Dark of the Void (Forged Alliance Book 1)

by Anthony James

  “Lieutenant Vance is onboard, sir!” said Becerra. “The forward boarding ramp is closing. There are no other personnel in the bay.”

  “Missiles incoming,” said Maddox. “Railers activated, range too short for interceptor lock.”

  Having recently been pushed to his limits during the engagement at Tibulon, Flint was better able to handle the deluge of information cascading into his brain. The Firestorm’s instrumentation showed it was ready to fly and he didn’t wait any longer.

  “We’re getting out of here,” he said, even as the distant rumble of the topside railers started up, the hail of slugs stabbing out into the darkness. “Make Fleet Admiral Recker aware and then send the open command to the topside doors.”

  One-by-one and in rapid succession, the incoming missiles disappeared from the tactical, though Flint didn’t have time to feel relief. He wrapped his fingers around the controls. They were comfortable and familiar in his grip.

  Flint pulled the twin bars towards him while requesting power from the engines. The background sound hardly changed as the twelve-billion-ton Firestorm lifted effortlessly from its hover over the bay floor.

  “The topside doors aren’t responding, sir,” said Garrett.

  “Try again,” said Flint. He was sure the outcome would be the same, but escaping the bay would be unnecessarily complicated if the doors didn’t open like they were meant to.

  “We have mode 3 lightspeed travel, sir,” said Maddox. “That would take us out of here.”

  “There’s not enough room in the bay to achieve launch velocity, Commander. We’re exiting through the roof.” Flint’s eyes darted to the upper feeds. The bay doors were huge and glowing with heat from missile strikes and the energy weapon. Through the hole, the underside of the Kilvar warship was visible, at the same altitude as before.

  “Fleet Admiral Recker has ordered the local fleet to give us some cover,” said Becerra. “He has also ordered that under no circumstances are we to use the Fracture.”

  “The Fracture isn’t online anyway,” said Maddox, her eyes not leaving the sensor feed. “We won’t fit through that opening in the doors. We could punch through with the Firestorm, but…” She swore and shook her head. “Those doors look tough even with the damage they’ve taken.”

  “Target them with the topside hellburner clusters.”

  “Yes, sir. Topside clusters targeted,” said Maddox.

  “Change of plan,” said Flint, thinking fast. “Lieutenant Garrett, request a hellburner strike from the covering warships.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re at eight hundred percent overstress,” said Fredericks. “It seems to be holding…maybe.”

  “The destroyer cannon came online!” said Maddox. “And the Fracture.”

  “Don’t touch that one,” said Flint, repeating Recker’s order from moments ago.

  The green dots representing the local fleet came racing across the tactical, converging on the Amber base. They didn’t have far to travel, so even with their reduced propulsion output, those vessels covered the distance quickly.

  “Hellburner strike request acknowledged, sir,” said Garrett. “Missiles incoming.”

  In the bay exit shaft, Flint held the Firestorm horizontal with the ground, two thousand metres beneath the doors. The sensors gave him an idea how little clearance he had at the nose and stern, and, on the portside, the shaft wall hadn’t nearly cooled down from the earlier beam strike.

  Without warning, the Firestorm’s mesh deflector activated, surrounding the spaceship with an intricate pattern of lights. The shaft was briefly lit in blood-crimson and Flint’s brain caught up a moment later.

  “Energy beam strike!” he yelled.

  The attack had elongated the hole in the doors, though not enough for the Firestorm to fly through unless it was standing on its stern.

  “Hellburners!” shouted Maddox.

  Multiple warheads detonated on the upper surface of the doors and a column of fire was channelled into the opening, wrapping the Firestorm’s topside but not triggering the second mesh deflector.

  The bay doors had suffered enough punishment and they sagged noticeably. Flint knew this was the moment and he pushed the controls along their runners. An electrifying howl and bellow came from all around and the Firestorm accelerated at such a rate that the life support module was tested beyond its limits. Flint was pushed hard into his seat and he tensed his muscles against the forces crushing his body.

  “Get ready,” he said through gritted teeth.

  With no interruption in its upward progress, the Firestorm smashed through the bay doors, buckling the two slabs of burning alloy and leaving them a twisted mess in its wake. Immediately the warship was clear, Flint banked hard and aimed it low across the base, thinking the Kilvar might lose track of his vessel given the quantity of targets in the area.

  The sensors told a story. A few thousand metres overhead, the enemy ship was concealed beneath a shroud of nonstop detonations. The plasma from hundreds of missiles clung to its hull and new explosions came with hardly any time between them. Light from the blasts illuminated the structures below, many of which were already alight or glowing with heat from the Kilvar energy beam attacks.

  From the flames rose dark smoke, which added a gloomy cast to the light and blurred the outlines of every building. As Flint’s eyes darted from feed to feed, he saw other explosions rip open walls, incinerating whoever or whatever was too close. Energy beams flickered, each one turning alloy into liquified waste.

  Everywhere around, warships from the local fleet twisted and turned in tight patterns of evasion, their countermeasures spilling out and turning the gap between the Kilvar warship and the ground into a chaos of lights and flashes. Flint spotted annihilators and desolators, along with HPA battleships and heavy cruisers, several of which had suffered missile or energy beam strikes. Mesh deflectors lit up and then vanished, each activation bringing a warship closer to vulnerability and then destruction.

  A shock pulse went off and then a second. A hundred green missile specks appeared on the tactical and then vanished. Red specks took their place and then came multiple new waves of green.

  “Hell came to Basalt,” said Fredericks.

  “And it’s coming to the Kilvar in return,” said Flint. He tried hard not to be mesmerised and tore his eyes to the instrumentation in front of him. A few of the gauges weren’t in the places he expected and the mesh deflector recharge timer was counting down erratically.

  “Our output is climbing again, sir,” said Fredericks. “I can probably put a stop to it, but part of me wants to see where it’s going.”

  “We may need superstress,” said Flint. “But not yet.” He snarled, deep in his throat. “Everyone’s waiting for us, so let’s show them what we’ve got.”

  The Firestorm’s savage acceleration had taken it almost beyond the perimeter of the base and Flint brought it into a tight turn which again pushed the life support to the bounds of its suppression limits. Every muscle in his arms, shoulders and neck screamed with the effort of holding him in position, and when he brought the Firestorm out of its turn, the relief was immense.

  A few thousand metres above and fifteen kilometres ahead, the Kilvar warship presented its flank and Flint slowed in order that he wouldn’t overshoot the target. Beneath the explosions, the enemy vessel’s armour was pristine and that only served to anger Flint even more. He opened his mouth to order the discharge of the destroyer cannon, when a second Kilvar target dropped out of lightspeed fifty kilometres east of the base and at a ten-kilometre altitude.

  “Holy crap!” yelled Becerra. “Sir, check the feeds!”

  It took Flint a moment to understand what he was looking at. This new vessel was a thousand metres shorter than the first, but with a flat nose, stern and flanks, along with a much higher profile. Immediately, Flint guessed what it was.

  “A transport,” he said. “A warship carrier.”

  The situation, already in
tumult, was about to get much, much worse. With the local fleet attempting to re-organize, Flint prepared himself for the toughest fight of his life.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Commander Maddox, target the first Kilvar warship with the destroyer cannon and fire,” said Flint. “Be ready on the hellburners.”

  On the forward sensors, the enemy vessel hung over the base like a technological sword of darkness, beams of red flickering into the structures of the base and into the alliance warships racing through the night. Streaks of orange propulsion cut stark across the deep blue of dusk on the horizon and alliance countermeasures spilled out ceaselessly.

  “Destroyer cannon targeted and fired,” said Maddox. “Hellburners ready.”

  Flint tensed. This was the time when he’d discover if all the effort to reach the Firestorm had been worthwhile.

  A bone-deep bass emanated from somewhere forward of the bridge. The sound built rapidly, pressurising the air and then it hit an expulsive, thumping crescendo before fading rapidly into nothingness. Watching expectantly on the sensor feeds, Flint cursed bitterly when the Kilvar warship was completely unaffected by the attack.

  “We have entered a five-minute recharge time on the destroyer cannon,” said Maddox. “I can’t see a way to reduce the interval.”

  “The enemy vessel is undamaged, Commander,” said Flint. “We need to be in superstress before we try again.”

  “Our output is still rising, sir,” said Fredericks. “I can’t find a way to switch us into superstress. I’m not even sure the prototype is controllable.”

  “Keep looking, Lieutenant. It’s imperative we figure something out,” said Flint. His eyes went to the feeds. “Let’s keep our heads down. Lieutenant Becerra, I’m relying on you to update the other members of the fleet.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Although the destroyer cannon attack had failed, Flint had a feeling the Kilvar warship would detect the presence of exium within the Firestorm and subject his vessel to focus fire. In anticipation, he banked west towards the Kilvar vessel’s stern and accelerated. The propulsion thundered and his eyes jumped from place to place, absorbing the developments in the combat arena.

  Nothing had changed – the local fleet continued evasive manoeuvres, while unloading every weapon they had available. A Daklan desolator was in flames and heading down. Soon, the fleet would be forced to break off and resume their hit and hide tactics to reduce losses.

  “The primary enemy warship is on the move!” said Lieutenant Becerra.

  “Coming for us,” said Maddox.

  It was too early to conclude that for certain, though Flint didn’t doubt who the enemy was targeting. The Kilvar vessel rotated around its vertical axis and began a gradual acceleration at the same time.

  “I’m getting us out of here,” said Flint.

  Beneath the Firestorm, the ground was a blur and the Amber facility was already ten kilometres behind.

  “They’ve finished a 180-degree turn and they’re definitely heading our way!” said Becerra.

  Sure enough, the first Kilvar warship was on a direct line after the Firestorm, its hull tauntingly unscathed by the best attacks the alliance could muster.

  Flint realised he didn’t have much of a plan. The Firestorm was accelerating across the surface of Basalt at a five-thousand-metre altitude. Below, towns and cities of millions were relying on him, his crew and the local fleet for protection.

  In pursuit came the Kilvar warship and many of the alliance fleet. Missiles sped between the two sides, while shock pulses went off with such frequency they illuminated the horizon in a madman’s image of dawn. Meanwhile, the second enemy spaceship was also turning to follow, and Flint experienced an uneasy feeling the carrier was going to be the greater threat.

  “We’re leading the enemy vessels away from the base, sir,” said Maddox. “But if even a single warship ditches in one of the Basalt oceans, it’s going to make a wave that puts a quarter of the planet’s land mass under water.”

  Having experienced the strength of determination earlier, Flint was now feeling the weight of a billion lives on his shoulders. The Firestorm’s acceleration was of such brutality that its nose temperature was at three thousand Centigrade and climbing, and the warship was leaving a thick trail of smoke in its wake. Not wishing to have his vessel’s armour softened by atmospheric friction, Flint was forced to rein in the warship’s potential and he could almost feel it urging him to aim for the skies and give it everything.

  “Sir, we’ve received numerous suggestions from the other warship commanders,” said Garrett. “And we got one from the Fleet Admiral himself.”

  “What does he recommend?”

  “He says go with your instinct, sir.”

  “Damn,” said Flint. He still lacked a plan, yet he had a feeling of what he should do. Where his action would lead, he didn’t know.

  He pulled back on the controls and pointed the Firestorm’s nose directly away from Basalt. In seconds it had entered the thin air of the upper atmosphere and then it was into the vacuum. Half a million kilometres away, the planet’s single moon was another grey sphere. The local star shone across its cusp, producing spears of refracted yellow and reminding Flint that even the most unremarkable features of the universe could be made beautiful.

  “Shock pulse deployed,” said Maddox, not waiting for the instruction. “Ready on interceptors.”

  “Nose temperature falling slowly,” said Lieutenant Bolan. “We’re going to be hot for a while.”

  A red energy beam activated the Firestorm’s mesh deflector and Flint swore when it happened. He requested maximum power from the engines and the warship’s velocity gauge readout became a blur. The local fleet fell rapidly behind, but the Kilvar ship matched pace even if it didn’t close the distance.

  “Five thousand klicks per second, six thousand,” Flint said, glancing at the instrumentation. “We can’t outrun an energy beam as long as we remain sub-light, but we can definitely outrun it by going into mode 3.”

  “I’m issuing a synch code to the local fleet, sir,” said Becerra. “Any warship that accepts the code will arrive at the same place as we do.”

  It was extraordinarily quick thinking. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Flint, grateful his crew were backing him up. “Setting the Basalt moon as a short-range transit destination,” He touched his fingertip on the tactical screen to set the end point.

  “We’re at a thousand percent overstress, sir,” said Fredericks, before Flint could activate the short-range transit. “I’m trying impose some control over the increase, but the exium prototype is repeating its configuration routines quicker than I can block them.”

  Flint was torn. On the one hand, uncontrolled superstress had disastrous potential. On the other, without superstress the destroyer cannon was already a proven failure. “Lieutenant Fredericks, if we enter superstress, it might bring us salvation or it might bring us death.”

  “I know, sir, and I’m the one at the console.”

  “And I wouldn’t choose anyone else, Lieutenant.”

  “Rear hellburner clusters one to three: fired,” said Maddox. “Enemy missiles heading our way. Shock pulse deployed.”

  With no expectations for the hellburners, Flint pressed the SRT activation button on the control bar and braced himself for the in-out trauma. The transit was over in the blink of an eye and he grimaced with the nausea and at the pounding in his temples.

  “Sensors!” he shouted.

  “They’re coming online, sir,” said Garrett. “Damn, they’re working fast.”

  “Sir, there’s something up with the timers,” said Maddox, her gaze intent on her central console screen.

  “What kind of something up?” asked Flint angrily. It sounded as if he was about to have another spoonful of the brown stuff heaped on his already full plate.

  “We’re meant to have a five-minute cooldown on the destroyer cannon and the mesh deflector,” Maddox continued. “The destroyer cann
on is available already and the first mesh deflector generator is recharged again.”

  “Are the timers out of calibration or are the availability indicators inaccurate?” asked Flint sharply.

  “Neither, sir. The timers are decreasing faster than they’re meant to.”

  The sensors came online. Garrett and Becerra got to work aiming and focusing the arrays, though the picture outside was already clear enough. The Firestorm had emerged from lightspeed on the far side of Basalt’s moon, exactly where Flint had intended. The starboard feeds showed the grey, pocked surface, no more than fifty thousand kilometres away.

  “Battle network repopulating,” said Becerra. “We brought more than half of the local fleet with us and I’m receiving comms from several others who had overriding orders to hold position at Basalt.”

  “Those Kilvar warships are going to arrive in the next few seconds,” said Flint. “I can feel it.”

  He increased the Firestorm’s velocity while aiming it towards the moon. It seemed clear the best way to avoid the Kilvar energy beam was to take shelter behind a massive object, allowing the mesh deflectors an opportunity to recharge between each activation.

  “Our escort ships are accelerating to join us, sir,” said Becerra.

  “No reports of the Kilvar warships returning to Basalt,” added Garrett. “They’re out in space where we left them.”

  “Not for long,” said Maddox.

  Aware the Firestorm was the fastest vessel in the local fleet, Flint restrained his approach to the moon. He watched the sensors and the tactical closely. Even though the alliance warships were blind side of the moon, he was sure the Kilvar would follow. Either they could read lightspeed tunnels in the same way as the Lavorix or – and Flint was convinced this more likely – they had a way to detect the presence of exium.

  Before the Firestorm had covered ten thousand kilometres from its starting position, the propulsion note once again switched to the sound of a deep, continuous inhalation which made Flint’s skin tighten in a primal fear reaction and produced a cold sweat on his scalp.