“Understood, Void Captain,” the Saurian who manned tactical replied.
Aibek cleared his throat loudly.
“My apologies, Colonel. I remain unfamiliar with human ranks.”
Minutes passed as Aibek kept his eyes glued to the tactical plot. I remember David commenting about the wait for battle, how he hated it. I understand how he feels. As the range decreased, the sense of anticipation on the bridge increased. It was like a tinge of excitement in the air, especially among the other Saurians. When they were five minutes from weapons release, he bent his head forward and spoke in his native tongue, the words a mixture of hisses that sounded nothing like any human language. “Dear Lord, the divine warrior, and protector of all things, bless our blades this day. Allow us to wield them for justice in Your name and deliver the enemy into our hands. Protect the allies who fight alongside us and bring all who fall in battle into Your loving embrace. In the name of Your Prophet, we pray.”
“Colonel, we will achieve maximum range in thirty seconds.”
Aibek narrowed his eyes. “Kill track Master One with guns.”
The massive magnetic cannons mounted three per turret on the Saurian battleship adjusted their aim before throwing their projectiles at ten percent of light-speed toward the unlucky Leaguers. Twenty-five shells in all, and at least a third didn’t connect. The rest did. Explosions blossomed on the shields of the Rand before they collapsed, and high explosive warheads rammed into its hull. A final orange plume erupted from the stricken vessel and its bow blew off.
“Master One neutralized, sir. Forward magnetic cannons reloaded.”
“Kill track Master Two with guns.”
While the Resit Kartal maintained its barrage of fire against the League ships, they responded in kind. Concentrated plasma cannon fire impacted their shields, backed by salvos of anti-ship missiles. The older technology did comparatively little damage to the battleship’s protective screens. The other Rand was not so lucky. Its shields were obliterated by the barrage of magnetic cannon shells, and one of the shots hit something vital internally—missile magazine or fuel bunkerage—because it exploded from the inside out into one-meter-long chunks.
“Colonel, the enemy runs before us,” the tactical officer said in a mocking tone. “The destroyers and frigates have turned, burning away at maximum acceleration.”
There was no hesitation in Aibek’s voice. “Navigation, intercept course. Run them down. Tactical, load forward magnetic cannons with two high explosive shells per barrel.”
“Yes, sir. Double load complete and awaiting your orders.”
“Kill remaining tracks with guns and beams.”
While the Rands had the shields and armor to stand up to a full volley of the Resit Kartal’s weapons before succumbing, the Cobras and Lancers did not. Expertly placed high explosive shells hammered own the shields of most of the remaining enemy warships. They were followed up by judicious neutron beam strikes. Blue beams of energy raced out at the speed of light, spearing the unlucky vessels from stem to stern. One after another, they split in two, exploded into clouds of debris, or had large chunks of their hull blown off, leaving them derelict in space. It was a complete and total rout.
“All enemy tracks neutralized, Colonel,” the tactical officer reported. His tone was one of pride.
“Navigator,” Aibek began. “Bring us about and head back toward our fleet. Communications officer, transmit a picture of a broom to General Cohen.”
“What stupidity is this?” S’stro hissed in his ear.
Aibek turned and glowered at her. “It is a human custom. The broom signifies a clean sweep where all enemy vessels are swept out of space—like we just did.” His voice had a hissing quality to it as well, even though he spoke in English.
“You have spent too much time among the humans. You think like them, not like one of our kind.”
“We are all the same kind,” Aibek replied as he continued to hiss. “Enough of this.”
She sat back in her seat and did not speak further.
I should challenge her to blood combat for this continued insubordination and blatant racism. Aibek realized with a start that one of the reasons why he hadn’t as of yet was his exposure to how humans, especially David, dealt with conflict. So, to be intellectually honest, as Cohen puts it, I have to admit my time with the Coalition Defense Force has changed me. He raised one of the scales over his eye as they raced back toward the Lion of Judah and her consorts. Most interesting, indeed.
20
Simultaneously, Amir and the mass of friendly space superiority fighters, along with the remaining bombers, raced toward the Trotsky. The integrated CDF tactical network showed a patchwork of shields around the station, resembling a quilt with missing pieces. Our missiles will be wasted against those shields, but if we can get inside of the sphere, they’d have a real impact. He used the neural interface to create a series of waypoints for the squadron leaders to follow. His hope was they’d avoid the massed capital ship weapons being thrown against the shipyard and get them inside the defensive screens where they could cause havoc.
“Colonel, those coordinates are very close to the enemy's point defense emplacements,” one of his squadron commanders said over the commlink. The tone of his voice was one of worry.
Amir scowled within his helmet. “Yes, but the fleet has neutralized most of the enemy’s flak cannons. We can thread the needle, as they say.”
“Understood, sir.”
The void whipped by, and Trotsky’s mass filled the cockpit of Amir’s Phantom. It had to take decades to build, and only a few hours for us to destroy it. Long blue beams shot by his craft. They were particle and neutron beams from the Lion of Judah and the rest of the friendly fleet. He watched as the weapons struck home against the shields and hull of the station. There were small explosions off the superstructure, and in a few cases, secondary explosions as something vital was hit.
“Stay tight, Reapers,” Amir called into his commlink. “ECM systems to max, weapons free. Engage enemy point defense as they range.”
The lock tone sounded in the cockpit, and Amir squeezed the trigger to loose one of the LIDAR guided missiles carried within the fighter’s munitions bay. It dropped out, and the engine triggered, sending the weapon off at ever increasing speed. “Reaper One, Fox Three.”
The rest of the craft in his squadron launched their own advanced LIDAR homing missiles, and many added miniature neutron cannons to the mix. Bolts of blue and red energy sizzled past one another in the blackness of space, causing small impacts across the armored hull of the shipyard. Most of the missiles struck their targets, as Terran Coalition fire control systems were far superior to those of the League. One of the final target acquisition tricks was a sensor that homed in on the radiation signature of enemy ECM. It all added up to an eighty to ninety percent hit rate.
“Nice shooting, ladies and gentlemen,” Amir said into the commlink as he whipped his fighter around incoming blasts of plasma fire. “Break and attack shield node at bearing zero-seven-zero, range twenty-five kilometers.” He rolled his craft and lined it up with the indicated target. Space around them continued to pulse with brightly colored weapons fire, all the while the capital ships poured on their armaments. Losses were relatively light, and he counted less than thirty fighter or bomber losses by his wing so far. At least since the horrendous attempted first strike. That had cost over a hundred and fifty pilots. The death of Hume wasn’t far from the top of his thoughts.
Again, the missile tone sounded in his cockpit, and Amir squeezed the trigger. “Reaper One, Fox Three!” A few moments later, the rest of his squadron had launched eleven more LIDAR guided missiles, and he settled into a direct vector pointing toward the shield generator. “Reaper One, guns, guns, guns!” A fusillade of blue bolts erupted from the Phantom and raced toward the offending piece of alloy, jutting up from the surface of the League station. Under the combined bombardment of thirty-six space superiority fighters, it exploded i
nto a cloud of debris.
The explosion started small, then blossomed out. Chunks of the station erupted outward, while his fighters’ internal alarm went off. “Pull up, terrain! Pull up, terrain!” the insistent computerized voice called out. Amir yanked his flight stick back, and the fighter shot up. Orange flames followed him, and the rest of the flight, while the craft shook violently. It took a few seconds, but eventually, the shaking ceased, and he looped back to see a molten area of hull where the shield node had once been. Thank Allah we were not killed. He picked another target and went back to work.
* * *
On the bridge of the Lion of Judah, David stood next to the holotank and its projector, staring at a 3D rendering of the Trotsky. The six Constantine class heavy cruisers were depicted too, as was the Lion itself. He studied the remaining shield quadrants and armor status. I think we’ve got them.
“We could fire on their reactor core with our particle beams, sir. It’d be strong enough to pierce the reactor chamber with their armor and shields gone.”
“Yeah, that’d do it,” David replied. “I’ll give them the option to surrender.”
Ruth stared at him, her eyes narrowed, and jaw set in a stern expression. “Why, sir?” She closed her eyes and answered the question before he could. “Because it’s who we are.”
“Exactly, XO,” he said softly. “Communications, get me a vidlink connection to whoever’s in charge over there. Tell them we’d like to discuss surrender terms.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Taylor replied.
David walked back to the CO’s chair and sat. He pulled his uniform sweater down and set himself. Time to finish this.
* * *
“Captain, incoming transmission from the Terrans,” the Trotsky’s communications officer announced amid the heavily damaged operations center. Medical teams swarmed over fallen men and women, while crewmen performed necessary damage control. “They wish to discuss terms of our surrender.”
Konstantinov stared mutely, pondering how it had gone so wrong. He’d thought they were home-free when the first group of League reinforcements had arrived, but the Saurian battleship wiped them out like they were nothing more than toys. Now he had to face the finality of the situation. I could fight to the bitter end. He closed his eyes and could see the faces of those who served under him. I owe it to them not to throw their lives away in meaningless gestures. Mind made up, he set his jaw. “Put him on the monitor, Lieutenant.”
“But, sir, we…”
“Do it, Lieutenant,” Konstantinov said, his tone soft, even if the words themselves were not.
A few moments passed before the unsmiling face of a human male filled the viewer. He wore a standard-issue CDF uniform along with a black spacer’s sweater. The man had short brown hair and piercing eyes. It was the face of the enemy. “This is General David Cohen, commanding officer of the CSV Lion of Judah. To whom am I speaking?”
He sucked in a breath as if to gather his courage. I was right. “Captain Anatoly Konstantinov, commanding the Trotsky. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, General. I’m not used to Terran Coalition ships attacking this station.”
David smiled thinly. “We weren’t used to League ships attacking Canaan until the League’s sneak attack either. Turnabout seems like fair play in this situation.”
“Perhaps from your perspective,” he replied cautiously. “I must inform you the home defense fleet is en route, General. While your ships are impressive, not even they can stand against hundreds of ours.”
“They won’t get here in time to save you,” David said as the smile disappeared from his face. “Your shields have failed, your armor is melted and destroyed. I can fire on your main reactor core at any time with our energy weapons and cause a chain reaction that will destroy your station. I want to give you the opportunity to remove your personnel.”
Konstantinov narrowed his eyes and stared directly into the viewer. I don’t sense a bluff. The tactical status readouts he’d studied prior to the vidlink lined up with David’s assessment of their situation. If I can get most of the crew off, I can stage a last stand. Maybe then, they won’t kill my family for this failure. The thought was one he held on to with all his might. “I appreciate… this gesture, General. It will take some time to evacuate a structure such as the Trotsky, of course.”
“You have fifteen minutes, Captain. Ensure all weapons cease fire, and we will do the same. After that time is up, we will destroy your station.”
“I understand, General.”
“Cohen, out.”
The viewer went blank, and Konstantinov realized every set of eyes in the operations center was focused squarely on him. He blinked. “We have no choice, comrades. Tactical, cease outgoing fire on the Terran ships.”
“But, Captain—”
“I did not say I was going to stop fighting. But we will take advantage of the lull the Terrans are giving us,” he replied as he held up his hand. “Now I want you to direct all power into the plasma charging relays. Get them up to full power, then overcharge them.”
“Aye, sir.”
“XO, gather up the command personnel and evacuate operations. Ensure our lower decks crew and especially the civilians get to safety.”
“Captain,” his XO started to interject.
“There will be no discussion. Carry out my orders.” Konstantinov sat back in his chair and watched how the faces of those in the room changed over the course of several seconds. First, shock, then anger, and finally, acceptance. Yes, I know how they feel. To lose to the capitalist dogs of the Terran Coalition offends me to the core.
It was at that moment the station’s political officer, Lee Huang, made his appearance. A thin, gaunt man of middle age, he was of Asian descent, and his accent reflected it. “Do you mean to surrender this shipyard without a fight?”
Konstantinov whirled around in his chair at the sound of the new voice and reflexively stood. His eyes flashed anger. “How dare you insult those under my command by suggesting we have not already fought. The battle is over. They won.”
“I could have you shot for cowardice,” Haung said as he fingered the pistol holstered on his belt.
“No one here would obey that order. Perhaps you could put your energy to use helping fellow members of the party escape to fight another day.”
“I will not permit you to abandon this station!”
“Let’s understand something, shall we? The station is lost,” Konstantinov began, and paced toward Haung, towering over him. “I choose to save my crew. Before you accuse me of cowardice, perhaps you’d like to hear the rest of my plan?” He paused for a moment.
The political officer nodded once, curtly.
“I will stay behind, and once there is confirmation the final escape pod has launched, I’ll concentrate all our firepower on a single enemy cruiser and attempt to destroy it. The Terrans will in turn fire on us, and I will die in the explosion.”
The XO spoke. “Sir, there’s no need—”
“Yes there is. If nothing else, it will safeguard my family and everyone else here. Now get to the escape pods and ensure the crew evacuates as ordered.” Konstantinov turned back to his chair and punched a button for the station-wide intercom. “Now hear this. Now hear this. Officers, crew, and comrades of the Trotsky. The shipyard is no longer defendable, and the capitalist pigs of the Terran Coalition mean to destroy us.” He inserted the invective in the hopes it would placate Haung. “Proceed immediately to the nearest escape pod or shuttle and abandon ship. I repeat… Abandon ship.” He turned back to the gaggle of people standing in apparent indecision. “That means everyone in ops too.”
Huang spoke up. “Captain, I will remain with you to ensure the success of your final attack.” His mouth was a thin line. “And I too have similar concerns when it comes to our loss today.”
“Very well. You may stay.” And keep the hell out of my way.
The XO slapped his fist to his chest. “I will carry out your orders, Captain
. Lenin himself will smile on your sacrifice.” The rest of the crew followed suit before they all turned as one and left in an orderly way through the aft hatch.
Konstantinov slowly sat in the commander’s chair and glanced around the operations center. This was to be one last command before I retired. Ah, the cruel irony of life. Time marched on.
21
Master Chief Gordan MacDonald rounded another corner, his battle rifle at the ready. Since they’d boarded the Kalinin, the assault teams had secured the hangar deck and set up checkpoints at every gravlift. A League security team came into view as he did, and he reflexively squeezed the trigger of his weapon, putting a third-round-burst into the center mass of the closest enemy. Ahmad and Harrell added their fire to the mix, and a few seconds later, the Leaguers were dead on the deck. The attached sound suppressors reduced the reports of their guns to near silence. Kucuk, the Saurian member of the team, and Mata took up the rear.
“Is it just me, or are we running into more of these guys?” Harrell grunted into his commlink.
“Maybe. Could be a rotating guard shift or something,” MacDonald replied. He was amazed they hadn’t triggered an alarm as of yet. Sometimes the Leaguers have shit for brains. “Only two decks from their main computer core.”
Through his helmet’s faceplate, Rostami grinned. “You make it sound so easy, Master Chief.”
“You’re always bragging about how hot your computer skills are. Time to earn it, Rostami.”
“It’s not magic, though,” the younger man complained.
While they made small talk and bantered through the commlink, the team stalked forward, covering their angles and corners. They moved through the passageway of the station like animals searching for prey. Coming up to another gravlift, the commandos halted when MacDonald held up his hand in a closed fist.
Run the Gauntlet: Echoes of War Book Six Page 20
