“TAO, firing point procedures. Tubes one through eight, Master One.”
A moment later, Oleson replied, “Firing solutions set, sir.”
That’s the first target. “Excellent. Firing point procedures, tubes nine through twelve, Master Six.” The closest Rand class heavy cruiser made a great secondary target with only four missiles.
“Firing solutions set, sir.”
Fifty kilometers. “TAO, status of energy weapon capacitor?”
“Fully charged, skipper.”
“TAO, firing point procedures, EMP weapon, Master One.”
“Firing solution set, sir.”
Godat leaned in. “Why not use it on another battleship, sir? Knock out as many as we can?”
“Because,” Mancini began as a grin crept onto his face, “cutting off the ability of the Leaguers to get orders from their fleet admiral is far more important.”
“Touché, sir.”
“Remember, we cause as much trouble as possible and jump out.”
“Yeah. Got it, sir.”
He doesn’t look convinced. I suppose I can’t blame him for it. I’m not either. A quick glance at the tactical plot confirmed their range at twenty kilometers from Master One—the League Alexander class battleship. God, this better work. “TAO, make tubes one through twelve ready in all respects and open the outer doors.”
Oleson didn’t miss a beat. “Outer doors open, all tubes ready, sir.” His voice sounded like it was about to crack.
“TAO, match bearings, shoot, tubes one through eight and raise our shields,” Mancini ordered, his voice sharp and direct. “Pilot, all ahead flank, ninety-degree up bubble! Set reactor output to one hundred and twenty percent of maximum.”
A moment after the order was given, the G-forces kicked in. The powerful fusion engine activated, channeling plasma as exhaust, along with all of their conventional ion engines. Within seconds, they were at 2Gs, then 2.5Gs, before the inertial dampers caught up. The Tucson pitched upward relative to the League fleet and accelerated.
“Conn, TAO. All Hunter missiles running hot, straight, and normal. Best range, eight hundred meters to target!”
Mancini leaned forward, halfway out of his seat. Come on, come on, come on!
A moment later, all eight warheads detonated on the massive battleship. Large thermonuclear explosions blossomed, registering on the tactical plot as flashes. They decimated the armor and superstructure of the ship, blowing molten chunks into the void of space.
“TAO, match bearings, shoot, tubes nine through twelve and the EMP weapon.” By now, Mancini was back in his chair firmly as his heart raced. It pounded so hard, he thought the organ might explode from his chest.
“Conn, TAO. All Hunters running hot, straight, and normal. Impact in eight seconds.”
The unlucky Rand class heavy cruiser still didn’t have its shields up when the four warheads impacted on the surface of its hull. Unlike the heavily reinforced battleship, which could take a significant pounding, the Rand’s armor gave way under the pressure. Concussive shockwaves raced through the ship, and it blew apart violently as secondary explosions wracked the vessel from bow to stern. As this occurred, the beam from the EMP weapon connected with the Leaguer battleship. Blue energy crackled across it. A moment later, it was utterly dark and dead in space.
“Conn, TAO. Master Two destroyed!”
“COB, emergency reload, all missile tubes,” Mancini barked. Growler class boats carried twenty-four Hunters. He intended to cause as much mayhem as possible before jumping out.
It was then the return fire from the mass of enemy ships found them.
* * *
A minute before on the bridge of the Ho Chi Minh, Admiral Alec Hartford stared directly ahead, his hands steepled together. He was deep in thought about how to best approach running down the fleeing Terran and Saurian vessels. The most likely scenario is we range on their escorting cruisers first and pick them off one at a time. He’d also called for additional reinforcements from the Home Fleet. Two more battlegroups were on the way, targeting their jump coordinates to box the enemy in.
“Admiral,” the tactical officer began. “We’re picking up an anomaly on the starboard side of the fleet.”
“What kind of anomaly?”
One of the enlisted personnel halfway across the cavernous bridge that doubled as fleet command shrieked, “Missiles inbound! Hunter missiles inbound!”
Hartford briefly filed away in his mind to have the panicking man flogged after the battle, but forced his attention to the task at hand. “Raise shields. Signal the fleet to reduce speed, activate all defensive systems—” He never got the chance to finish the sentence. The deck suddenly pitched up, and anyone not strapped into their seats with harnesses went flying. Some a short distance; others careened across the room and broke bones on the consoles they slammed into. Blood freely flowed down Hartford’s nose, and he groggily raised his head, aware he’d headbutted the floor.
“Admiral, one Terran Coalition Growler class stealth raider on sensors,” the tactical officer called out.
“Return… fire,” Hartford ground out, finding it difficult to speak. “Order… the,” he took a deep breath, “fleet to fire.” Immense concentration was required to get out the simplest words.
“Aye, sir.”
A single puny Terran ship isn’t enough to—
His tactical officer interrupted. “Enemy vessel is firing again, more missiles and a beam weapon.” As he spoke, sparks showered from every piece of electronics on the bridge. Some exploded, and spot fires broke out. “It’s an EMP, sir!” The lights blinked and went out, leaving the area bathed in orange light.
Hartford’s eyes closed briefly, and he tried to stay conscious. “Damage… control,” he slurred the words, as if he was drunk. Unable to continue, his head drooped, and everything went black.
* * *
“Shields at thirty percent capacity, skipper,” Godat yelled above the din of battle. “We can’t take much more of this.”
The Tucson was accelerating every second, speeding away from the League fleet, and more importantly, the massed concentration of plasma cannon fire they sprayed toward her. Space was thick with superheated red balls crisscrossing it. One positive side-effect of their high-speed transit through the blob of enemy vessels was in their rushed attempts to destroy the Tucson, half the Leaguer’s shots ended up hitting their own ships.
“Skipper, aft section two, deck three, is showing signs of hull fracture,” Cosentino interjected.
Mancini let out a breath. “Seal it off, COB. TAO, reload status?”
“Ten seconds, sir,” Oleson said, his face and eyes locked on to his station.
Five… four… three… two… one.
“Conn, TAO, Hunter missile reloads complete.”
Another burst of plasma cannon fire impacted on their shields, causing the control room crew to rock in their harnesses. Mancini glanced up at his plot and picked the four closest escorts—all Cobra class destroyers. “TAO, firing point procedures, tubes one through twelve. Three missiles per contact, Master Seventeen, Master Twenty-two, Master Eight, and Master Thirty-one.”
“Aye aye, sir, firing solutions set.”
“Match bearings, shoot, all tubes.”
The tiny—at least compared to the ships around it—vessel shuddered as the salvo of Hunters launched from all tubes at once. “Conn, TAO. All units running hot, straight, and normal. Targets acquired and homing,” Oleson yelled.
“Navigation, hard right on heading zero-nine-zero, forty-five degree down bubble. Execute emergency Lawrence jump on pre-set coordinates,” Mancini thundered as he gripped both sides of the CO’s chair so hard, his knuckles turned white.
“Aye aye, sir, activating Lawrence drive,” the navigator replied.
“COB, release the last countermeasure drone.”
“Aye aye, skipper!” Cosentino yelled as the whine of the engines rendered most discussion impossible in the control room. There
was a noticeable decrease in thuds a few seconds later, thanks to the drone’s handiwork.
The lights dimmed while the forward acceleration of the ship slowed. This allowed the League ships still tracking them to substantially increase their accuracy, at least momentarily. A bright, multi-colored wormhole sprang open in front of the Tucson, cracking open the fabric of space. As the ship flew through, multiple plasma balls impacted against its weakened shields, which failed. Several then hit the thin outer hull of the vessel.
Mancini almost pitched forward out of his seat as they bucked wildly. “Damage report, XO.”
“Decks two and three, aft section venting into space. We’re sealing it off now, skipper. Crewmen are trapped down there.” Godat’s words carried a somber tone.
“Conn, navigation. Transit complete, sir. We’re five thousand kilometers from the Lion of Judah. Lawrence drive is offline.”
“Engines down to thrusters only,” Cosentino said. “Three confirmed KIA, sir. Lost to the void. Heavy damage to all sections aft of the control room, decks two, three, and five.”
“Acknowledged, COB. Redirect all damage control parties to those sections and the engine room. Prioritize sub-light maneuvering and sealing the hull breaches. Communications, get me General Cohen,” Mancini ordered. He leaned forward in his chair. God, please let it be worth the cost.
* * *
David stared at the tactical plot in dumbfounded amazement. Hartford’s flagship, the Ho Chi Minh, still coasted forward but lacked any additional thrust. Several other League ships had been destroyed, and the rest of the enemy fleet no longer accelerated toward them. A few minutes ago, they had us dead to rights, and I was moments away from leaving behind a lot of good men and women. Now… we got lucky. No, we didn’t. Major Mancini probably sacrificed his life and ship to save us. The somber realization forced down any feeling of relief or pleasure that had bubbled up at the sight of suddenly bloodied Leaguers.
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Lawrence drive emergence off the port bow. CDF signal confirmed sir,” Kelsey paused for a moment. “It’s the Tucson, sir.”
David let out the breath he was holding, and a small smile creased his face. Yeah, there is a God. He turned toward Ruth. “That was cutting it a bit close.”
She grinned in return. “Quite, sir.”
“Conn, communications. Major Mancini would like to talk, sir.”
“Put him on.”
A few moments later, David’s viewer came to life with an image of the control room of the Tucson. Battle damage was apparent, with sections of the overhead hanging loose and damaged consoles visible. Mancini’s face was front and center, and despite it all, he was smiling. “General Cohen, glad to see you, sir.”
“Likewise, Major. Good show,” David began. “I and everyone else in the fleet is in your debt.”
“Just doing our jobs, sir. You looked like you could use some help.”
David pursed his lips together and nodded. “What’s the status of your boat?”
“Heavily damaged. We won’t be able to jump out under our own power. We left the Marines and commandos back on the League destroyer we captured. The fleet will need to go back for them.”
“Understood. Maintain formation as best as you can, and we’ll figure this out. The Lion of Judah is still a couple of hours away from being able to recover anything inside our hangar.”
“Roger that, General. Tucson out.”
The viewer went black, leaving David with a few precious moments to think. We still need to give the Leaguers something to think about. “TAO, status of enemy fleet?”
“They’re on an intercept course, but maintaining a constant rate of speed, sir. We’re gaining on them. Even at max burn, they’re an hour away from us now.”
He reached up and stroked his chin, then stood and went to the holotank in the middle of the bridge. A few button presses later, and the area of engagement displayed. “TAO, can we hit the Leaguers with our Hunter and Starbolts missiles from this range, taking into account the enemy's straight-line flight speed toward us?”
“One moment, sir.” Kelsey tapped furiously on a tablet she’d laid on top of her console before turning back toward him. “Yes, sir. Just barely.”
David narrowed his eyes, and his lips curled up in a fierce warrior’s grin. “TAO, firing point procedures, tubes one hundred twenty-one through two hundred and forty. Target the enemy fleet at your discretion.”
A few moments passed. “Firing solutions set, sir.”
“Make tubes one hundred twenty-one through two hundred and forty, ready in all respects. Open outer doors.”
“Tubes ready in all respects, outer doors open, sir.”
“Match bearings, shoot, tubes one hundred twenty-one through two hundred and forty.”
The entire contents of the Lion’s aft VRLS thundered into the blackness of space. In series they launched, one after the other over the course of thirty seconds. On the bridge, there was a minor rattle on the deck. David stared at the tactical plot as the mass of icons raced backward from the fleet, heading straight for the enemy. That’ll give them something to think about, besides us.
26
The bridge remained bathed in blue light, the Lion of Judah at battle stations. David stared at his viewer and the tactical plot on it, running numbers mentally. Satisfied with the results, he turned to Ruth. “My math says they’re now an hour and fifteen minutes away, and losing ground. That’s enough time to get the Ark Royal in, land our fighters and the Tucson, then get the heck out of here.”
“Agreed, sir. They need at least thirty minutes to complete the Lawrence drive cool down, just in case we have to execute a back-to-back jump.” Ruth appeared far more relaxed now. Her face was no longer scrunched up, and something akin to a smile graced it.
“Communications, get me a vidlink with General Hale.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Taylor replied.
While there was still a level of tension to the room—they were after all, closer to Earth than any member of the CDF who wasn’t a POW had been hundreds of years—it was nothing like the feeling of defeat that had permeated the space a few minutes prior.
The viewer above David’s head came to life with an image of Hale. She was not smiling. “General Cohen, we were starting to get worried over here.”
“That makes two of us. The situation is well in hand now. I need the Ark Royal to jump to our location and recover our small craft. The Lion’s hangar bay is out of commission.”
“Are you under fire, sir?”
Of course, she’s worried about jumping into a firefight and losing her ship. I can’t blame her. “No, General Hale,” David replied, his voice taking on a hard edge. “There’s a League fleet here, but there’s more than enough time for you to get in, get our pilots, and get out. I don’t know how long that’s going to last, so get moving. I want you here in five minutes.”
There was a pregnant pause in the feed. “Understood, General. We’ll start plotting the jump now. Hale out.”
Over the next few minutes, the bridge was reasonably quiet. David retreated into his mind, beginning to analyze the situation and what went wrong. He found himself torn between thinking they’d secured a tremendous strategic victory, and the idea they’d gone a jump too far. Kelsey interrupted his mental reverie.
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, wormhole opening. CDF signature. CSV Ark Royal now on scope at twenty-five hundred kilometers, sir.”
Now we get the heck out of here. “Communications, signal Colonel Amir to begin landing all remaining squadrons on the Ark Royal. Same message to Major Mancini. Give them a fifteen-minute deadline and coordinate a jump to the location of the destroyer with our Marines on it.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
David sat back in his chair and stared at the tactical plot. Already, the icons representing the fighters and bombers they had in space swept toward the carrier. He knew in his heart they were home free, and all that was left was the countdown.
* * *
A couple of hours later, the fleet was well underway back to the Sagittarius arm of the Milky Way. Recovery of all friendly craft had occurred without incident. David strode into the conference room directly aft of the bridge on the Lion of Judah to find the senior bridge officers already present, along with Hale, Mancini, and Aibek.
As he walked in, everyone rose to their feet, while Master Chief Tinetariro barked, “General on deck!”
“As you were,” David quickly replied. “Please be seated.” Once the rest of them had retaken their chairs, he dropped into the one at the head of the table. “This mission was hard,” he began without preamble. “One of our hardest fought victories to date.”
“Nice to see those Leaguer bastards running again,” Calvin interjected with a massive grin on his face. “We should’ve done this a long time ago.”
“It was a closer thing than I’d care to admit.” David didn’t share the same happy thoughts some of those present were communicating through body language and tone. “Still, a miss is as good as a mile, I suppose. Master Chief, damage report?”
“The hangar deck is repressurized, sir. We’ve also recovered most of the missing.”
“How many?”
“At last count, two hundred and eight, sir. KIA. Three hundred-plus injured, most critically.”
The mention of the causality totals quickly dampened the smiles in the room. Amir glanced up as he’d been staring at the table. “Most of the combined wings of the Lion and Ark Royal were KIA, or critically wounded.”
I know he’s blaming himself. “Colonel, it wasn’t your fault. You made a call—the right one, I might add—to rearm your forces to face the next wave. They got lucky and hit us with our pants down.”
“Perhaps, sir, but—”
“No buts. If there’s any blame for our losses, it’s mine alone,” David said in a forceful tone. “Master Chief, continue, please.”
“Reactor repairs are proceeding, and our Lawrence drive is functioning near optimal levels. All in all, the ship is in good shape for the journey home.”
Run the Gauntlet: Echoes of War Book Six Page 26
