by Jay Allan
He looked over, across the wreckage that covered his bridge, toward the gunnery station. Lieutenant Gravis was still there, almost entirely ignoring the wound that cut across his back, watching as the station’s remaining weapons fired. The firepower remaining was only a fraction of what the station had possessed barely half an hour before, but it was still potent, and the longer it fired, the more damage it inflicted, the better chance Earth-2 had of surviving. Vincennes knew that, and he clung to his beliefs, even as the fear and other factors wore away at his resolve. He had ordered the silent stations, the ones with no guns but with some survivors, to abandon ship, but his own still had firepower…and he knew every shot was vital, that every gun had to be fired as many times as possible.
His bridge crew was half dead already, the second gunner and two others killed, still lying next to their seats. Half the structure was damaged, and huge support wings fallen. He knew his station was dying, that another hit or two would be the end. Perhaps the weapons would be knocked out while there were still some people alive. Then they could escape—perhaps even he could. But he didn’t know. It was just a matter of luck, of where the next hits came. Some of his stations had survivors when they were knocked out of the fight, and some didn’t.
He sat in his chair, trying to look calm, though he was anything but. He knew he had to stay there, that he had to keep his remaining crew in place, as long as his station had weapons to fire. He might have ordered a partial withdrawal, but at least half his crew was dead already, and there barely enough remaining to keep the place functioning.
He turned and looked at the display, watching the remaining shots from his still-functional stations, and the incoming volleys from the attacking ships. The battle had shifted, gone from just his stations firing to the approaching enemy blasting as well. And once the attacking ships moved closer, their firepower was far more effective than his. The lack of mobility of his stations became more of a problem, the closer the enemy came, and he knew that his remaining units, the few with active weapons systems, were almost done. It would be a matter of minutes before his force was completely offline, and then it would just be a question of where his survivors went, those able to escape…if only for a few hours.
And whether he was one of them…or if his station was destroyed or if the bridge was taken out, and him with it.
He watched the screen, seeing most of the final shots from the stations missing, even as there were hits being scored by the incoming weaponry. The advanced ships were close now, very close, and the power of their guns was increasing. Even as he stared, another station took two hits in a matter of seconds, and then it just vanished in a massive explosion.
Then, he felt his own station vibrate, and he knew it, too, had been hit again. He held his breath for a few seconds, not sure if he would live, if any of his people would…but the shot struck the station’s midsection, and while it did a lot of damage, it didn’t appear that it was coming apart. Yet. But that didn’t mean it didn’t cause damage.
“Sir…the weapons are all down. I think it might be the firing mechanism and not the guns themselves. Perhaps I can go down to…”
“No, Lieutenant…we’ve done all we can. The station can’t fire, and by the time you got somewhere you could—maybe—do something, we’ll be hit again. We’ve done all we can in this fight.” He looked around the bridge, at the other living officers. “Come on…let’s see if we can get out of here, before…”
He saw relief in the officer’s eyes, in all of them, as well as fear. They had fought bitterly, and very well, and now they would struggle for themselves, they would escape…or not.
He got up, shaking for a moment, trying to ignore the aches and pains he felt. “Let’s go…let’s see if any of the lifts are still working.”
* * *
“Come on, work it. We need those engines back, at least partially, and we need them now!” Clark’s voice was hoarse, but he forced it out at a decent volume. The hit that had taken out his engines would lead to his ship’s destruction, sooner rather than later. Without the variation to his movement, the enemy would be able to target his exact location. They just needed to realize that the engines were down, and then his ship would follow…quickly.
Unless he got at least some power back.
“We’re working on it, sir. I believe we will have at least fifty percent back…soon.”
He almost followed up, noted that “soon” might not be quick enough. But he realized that his chief engineer knew that as well as he did. “Very well,” was all he said. Distracting his engineer from her duties was not going to help things, not one bit.
“Lieutenant…I want all debris ready to be evacuated…in five stages.” He almost shook his head while he was saying it. The notion of gaining some thrust from expelling garbage seemed absurd…but he knew it would have a small effect, that if the enemy targeted the exact location he should be in, it just might be enough to make them miss. If he was lucky, it might buy another minute, perhaps even confuse the enemy, extend the gain to two or three minutes. It wasn’t much, but it was the only thing he could think of, the only way to buy some time—a little at least—for the engineers to get the thrusters back online.
“First stage ready, sir.”
Clark stared at the screen, trying to guess how long it would take an enemy ship to realize that his vessel was on a fixed course. He knew it would be soon, but every minute he bought, every second, was worth something.
He counted to himself, his eyes fixed on the explosions occurring around his ship. The enemy shots were getting closer, but no one had yet realized that the engines were down. But he had waited as long as he dared.
“Now…release batch one. As hard as possible!”
He waited, listening as his aide passed on the order. He could barely feel the movement, but he saw that the expulsion was complete…and a few seconds later, he saw a pair of heavy beams rip across the ship’s path, less than eighty meters from the vessel itself…and just where it would have been had he not expelled the garbage.
“Batch two…now!” He knew he didn’t have much time. The enemy might be confused now, might even have assumed that his ship’s engines were working, that his sudden thrust was a small burst. But they wouldn’t be confused long.
The ship shook again, moving along an almost imperceptible point, its course barely changed. But barely wasn’t the same as not at all, and he knew his vessel’s angle of movement had been modified, ever so slightly. The clusters of trash being expelled were different sizes, the effect they had on the ship’s course were each a bit different.
He was about to launch the third batch of trash when he heard something. He turned quickly, his eyes moving to the navigator’s station. The ship had thrust—real thrust—and more than fifty percent. The engines were at seventy-two percent, and while that wasn’t one hundred, it was a lot.
“Reactivate program three,” he said, almost without thinking about it. He needed the most his ship could get, the best possible chance of confusing the enemy. He was easier to hit than he was before, he knew that, but far more difficult than he’d been seconds earlier.
Now, he could focus once again on his ship’s weapons, and on the rest of the fleet. The fight was going…fairly well. His vessels were firing, were hitting enemy ships. Both sides had lost a large number of vessels, but there were still a lot left, and from the numbers, from his quick analysis of the fleet strengths, he couldn’t tell who was going to win.
He could only determine that whoever it was, they wouldn’t have much left.
* * *
Frette was hunched forward, watching as her ship, all of her ships, as they closed on the enemy forces in front of them. The battle had been fierce, intense, the greatest concentration of force she had seen in sixty years…and it was still going on.
She watched as her ship fired, as all of her ships fired. She was at close range—very close to the nearest enemy ships—and her hit ratio improved. But so did the ene
my’s. As she watched the display, each side lost a ship, and half a dozen others took hits. She knew the fight would go on, that the two sides would continue to savage each other…but she also realized that Earth-2 was about to join in the battle. The orbital fortresses were almost entirely gone, save only for two or three still fielding a gun or two. In another five minutes, they would be silent, too, and the vestiges of the fort crews, the survivors if there were any, would be out of the fight, racing for their escape vessels, assuming there were any still functional.
She knew that any escape would be short-lived, that unless her forces won the fight, any surviving humans would be eradicated by the victorious enemy. But she found herself hoping for the best, wishing good luck to the survivors…even as her own ships moved to an even greater fight than they had endured so far.
She glanced back, at the forces she had left behind. She knew Clark was her best admiral, even if he wasn’t her oldest or highest ranked, and she had acted accordingly, leaving him in command. And it had worked, at least so far. He hadn’t allowed any more ships to break off, to try to reinforce the group she was chasing, and that was enough, for now at least. She knew he had to win as well as her, that both forces had to be victorious in order for her people to survive, but right now, she was focused mostly on her own forces, her own fight. She had to win…somehow to destroy enough enemy ships that at least some of the civilization, some of the people down on Earth-2, survived.
She looked across the bridge, at her crew, trying to determine if they thought they had a chance. She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t even tell if she thought there was a possibility of winning. She just knew she had to fight, to keep it up, to strike with everything she had, as quickly as possible…and hope for the best.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Just Outside E2S Carson City
Alpha-Omega 12 III
Earth Two Date 04.12.63
Max Harmon fired, almost wildly. He had a decent amount of ammunition, and more on the ships, but still, he was going through it rapidly. All his people were…he was sure of that. The enemy robots had closed to point blank range, and the two sides were blasting away at each other. For a while, he had thought the battle was going badly, that his people were going to be overrun…but now he could see that the level of incoming fire was down, too. He was tired, exhausted really, but he put that out of his mind. He knew there was no rest, not in the current fight, and not in what followed if his people survived.
Not until the Regent was destroyed…or he was.
He ducked down, a burst of close enemy fire telling him he was exposing too much. He suddenly had a suicidal energy, an urge to do whatever was necessary…but he knew he had to survive the current fight. He had to take his survivors forward…had to take out the enemy. Somehow.
He fired again, changing his clip every ten seconds or so. He’d thought the enemy was coming all the way, but then they stopped. There weren’t more than a hundred meters between the two lines, and the fire was heavy. Very heavy. He thought about his people, realized that each of them was going through something similar to what he was experiencing. They were all volunteers, and though they hadn’t expected certain death, they couldn’t have been overly optimistic either. But, of course, the options to those who remained behind weren’t very good either. The best one was surviving a fight that claimed most of one’s comrades…and that chance wasn’t very good. He knew that even if he made it through the fight, if he somehow destroyed the Regent and made it back, he was likely to return to a world obliterated, a people more or less gone. There would be survivors of course, those under Terrance Compton, along with the residents of the two previously occupied planets that still remained. But there would be leftovers on the Regent’s side, too, other AIs as well as some level of remaining force…and a large array of building resources. If the Regent was destroyed and the enemy was defeated from Earth-2, maybe, just maybe, his forces would actually win…but he was far from sure of that.
Still, you’ve got to get farther than this…even for a slight chance of victory…
He continued firing, even as his pack grew lighter, and he knew his supply of clips was diminishing. He had brought as many as he could carry, everyone had, but he knew they wouldn’t have the ability to rearm from the supplies…not unless they won this fight.
The enemy fire was considerably less than it had been, though, and he realized it was indeed possible that his forces would win the battle they were fighting, at least the first stage of it. He shot one of the enemy bots, just as it was aiming his way…and it exploded wildly. Within a few seconds, he saw no less than four of the enemy bots completely destroyed, and at least that many more damaged. He felt a rush, a realization that his forces were winning, something he furthered by completely ignoring the massive casualties he had suffered as well. Only one thing mattered just then…defeating the enemy bots, and that only meant some of his people still standing when they were all gone.
He reloaded again, and as the enemy fire declined, he felt himself taking more chances, exposing himself just a bit. He began to realize that he was going to win, to at least defeat the forces that had been sent against him. Whether there was another such pack just waiting, or three or four of them, he didn’t know. But he focused on the enemy he was aware of…and he pushed as hard as possible.
“Go…it’s time to finish them!” he shouted, first to the men and women who could hear him, and then, a few seconds later, into the comm unit he carried. He knew the enemy could send out more fighters at any time, at least if it had them, but he wanted the victory for his people, and he wanted it now.
Within another minute or two, there was no fire from his immediate front, nothing at all. He could hear distant exchanges, scattered elements of the enemy on both flanks…but none to his immediate front. The thought crossed his mind, the realization that it could just be hidden enemies, that they could be waiting for him to expose himself, and the other troops in his area. But he knew, somehow, that wasn’t the case. The enemy was on the verge of defeat…and he had to push forward, break through their center…and finish both flanks.
His legs began to do it, to make the movement even before he decided to do it…and definitely prior to his ordering the others to join. He was already up, over the top, when he opened his mouth and said, “Come on, all of you…forward…to victory or death!”
* * *
Leigh was silent, sitting on the bridge…watching. The enemy fleet, the three ships remaining in it at least, were firing wildly, and not coming terribly close to her vessel, at least not yet. That was good, but her ship had missed a number of times, too, and the reality of the battle seemed like it was turning against her. She was grateful, immensely, for the new device, the system that made her ship so hard for the enemy to spot. It was the only reason she was still alive…she knew that with certainty. But it wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, one of the enemy shots would hit her ship…and it wouldn’t take much more than that to knock out the stealth system. Then it would only be a matter of time. And not much of it, she suspected.
More than all that, she realized just how little she had to do. Her guns were manned by their own crew, as was almost every system on her ship. The captain had moments of intense business, of almost overpowering pressure…and then long periods of sitting, and watching her crew perform. Most of the time, at least, the captain had a stake in the crew’s performance, having trained and led them for a while. But the ships in the force that had come—come to throw everything they could at the Regent, whether there was actual hope or not—were newly crewed. Her people were good, selected from the legions of volunteers that had come forward…but her own track record with them was measured in weeks…not years. They were mostly strangers, men and women she had seen a few times.
But they were good, among the best in the whole fleet. That much she’d known from checking their dossiers…and even more from the fight she’d seen so far. Her ship had been handled expertly, and she realiz
ed that most of what had happened had taken place with little input from her, at least beyond the basic orders.
She sat and watched—there was nothing else for her to do. She realized her life was almost over, that her chance of being alive in an hour was pretty damned poor. She thought about her family, about all the loved ones she had left behind, perhaps to meet their own deaths. For an instant, a few seconds of time, she felt herself pulled down. But then, she grabbed ahold of herself. She pushed aside the worry, the cold realization of doom. She had come for a purpose, a true one, and she was going to do as good a job as possible.
She looked at her crew, realized they didn’t need anything…not yet. But they would. Somehow, she knew her job wasn’t done. She wasn’t sure what she had to do, how it would come about, but she was certain it would.
Leigh knew that, though there was no way for her to do so. She was sure, certain that her role wasn’t over. Not yet.
* * *
The Regent watched the fighting…and it felt strange. It had hoped its bots would win, that they would sweep away the enemy and finish the fight. But its forces had lost, on the ground at least…and its four ships, three now, were locked in a fight with a vessel they hadn’t yet been able to locate.
It knew better than to panic. It had sent most of its robot strength to the fight that was even then just wrapping up, and almost all of that had been destroyed. But the enemy had been badly battered as well, and despite its lack of strong defensive forces against the coming assault, the Regent knew the attack would be weak…that it would face a number of challenges. It wasn’t safe, not exactly, but its calculations told it that it wasn’t likely in extreme danger either. The enemy still had a number of challenges to overcome, to even reach it, and their numbers were way down. They’d lost sixty-five percent of their strength in the battle, and while only half were dead, the other half were wounded. It had taken the Regent a while to completely understand the effect injured soldiers had on its enemy, but it had determined that it was often preferable to wound troopers over killing them outright. It approached its forces with a coldness, abandoning units that were badly damaged, but it had come to realize the humans could not match that. There was some flexibility, but generally, human commanders tended to place too much attention on their wounded soldiers.
