation capital lies below us, stripped of its orbital defenses, open to our invasion. We will waste no time, and when the resistance on the surface is crushed, the war will be all but over. The Confederation government will surrender, and we can begin the long process of integrating their people into the Hegemony, and even enlisting them to aid us in absorbing the remaining Rim nations.”
Chronos was confident, but he wasn’t that confident. The Confeds had proven to be a more difficult enemy than he’d imagined, and, truth be told, he was a bit shaken, both by the ferocity of the defense and the losses he had suffered. Still, morale was crucial to any military operation, even to Masters, and others of high military rank, and he needed the best his people had to give. Early scans suggested the ground defenses were old and dated, and that some had been all but abandoned for many years. It seemed like Megara had been strong and warlike in the early stages of its return to interstellar relations, but that its years as the sheltered capital of a large nation had sapped that early strength.
He still suspected the troops on the ground would fight hard, and that his own forces would be hampered by his desire to capture the enemy capital intact, or as close to that as possible, but he was hopeful he could wrap things up fairly quickly, especially if he could convince the civil authorities there was no point in resisting. The Confederation Senate had already attempted to contact him, but he wanted to get his forces on the ground before he responded. Better to bargain from maximum strength. He was willing to deal a bit if that brought things to a swift conclusion, but there was no negotiability in the area of reordering Rim society by genetic ratings. That was the source of the Hegemony’s strength, and so it would be on the Rim.
Though, he could offer those currently in power certain guarantees regarding their own positions and physical comforts under the new order. He couldn’t make someone a Master if they lacked the genetic makeup to be one, but that didn’t mean the old political class couldn’t enjoy a gilded retirement in obscene luxury until they died out.
Megara itself was an impressive world, worthy to take its place as part of the Hegemony. It restored Chronos’s belief that the campaign had been worth the effort and the cost…and even the risk of leaving the home sectors underdefended for a time. The Hegemony would double in size and strength when the Rimdwellers were fully integrated, and that was a strong positive for the future of humanity.
“Let the invasion begin. The landings shall commence at once. Orbital bombardments will be held to minimal levels, and only utilized against the strongest positions. Go, all of you, and fight for the Hegemony, for the future of all mankind.”
Chronos stood in the control room, his white robes flowing all around him, along with platinum chains and other adornments, as befitted the commander of the Grand Fleet, and the eighth most perfect human in existence. He detested the garb, and all the fuss that went with it, but he knew its value, too.
And, he would use every weapon, every tool he needed for the victory he’d come to attain. Because, for all he told himself the Others were a threat of the past, that they were a nightmare more fit to scare children than panic adults, he felt the need to finish matters on the Rim.
Quickly.
* * *
Bryan Rogan stared at the map, and at the rows of figures on the large tablet he’d just set down. Tyler Barron had ordered him back up to Dauntless just before the enemy arrived, but the Marine general had asked his longtime commander, and his friend, to allow him to stay. He was a warrior, and his career had been spent fighting the Confederation’s battles. And, the defense of the capital, the effort to defeat the enemy’s troop landings, it was something he had to be part of.
Even though it was likely to be his last fight.
Barron had sounded as though he was going to refuse, or at least argue, but then, he just wished Rogan luck, and he bade his friend goodbye with a sadness in his tone, and a hint of expected finality. Rogan suspected Barron understood, in a way few could, why he had to be on Megara, with the tens of thousands of Marines stationed there. The enemy was irresistibly strong, but the ground forces on the capital dwarfed those on a frontier world like Dannith. The Marines might not be able to win in the end, but they would make the Hegemony, and their cyborg Kriegeri pay for every meter.
What had stunned Rogan was the order he received a few hours later, the one naming him commander-in-chief of the entire defense.
“
General Rogan, the positions outside Troyus City are ready. The missile bases in the Western Hills are active and on full alert. The reinforcements you ordered to cover the approaches to Abellus and Pierpont City are en route. They should be in place within two hours.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Daniel Prentice was proving to be quite a success as Rogan’s senior aide. He’d found the officer rotting away in some semi-permanent capital-area posting, and he’d assumed the worst. Such places didn’t tend to produce the best fighters, not even when those in question were Marines. But, Prentice had been spot on from the start, and he didn’t seem to lack any aggressiveness or Marine spirit. Rogan fell back to assumption number two. Prentice was in some backwater job because he’d pissed off someone powerful enough to take vengeance on his career. Rogan despised that kind of thing, but he knew it happened all too frequently.
This time for the better. This is going to be a nasty fight, and I need all the good Marines I get can get.
Prentice turned abruptly, his hand moving up to his earpiece. Rogan waited, letting his aide listen to whatever message was incoming. It wasn’t good, he knew, as he watched the scowl harden on the colonel’s face.
“A communique from the Senate, General.” A pause, as though Prentice was having trouble forcing the words from his mouth. “We are ordered to remain in our defensive positions, but we are to stand down and not engage enemy landing forces unless we are fired upon.”
“What?” Rogan was usually soft spoken for a Marine, but this time, his roaring bellows seemed to shake the very foundation of the command post.
Prentice didn’t respond. There was no need. His face told Rogan the aide agreed completely. And, handling the Senate was firmly within the commander-in-chief’s sole dominion.
“They can’t order that. It will be suicide.” Rogan could barely restrain the trembling from his anger. His best chance to hurt the enemy was during the landing, and in the hours immediately after. The Hegemony forces, now virtually unopposed anywhere in the system, save on the very dirt of Megara, were massive, overwhelming. Rogan had kept himself from analyzing the long-term chances of holding the planet—which he knew were nil—and he’d focused on the immediate future, on making the enemy pay for every meter they occupied.
