After that, it was just mop-up work, and his marines knew it. They popped up from their hides, bounding high to begin their own terror campaign. The pirates panicked, firing wildly at the armored death coming at them from above, but not much could save them now. With adrenaline pumping through their veins, even the marines who took hits through their armor fought on, their aim barely impeded, their strength kept up by their suits’ augmentations.
At the end, a couple hostiles emerged from hiding wearing power armor of their own.
“Marines, focus-fire on the two armored pirates coming out from behind those crates at the back of the cavern.”
The power-suited pirates moved fast, spraying rounds down at the marines advancing up the cavern’s slope. But their outdated suits were nothing compared to the top-shelf equipment Frontier fielded, and with a platoon’s worth of punishment coming at them, they stood little chance.
Plus, the marines of the New Jersey were mad. Marine lives had been spent taking this cavern, and now they exacted what revenge they could on the power-armored pirates. Within seconds, their suits became little more than scrap-metal, torn and twisted all over, and they slowly tumbled to the cavern floor.
Wilson bounded up to Avery, saluting.
He returned it. “Casualties?”
“Five injured and two dead, Major.”
“Are you counting Loeung?”
The marine hung his head. “I didn’t know about Loeung, sir.”
Avery cursed. But there was no time to mourn the dead. Not now.
He started back toward the tunnel, with the asteroid’s surface as his destination, where his comm would work properly again. As he moved, he keyed in the frequency for the Kibishii troop ship’s bridge. It was time for the shuttles to come and collect what had been paid for with marine blood.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aboard the New Jersey
Kava System, Lacuna Region
Earth Year 2290
Thatcher watched the Reardon and pirate ships approaching across Kava. Together, they numbered almost double his own force, even with the addition of three captured pirate vessels. He tried not to focus on how much depended on the coming engagement.
He had a strange philosophy when it came to the proper mindset for combat, the ground for which had been seeded during conversations with his grandfather. He believed it did no good to focus on the prospect of victory, since that ultimately wasn’t something a commander could control. Indeed, focusing on victory was worse than useless.
Instead, a commander should concentrate on selecting the best tactics, and on making sure they were executed as close to perfectly as possible.
But it was more than that. Much more. “Each battle begins on the first day of basic training,” Edward Thatcher had once said.
It had taken his slow grandson the better part of an hour to figure that one out. But he’d gotten it. And now, it informed everything he did. Everything about the way he ran the New Jersey and interacted with her crew. Battles were years in the making. Let one day go to waste—even an ordinary, uneventful day—and victory could slip from your grasp before the engagement even began.
Despite all that, today, he couldn’t help dwelling on what would happen if he lost the day, or even if he won while taking significant losses. It would mean being unable to stop the Xanthic in Ucalegon System.
Indeed, any losses at all could make the difference between eventually escaping the Lacuna Region after a successful mission and dying here—losing every ship. Every crewmember. Leaving thousands of broken families in their wake.
“Sensor drones have been distributed throughout the nearby asteroids, sir.” Guerrero seemed unusually calm. Indeed, since he’d snapped at her, she’d seemed more self-possessed, better able to ride the rapids of battle. It remained to see whether that would last, but maybe it would. He’d seen stranger transformations provoked by fewer word spoken by a starship captain.
The relationship between captain and crew remains as strange and inscrutable as ever, I see.
“We now have a sensor web ready to come online at your command. Until then, the drones remain dormant, as per your orders.”
“Very good, Lieutenant. Any word from Kibishii on their progress?”
“Captain Sho sends word that there are supplies enough in that asteroid to keep his marines busy for the better part of the day, loading them onto shuttles and ferrying them to the troop ship.”
Thatcher nodded. The abundance of supplies inside the asteroid was both blessing and curse. Blessing, because the more his tiny fleet took on, the longer they’d be able to stay on the run inside this unfriendly region. But that same abundance served as a deadly temptation. If they waited too long to recall Kibishii’s shuttles and leave, Reardon would catch them with their pants down—and so might a second pirate force, which could enter the system at any time.
They were playing a dangerous game, Thatcher knew. But a necessary one.
He found himself eying the back of Candle’s head as the Reardon ships drew ever-closer.
What a strange XO I have.
With Veronica Rose’s blessing, Thatcher had offered the man command of one of the pirate ships—the biggest one, the frigate with her bolstered shields, which was named Snowbird. Candle had declined with barely a moment’s thought.
What sane XO turned down his own command? Yes, Candle had declined to take on the Charger, the converted pirate corvette. That, Thatcher could understand. But a full-fledged warship, barely damaged? With state-of-the-art shields and a respectable arsenal on top of that? No missiles, but formidable laser batteries and plenty of autoturrets.
She was a beauty. Thatcher himself would have been excited by her, if the Snowbird had been his first command instead of the Jersey, though of course he was glad things had turned out the way they had.
The pirates who’d taken her must have been incredibly lucky or skilled. That day must have been triumphant for them indeed. But Candle spurned her with barely a glance.
Mittelman’s words echoed inside Thatcher’s head as he studied the lieutenant commander, who bent intently to his work.
Does he value serving under me so much? Or was he put here by another corp to keep an eye on Frontier, and now on me?
Thatcher liked to think he did a decent job of keeping his ego in check. But entertaining either of those options seemed egotistical. Either he deemed himself such a splendid CO that his XO couldn’t bare to leave him, even at the expense of his own command…or he assumed himself so important that another corp would waste a talented officer just to spy on him.
He shook himself, pulling out of the morass of his thoughts. Whatever the case, he and Candle would be stretched thin over the coming weeks, provided they survived today. Properly crewing the Snowbird and the other captured vessels had been a drain on everyone’s crew.
Guerrero’s fingers tapped smartly at her console. “Enemy ships are almost within maximum firing range, sir. Estimate four minutes, fifty-two seconds until contact.”
“Acknowledged. Instruct all vessels to prepare to raise shields and direct fire at the Eagle.” The destroyer was flying brashly at the front of the enemy formation. That made Thatcher frown at his holoscreen for a moment. Yes, Pegg’s force outnumbered his, but the man should know from the battle over Oasis Colony that superior numbers didn’t mean everything.
I smell a trump card. But until Thatcher knew what it was, there wasn’t much he could do to get ready for it—except to prepare for anything.
In the meantime, he would have to hope that focusing fire on Pegg’s flagship would have the disorienting effect he sought. If not, it would pose a speed bump to his plan. A speed bump that could easily become a brick wall.
The Reardon ships crossed an imaginary line in space, and Thatcher knew the time had come. He straightened slightly in his seat. “All vessels will raise shields. Offensive ships, direct primary lasers at the Eagle.”
Guerrero relayed the orders, and the Frontie
r ships complied in rough synchronicity, energy fields popping up around vessels one after another. Once I establish that command channel, we should be able to make that almost simultaneous.
Next, all five damage-dealing ships shot bright sapphire beams across space to slam into the enemy destroyer’s shield, first sending ripples cascading across it, then waves.
The Reardon ships responded in kind, returning fire with their own primaries, all aimed at the New Jersey. Thatcher had expected that, just as Pegg must have expected him to target the Eagle.
He waited, monitoring his holoscreen. Then an instrument reading caught his eye, and his heart leapt into his throat.
Less than a second later Guerrero went rigid in her seat, her old tenseness returning all at once. “Sir, our shields are dropping much faster than they should be. They’re down to sixty-seven percent already.”
Thatcher saw. His eyes were glued to the plummeting numbers, in fact. But not only because of the fear rising up from his stomach like acid reflux. Almost immediately, he’d begun to notice a pattern in the shield power’s decline. Or rather, a lack of a pattern.
“XO.”
Candle turned toward him, his jaw rigid. Otherwise, he seemed collected. “Sir?”
“The drop in shield power is sporadic. It falls four percent, then holds steady, then three percent, then seven percent. I’ve never seen anything like it. Does this behavior match anything you’re familiar with?”
Candle’s eyes narrowed, and he turned back to his holoscreen, rotating the 3D tactical display with one hand while calling up a more detailed readout on the shields with his other.
The XO slowly shook his head. “I feel almost crazy for saying it, but…I have heard rumors about a new weapon Halcyon Technologies has been developing, a corp based in Modal Pique. But I didn’t think it was anywhere near ready for deployment.”
“Maybe it isn’t. Maybe that’s why we’re seeing these inconsistencies. What is the tech?”
“A capacitor-disrupting EMP weapon. Directional, so that it doesn’t affect the ship using it, or any friendly ships surrounding it.”
Thatcher forced himself to draw deeper, longer breaths. “That would explain the sporadic effect it’s having. The steadiness of the effect may depend on what part of our hull it hits.” He thanked God that the Jersey’s receiver array was located near her stern, away from where the EMP beam—which still might not actually exist—could hit it. It seemed likely the beam would have the greatest effect, there.
Speaking of which…
“Ops, order the Lightfoot to begin feeding us power via microwave beam. Tell North Star to stand by to do the same if it becomes necessary.”
“Aye, sir.”
But before Guerrero could do anything, the Jersey’s shields plummeted seventeen percent. Thatcher gripped his armrests, hard. The shields were now in the single digits.
The lieutenant’s fingers flew across her console, but it was too late. The Jersey’s shields fell, and the enemy’s lasers began melting through her armored hull. Next, missiles would surely follow.
Without being ordered, the other four Frontier attack ships—Lancer, Georgia, Charger, and Nightingale—charged forward, with the Snowbird and the other two captured pirate vessels hard on their heels.
For the first time since taking command of the Jersey, Thatcher felt vulnerable. Powerless. He watched to see what the vessels under his command would do—the vessels whose captains he was supposed to direct.
They spread out before the Eagle, establishing firing angles on the logistics ship feeding her power. The same one that had to be disrupting the New Jersey’s shields.
That had a noticeable effect on the enemy vessels. Most of them broke off firing on the Jersey, instead drawing around the logistics ship being attacked and redirecting their fire at the Frontier ships attacking her.
One of the pirate ships they’d captured, a converted freight hauler, exploded under the enemy lasers. A Frontier corvette, the Nightingale, followed.
Thatcher gritted his teeth so hard he thought they would crack.
“We need to execute,” he barked. “Guerrero, tell all three eWar ships to initiate omnidirectional jamming, now. Now!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Aboard the New Jersey
Kava System, Lacuna Region
Earth Year 2290
His cool cracking, Thatcher lowered his head into his right hand and squeezed with thumb and index finger.
Two ships…four watches worth of personnel…
Gone.
Why did they charge forward like that? Why did they sacrifice themselves?
He knew the answer. And if he allowed it to get to him, more deaths would follow.
“Sometimes, the tasks they’ll set you will seem impossible.” His grandfather’s voice echoed from the past. “The weight of command will make it feel like you can’t take another step.” Edward Thatcher had placed a gnarled hand on young Tad’s shoulder. “Every now and then—maybe only once—it will be impossible. But only if you let it.”
Thatcher shook himself. “Helm, execute the pre-calculated course sent to you by Nav.”
“Aye, sir.”
The ship lurched, pressing Thatcher back into his chair until the inertial compensators kicked in, restoring equilibrium and preventing everyone aboard the ship from being flattened into whatever they were leaning against.
He turned toward Guerrero. “Ops?”
“Nothing, sir. Still implementing countermeasures.”
It seemed odd to hear talk of taking countermeasures against something they themselves had done. But their entire plan depended on recovering from the omnidirectional jamming faster than the Reardon ships. And so Thatcher had ordered special antennae extended from sleeves all over the hull, designed to detect signals from any direction, thereby eliminating the sensor noise their eWar ships’ jamming had caused.
In the meantime, Guerrero would constantly ping both the other ships and the network of sensor drones they’d distributed throughout the surrounding asteroids. Those drones would now be broadcasting any and all sensor data they were able to collect—but thoroughly encrypted, so that the Reardon ships couldn’t take advantage of them. At least, not within a time frame meaningful to this engagement.
At her console, Guerrero sat tenser than ever. Her job was the most difficult, now, even though most of it had already been done. Before the Reardon ships had arrived, Thatcher had ordered her and her counterparts aboard the other friendly ships to record the trajectory of every nearby asteroid and project it into the future. She’d had AI assistance to complete the task, but even AIs were only as good as their operators, and now it was Guerrero’s work that would decide whether they navigated safely through the giant obstructions hurtling past them every few seconds. All while she worked feverishly to restore sensor function.
After what seemed like an eternity, Guerrero turned to him wearing a tight smile. “The fog is lifting, sir. Sensors are clearing up.”
He nodded. “Tell me what you see.”
“Two of the pirate ships that were accompanying Reardon are missing. So is one of Reardon’s warships, a frigate. There’s enough debris in the area to account for all of them. I can only assume they dashed themselves against asteroids in the sensor fog.”
“Have you established contact with any other ships?”
She tapped at her console, and over her shoulder he watched the tactical display refresh on her holoscreen. “Updated data on five of eleven friendly ships. Six, now.”
He nearly winced when she said “eleven friendly ships.” It would have been thirteen, if two vessels hadn’t sacrificed themselves to protect the New Jersey.
He refreshed his holoscreen as well, and as he did, two more friendly ships popped onto his tactical display. All eight of the friendly ships accounted for had navigated to their attack positions safely.
As for the unaccounted ships…
Surely that’s just residual sensor fog. Surely
they weren’t taken out by asteroids. God wouldn’t be that cruel.
Then again, he intended to be crueler to Reardon. There was no time to wait.
“Let’s tighten the noose,” he said, his voice grim. “Order all ships we have contact with to fire primaries at that logistics ship. Relay the same orders to every additional ship we reestablish contact with.”
“Aye, sir.”
When Thatcher looked again, a ninth and tenth friendly appeared on his holoscreen. Then, at last, an eleventh. All twelve remaining friendlies were alive and accounted for. He breathed a sigh of relief.
With that, lasers lit up the dark of space, flashing in from eleven different directions to converge on the logistics ship that had nearly caused the New Jersey’s destruction—and which had done for the Nightingale and the captured pirate vessel filled with Frontier people.
It took mere seconds for the enemy ship’s shield to falter, then fail. The powerful beams crossed the remaining space, landing on her hull and then burning her from existence: a burst of atmosphere, shrapnel, and flame. Then nothing.
“No time for celebrating. Fire on the eWar ship I’ve designated, before the enemy recovers.”
But the enemy was apparently nowhere near recovering. They lacked a sensor drone network of their own, and they still seemed completely disoriented by the blanket jamming. The targeted eWar ship quickly followed the logistics ship, and then another logistics ship went, and then another eWar.
By the time the enemy could finally see, they found a changed world. One that had replaced every support ship they’d brought with a debris cloud, and had smashed apart two more of their ships with giant chunks of hurtling rock.
Lacking their new weapon from Modal Pique Region, their numbers rapidly dwindling, Pegg seemed to lose his nerve. Or maybe all of his captains did, simultaneously.
Either way, the fleet comprised of Reardon and pirate ships scattered in every direction. As they fled, another pirate ship was beset by a fast-moving asteroid that emerged from behind another, offering almost no response time for the harried pilot to steer out of the way. The asteroid claimed the ship, and Thatcher called up a visual to take satisfaction in the fantastic explosion as pieces of pirate ship burst apart, lighting up the entire asteroid.
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