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“Everyone to their stations. Ready for combat in five.”
Jeff flinched at his commander’s words and squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel the blood pulsing through his veins. His heart rate must be off the chart.
Now the shit’s going to hit the fan! Will I be dead or alive in twenty minutes?
He was clenching the armrest of his seat so tightly, his hands ached. Jeff forced himself to reopen his eyes. He studied the holoscreen in front of him—a message from the computer confirmed the ship’s systems were activated. Peeling one of his sweaty hands off the armrest, he reached forward to close the message. He was shaking so badly, he thought he might have a fever. Finally he managed to hit the small field on the touch screen.
I don’t want to die!
He had to get a grip. It wouldn’t help anyone if he lost his nerve now, least of all himself.
Jeff felt a steady hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked into Major Irons’ face. His commander was smiling encouragingly. “Relax. We can do this.”
Jeff took a deep breath and felt some of the adrenalin seep out of his body. If there was living proof that you could survive even the most dangerous mission, then it was Major George Irons. He was only thirty-eight years old, but his features were as weathered as an old man’s. The left side of his face was riddled with scars where the skin had been pierced by red-hot bits of metal when his ship was hit by a kinetic weapon three years ago. Another scar extended from his receding hairline across his forehead and ended somewhere under his black eye patch. An enemy’s knife had penetrated so deeply into the optic nerve that even the latest advancements in regenerative medicine had been no use.
During his training, Jeff had already noticed that his commander was a living textbook of what combat could do to a human body. The major had twenty years of experience behind him. He had fought as an infantryman on inhospitable planets before volunteering as a bomber commander for the Solar space fleet. He’d gone on to survive dozens of missions as, one by one, the majority of his friends and comrades had perished.
Jeff was incredibly grateful to the major for offering him reassurance even in a situation like this, and he forced himself to smile. Then he nodded weakly and turned back to his console. All he could see through the narrow windows was the darkness of hyperspace, but in a few minutes that would probably be replaced by a blazing hell.
“Captain Austin,” his commander began. “Would you please check the status of each station?”
Jeff took a deep breath. Of course: that was his job, and he’d trained for precisely this kind of situation in hundreds of virtual simulations. But even the best simulation couldn’t replicate the imminent prospect of a violent death.
He exhaled slowly and switched on his mic. “Final status check before start of mission. Confirm readiness for combat.” As hard as he tried to sound authoritative, Jeff couldn’t stop his voice from trembling. He expected to hear a snigger from Owens, who was sitting behind him with the other officers, but even he had better things to do right now than make fun of Jeff.
“Navigation?”
“All systems go,” Joanne Rutherford confirmed.
“Engineering?”
“Team in position. Systems ready to go,” Dave Green responded.
“Weapon systems?”
“Ready to kick ass!”
Jeff rolled his eyes. He was about to call the next station when the major, seating beside him, hit the talk button. “Respond in a proper fashion, Lieutenant Castle!” His voice was calm but icy.
Jeff thought he heard a gulp over the speaker. “Weapon systems ready.”
Jeff shook his head lightly and carried on. “Comms?”
“Ready.” Jeff heard the high-pitched voice of Edward Owens – known as Owl – behind him.
“Positioning?”
“Positioning systems ready!” Finni Herrmannsson’s voice reverberated over the speaker.
Jeff turned to his commander. “Sir, all stations ready for combat. And according to the computer, the ship’s systems are all in the green. The I.S. Charon is ready for action.”
“Good. Thank you. Computer: log entry for combat readiness at twelve thirty-eight UT. Exit from hyperspace on schedule in three minutes and twenty seconds.”
The commander flicked a switch on his console and then hit the talk button again. “Now we’re through with the formalities, let me say a few personal words.” Irons paused for a moment. “The Acheron system is sure to be well defended, so we’re likely to face resistance. At least we have five bombers, and they’ll have to divide up their defenses between them.”
Five ships! Jeff didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. There were up to a hundred bombers and additional escort fighters attacking other systems, but in this fool’s errand of a war, the Arkturus Sector was just a sideshow. But if a system’s defenses were stronger than predicted by military intelligence, then the entire attacking fleet might be obliterated before the bombers even stood a chance of reaching an entry point back into hyperspace. And there was no guarantee that this wouldn’t happen now, with Acheron.
“So,” Irons continued, “we will carry out our mission and do whatever it takes for our Quagma bomb to reach its target. Even if just one bomber makes it through, we’ll have gotten rid of this system and moved a little closer to victory against the Alliance. The sooner we finish this war, the sooner we can all go home.”
Jeff had his doubts it would be anytime soon.
“I expect every crew member to keep a level head and to give his or her best on this mission. If we don’t lose our nerve and work together, we’ll survive the next hour, complete our mission, and be able to celebrate tonight. The beers are on me.”
Jeff could hear a guffaw from behind him, but wasn’t sure if it came from Owens or Herrmannsson.
“Another one-and-a-half minutes till we enter the Acheron System. May God help us,” Irons concluded his speech.
“Check suits and close helmets.”
Jeff touched a blue field on the control panel on his left forearm. A green hologram appeared in front of his face and confirmed that his combat suit was ready for action.
The Mark VI suits were marvels of modern military technology. Flexible and soft, they adapted to every movement of the body. Breathable in a normal atmosphere, the fibers compacted in a vacuum so they could be used as space suits. When deactivated, the helmet was little more than a hood that you could hardly feel in the nape of your neck.
On his belt were a holster for his pistol and a separate pouch for various bits of gear, including his personal handheld computer.
Jeff touched another button and the hood inflated, wrapped around his head and connected to the narrow metal ring on his neck. A faint hissing indicated that the life-support system had been activated.
Jeff’s eyes were riveted to the clock on his console; his heart was pounding. He felt like he was counting down the minutes to his death—in slow motion, because time was moving unbearably slowly, as if they were in the vicinity of a black hole
. There was nothing more to do or discuss. Everything was prepared. All they could do was wait and see what Acheron had in store for them when they left hyperspace.
The rumors flying around the officers’ mess over the last few days hadn’t escaped Jeff’s attention. Three bomber formations had disappeared—and never re-appeared—after taking off for bases in the Lambda Sector. There’d been speculation that the Alliance had developed a device to reliably predict the departure points of approaching combat units, and that the bombers were destroyed by a gravity mine as they left hyperspace. Jeff had dismissed the talk as gossip, but what if it were true? In that case, the end of the war was near, and Jeff was not on the winning side. But who gave a shit? He would be dead in a minute, anyway.
Jeff’s eyes were still glued to the clock. Thirty more seconds. Time simply did not want to move forward. Why the hell had he volunteered for the military? He could have stayed on Luna and taken over his parents’ business. But that hadn’t been good enough for him. He’d wanted bigger and better things than supervising the production of subsystems in the factories of the space fleet. But now he probably had no future ahead of him at all. On the other hand, who could have predicted that a war of this scale would break out?
At least Jeff had a chance of avenging his father’s death. Finally, those muttonheads from the Alliance would have to pay for their war crimes.
“Ten seconds,” Major Irons spoke into his mic.
Jeff put his hands on the console so he could reach all switches quickly if necessary.
“Five.”
Jeff took one last deep breath.
“Four.”
Blood rushed into his ears like the waterfalls of New Paris.
“Three.”
If he was going to die, then hopefully it would be quick.
“Two.”
He didn’t want to spiral toward eternity trapped in a beat-up wreck with a diminishing supply of oxygen.
“One.”
Please God, let me live!
There was a jolt as the Charon’s Casimir fields collapsed and Jeff squinted as Acheron’s blue sun appeared in the window before him. He tensed up, waiting for the explosion of a gravity mine.
“Captain Austin!” Major Iron spoke in a subdued but firm voice.
He had to get a grip. He had a job to do. “Positioning, come in!” he said hoarsely.
“Close range free of contacts. Positioning system running!” Finni replied.
No mines, at least!
“Navigation?” Jeff asked.
“First estimate reporting exit point within the tolerance range. I have Acheron-4 on the screen, and it’s about where it ought to be,” Joanne said.
“Is the computer giving you a navigation solution for the perihelion maneuver?”
“It’s working on it.”
“Report to me immediately when you have a solution!”
“Yes, Sir,” said the blond navigator, who was also the ship’s paramedic.
“Weapon system officer?”
“Sir?” Castle responded.
“Prepare the Quagma bomb.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll initiate the firing sequence.”
Jeff nodded and looked at the blue sun, which was growing in size as they approached it at almost the speed of light.
The procedure was standard and they had trained for it in hundreds of simulations. As executive officer, Jeff was responsible for freeing his commander to concentrate on overall strategy.
“I have the navigation solution,” Joanne reported. “Four minutes, ten seconds to the central star. Perihelion maneuver with eight-g acceleration lasts three minutes and eighteen seconds. Deviation of four point five degrees. Time to target following maneuver: six minutes and twenty seconds.”
This corresponded to the values calculated in advance of the mission. They had planned their hyperspace flight precisely and had entered the system very close to the planned entry point.
“What about the other bombers?” Major Irons asked. There was a hint of impatience in his voice.
“Radio operator, come in.”
“I’m receiving signals from three ships,” Owl said hesitantly. The data was probably only just coming in. The other bombers were entering the system on different courses and they would only form a formation with the Charon after the perihelion maneuver. “I’m receiving the Boston, the Spider, and the Neptune.”
“What about the Atlantic?” Iron asked.
Owl paused. “Not in the tolerance range of its entry point.”
Jeff pursed his lips. Either the Atlantic hadn’t planned its maneuver correctly, or there was now another ship whose drive system had failed at the critical moment and would race toward infinity for all eternity in hyperspace. This damned war didn’t leave enough time to carry out proper checks of the Casimir converters.
“We’ll continue our approach as planned,” the Major said firmly. Not that Jeff had expected any other decision.
“The Quagma core has been inserted in the missile,” Castle reported.
“Good, open the bomb hatch and release the bomb!” Jeff commanded.
“Understood.”
“I’m receiving a strong tachyon pulse!” Finni’s voice came in, his words tumbling over each other.
“OK, they’ve located us,” Irons said. “A little earlier than I’d hoped, but nothing we didn’t expect. They’re trying to predict our flight path. After the perihelion maneuver, we can expect to come up against strong defenses.”
Jeff had hoped they would escape undetected, but he knew he’d been kidding himself. He looked at the location hologram in front of him, which showed a scaled map of the Acheron system. A sweeping, green flight path led from their entry point to the sun, where it curved sharply and veered toward a small blue ball. He waited for red dots to appear: rockets racing toward them. Nothing so far. But he noticed that the blue sun outside the windows was growing rapidly in size. Not long now till the perihelion maneuver.
“Quagma bomb released. Magnetic mount ready to eject,” Castle said.
Irons grunted in satisfaction.
“Confirmed. Bomb ready to be ejected. Wait for my command,” Jeff said.
“Positioning here!” Finni came in. “I’ve got a lot of small objects leaving the orbit of Acheron-4. Accelerating very fast.”
“Those are rockets,” Irons said grimly. “How many?”
“Can’t say exactly. I’m getting conflicting signals. They’re flying very close together. At least four dozen. They’re moving toward the sun.”
Of course they were! The missiles would intercept them after the perihelion maneuver as they headed for the target.
“Four dozen,” Joanne whispered. “That’s a hell of a lot. If they have Artemis target devices, we’ve had it!” She couldn’t disguise the panic in her voice.
“According to recon, no Artemis positioning systems have been registered in the Acheron system,” the major said tersely. “Now please stay calm and concentrate!”
“Yes, Sir!”
“The contacts have disappeared from the screen,” Finni reported.
Irons grunted. “That was to be expected,” he said. “The missiles have stopped accelerating and the engines have shut down. Check again as soon as we’ve set course for the target. When the engines restart, they’ll be on us in a few seconds.”
Jeff looked up at the holoscreen. “One more minute until the perihelion maneuver!”
“Where are the other bombers?” Irons asked.
“The Spider and the Neptune are right on target for the meeting point in the perihelion,” Finni said. “Boston has fallen behind a bit.”
“What do you mean by a bit?” Jeff asked.
“About seven million miles. They’ll reach the perihelion around twenty-five seconds after us.”
Irons groaned. “That’s too late to balance out the maneuver.”
Jeff swallowed hard. Of course, the Boston would follow the same flight path as the other bombers. So the enem
y would know exactly where to strike. They had only one chance.
“Shall I order the Boston to change course?” Jeff asked.
Irons hesitated. “We need the Boston’s bomb. We have to destroy the base on Acheron-4, otherwise we can’t continue the offensive in the Lambda Sector.”
Jeff sucked his teeth. Irons had turned the Boston into a suicide squad. But Jeff knew the Major was right. If they failed to destroy even one of the bases in the Lambda Sector, their infantry would be in danger of being killed by Alliance bombers. Jeff was sure Irons would have made the same decision if it had been his own ship that had fallen behind. “Radio operator, order the Boston to continue its approach to Acheron-4 as planned.”
“Understood.”
Jeff couldn’t see the expression on his shipmate’s face as he delivered this fatal command to the escort ship.
“Perihelion maneuver in ten seconds,” Joanne said.
“OK,” Jeff replied. “Into position for high-g maneuver.”
He sat back and put his hands on the armrests, making sure his head was in the hollow of the backrest.
“Five, four, three, two, one …” Joanne counted down.
It was as if someone had thrown an anvil at his chest. The air escaped his lungs in a hiss, as the heavy antimatter engines ignited. He was flattened into his seat with the force of eight g. He could hardly breathe. Stars danced in front of his eyes.
“Power up the engines as planned,” Joanne said. “Perihelion maneuver in exactly three minutes!”
Jeff tried to lift his arm but failed. With agonizing slowness, the position of the ship’s vector changed on the navigation hologram. Jeff looked out of the window. The blue Acheron sun kept on growing, until it had outgrown the space of the window. They were so close to the surface, Jeff thought he could dip his hands into the flames of the sun. They passed layers of the sun that were thousands of degrees hot, but that was nothing compared to the frictional heat that some parts of the ship, still flying at almost the speed of light, had to endure. The hull of the ship couldn’t withstand the thermal load for more than a few seconds.
“Passing perihelion,” Joanne said. Her voice was little more than a croak.
In front of the window, the sun moved further and further to the left until it disappeared behind them.
The Dark Ship Page 1
