by B. V. Larson
It all depended on how fast the Committee members and their personal security had evacuated them from the Chamber of the People and into the bunkers below. If a siege resulted, this whole special operation would be for nothing. The Committee and the command center might have to be eliminated with an orbital strike, and the central government rebuilt from scratch.
Straker pushed onward.
***
Engels clicked her helmet into place, making her flight suit vacuum-capable, at least for a couple of hours, and switched to multi-comlink mode. The comtechs should direct her words where they were needed.
All around her, the crew was suiting up or snapping helmets closed. On a vessel this size, doing so was acknowledgement that severe damage, even destruction, was not out of the question. Throughout the ship, everyone else would be doing the same. Chief Gurung’s damage control crews would be ready, Chief Quade’s engineers would be in their teleoperated repair-bot rigs, and every gunner would be optimizing his or her weaponry, down to the smallest point-defense laser.
“Monitors approaching medium range,” said Tixban.
“Go to full firepower. Hit the same ship we’ve been poking until now. Smash her right on the nose.”
“Firing. Confirmed hit. Heavy damage to target, designated Monitor 1. They are venting atmosphere. Probable neutralization of their central laser.”
“Good. Shift target. Maximum rate of fire.”
“Monitors two through six firing at extreme range,” said Tixban. The deck wobbled and shuddered. “Twelve percent damage to forward armor. I recommend reinforcement.”
Engels reluctantly agreed. She’d rather put all power into her weaponry, but she had to make sure Indomitable survived, even if the monitors were not defeated. “Reinforce the nose. Engineering, try to finesse it so we reinforce only what’s needed. We have to keep up the rate of fire.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.”
Indomitable fired again, and then again. “Monitor two damaged, but still operational.”
“Switch to submunitions, alternating with the beams.”
“Switching.”
The bridge shook with another strike from the monitors. Then came the familiar feeling of the gargantuan spinal railgun firing. “Submunition cluster away.”
On the hologram, the ball of projectiles, much slower than a beam strike, spread out and crawled toward its target. Monitor two evaded strenuously, but could only dodge part of the cluster. “Submunition impact. Severe damage, primary weaponry is assessed as down,” said Tixban.
Engels grunted with satisfaction. “Weapons, fire at your own discretion. You know what I want.”
As Benota said, it was a slugfest. Like a bull fighting wolves, Indomitable gored first one, then another, but the closer the two enemies approached, the more the fight shifted in the monitors’ favor. The battleship took strike after strike to her forward armor. Monitor three was neutralized, and then—
“Nose armor is disintegrating, even with full reinforcement,” Chief Gurung said, sounding worried. “Commodore, we have to roll the ship.”
Engels was ready for this. “Helm, do it. Roll the ship, eighty degrees port, and spin her up. Then flank acceleration.”
The bridge twisted violently around her, and only restraining straps kept her in her seat. With power needed everywhere, gravplate compensation was at minimum.
The hologram showed the result of the helm’s maneuver. With Indomitable’s nose ready to crack, the only thing to do was swing it out of the way. The battleship turned to port, to the left, and engaged her massive fusion engines, driving herself sideways. At the same time, the helm fired the attitude thrusters and reoriented the impellers to start her spinning like a rifled bullet.
This maneuver presented Indomitable’s untouched side armor to her enemies. What’s more, the spinning and rolling made it difficult for an enemy to strike repeatedly at any one spot, while also rotating her side-mounted weaponry around and around, allowing fresh beams and guns to line up in sequence.
The problem was, Indomitable’s main multi-weapon was now effectively out of action, pointing sideways.
“Our capital fleet is coming into range of the monitors,” said Tixban. “Missile swarm is accelerating.”
Engels watched as the Liberation heavy fleet finally joined the action. All the capital ships began accelerating at their own individual maximums, so the cruisers and battlecruisers pulled ahead of the dreadnoughts, with the missiles leading them.
The three damaged monitors rolled in response, presenting their broadsides to their enemies and bringing maximum secondary weaponry into play, trying to cover for their three remaining fellows.
Trying to buy them time to finish off Indomitable.
“Will we hold? Gurung?” Engels asked.
“I am not sure, ma’am. We will do our best.”
Benota spoke in her ear. “I know those monitors, and I’ve come to know this ship. We’ll hold. Survive, anyway. They’ll only get one pass and then they’ll shoot on by. The fleet can chase them down and finish them off. There’s only one thing that worries me.”
“Which is?”
Benota stroked his chin. “I imagine at this point the commodore in charge of the monitors is setting up a special override for one of his ships. A Mutuality captain would not be likely to suicide himself and his ship—not unless he believed the survival of his homeworld was at stake, and we’ve already broadcast that this is a coup, not a genocide—but the man in charge would certainly turn a monitor not his own into a weapon.”
Engels rotated to look at Benota in horror. “To ram us?”
Benota lifted a palm. “That’s what a fanatic would do. Trade one monitor to take us out.”
Engels turned back to stare at the hologram and the vectors shown there. Then she unstrapped and leaped up to stagger to the helm. “Give me the board,” she yelled, shoving the helmsmen out of the way and strapping in. “Now—hurry!”
She sized the controls and eyeballed the numbers and the graphics. Calculations were all well and good, but ultimately, flying was flying and ships were ships, no matter what size… and she had one more trick up her sleeve, something from her old days as a Marksman pilot.
“Weapons, double-load submunitions clusters on the main railgun.”
“But that might damage the railgun.”
“Can’t be helped. Do it! Then give me one-button firing control.”
While the weapons team loaded the two clusters, one atop another, she reset all impellers and thrusters to aim forward, ready to push the ship backward. Then, she ran the fusion engines up to overload levels.
“Ma’am,” said the senior engineer, “you’re overheating the engines. They’ll fail in less than a minute!”
“That’s all we need,” she said. She watched the enemy’s vectors and picked out the one that was clearly trying to intersect the battleship. She steadied on a straight course, giving it an easy target.
“Commodore,” said Tixban with an uncharacteristic tone of panic in his voice, “you must continue evading. You’re giving the ram-ship a simple intercept.”
“I know what I’m doing,” she snarled, hunched with one hand hovering over the impeller actuators, the other with a finger ready to mash the button that fired the railgun.
Tixban unbuckled and flowed toward her as if to physically interfere. “Commodore, I really must insist—”
“Somebody tackle that squid!”
Tixban reached toward her with his arms as time ran out. She chopped the fusion engines to zero, fired the double-shotted railgun and simultaneously activated the impellers and retro-thrusters.
The submunitions acted as reaction mass, like an electric metal rocket fired screaming from Indomitable’s bow. The combination of weapon, impellers and thrusters slowed the ship dramatically, just in time for the ramming monitor to shoot across her nose, missing by mere meters.
Then the three monitors were past, and Engels let go of the controls, waving the
helmsman back to his seat. She left Tixban standing still, several crew holding onto his arms, until she ordered them to release him. “Get back to your station, Tixban.”
“I should be relieved of duty,” he replied, not moving. “I was ready to assault my commanding officer.”
“Then your punishment is to get back to work,” she said wearily.
“I—thank you.” He took his station again.
“You’re not forgiven.”
Once the crew of the bridge absorbed the fact that Engels had outmaneuvered their death, they began to cheer.
The heavy fleet’s missiles swept past as well, chasing and bursting all around the enemies, while the capital ships hammered the three cripples with their direct fire weaponry. Within minutes, they surrendered.
The heavy fleet continued to stalk the three remaining monitors, raking them with shots to their rear. Eventually they must turn and fight, or give up, Engels knew. Without sidespace capability and hunted by faster ships with triple their firepower, they were doomed. It was just a matter of time.
“Set course for Unison,” she said. “How’s the railgun?”
“Inoperative, ma’am,” the senior weapons officer said stiffly. “The double-shotting damaged them.”
“Repair time?”
“Twelve to twenty-four hours.” The man’s face showed reproach.
“Cheer up, Commander,” she said to him. “Better a broken railgun than a dead battleship.”
He lowered his head in acknowledgement, and she hid a grin. The desire to smile faded as she called for an update on the planetary assault.
Chapter 43
Committee Citadel, Unity City, Planet Unison
Heavy gunfire echoed throughout the Citadel. It was an imposing fortress-like building fitted with pillboxes and defenses, a de facto admission that the government here ruled by force and fear, and felt it had to defend itself against its own citizens. Fortunately, the builders never expected an assault by battalions of elite troops.
Backed by its own fanatical Hok, these defenses took a toll on the equally fanatical L-Hok. Straker shuddered to think how many Breakers would have died in their place. Taking on Benota and his contingent had paid off handsomely. It was a lesson he’d learned from his readings of history: the best way to destroy your enemies was to make them your friends.
If that didn’t work… kill them.
With his own small force of battlesuiters and warriors in tow, Straker stomped through the high-ceilinged halls, straight for the Committee Chamber. He passed many blasted bodies of Hok and L-Hok, mingled and unified in bloody death.
Now and again a Hok lifted a weapon in his direction, and he administered the coup de grace. Other times, an L-Hok saluted or tried to get up. To those, he returned the salute, but passed on.
When the bodies ran out he found an intact double pillbox sprouting autocannon. An excellent defense against battlesuiters, it fell easily to the force-cannon bolts he sent down the corridor. The chattering weapons sprayed him with bullets, but his armor shrugged them off easily, and his troops sheltered behind his massive form.
That turned out to be the final defense. Beyond it lay two massive double doors. He strode forward and, with a mighty kick, knocked them from their hinges.
Inside, the ornate chamber was deserted. The Committee had fled. A door stood half-open, and beyond it Straker could see a well-lit grav-drop shaft. He cursed at its size, fine for personnel but far too small for a mechsuit.
Reluctantly, he set his mechsuit’s SAI for auto-defense. It would ignore all Ruxins, the weaponless and anyone with the proper IFF. He made sure his comlink was broadcasting the right coded signal, and then he dismounted.
“Sir! You can’t go into combat unarmored!” said Redwolf. “I’ll give you mine.” He lifted off his helmet and started to open his battlesuit .
“Forget it. No time, and it’s not fitted for me.”
“Private Hernandez is about your size. He can—”
“I said forget it.” Straker unholstered his trusty slugthrower pistol. “Dexon, give me a blaster.”
The War Male passed him one of his two heavy blasters, and Straker brandished it one-handed, something only possible for a very strong man. “Let’s go.”
Redwolf got in the way. “No, sir. It’s one thing for you to come along, but you’re not taking point. That’s fucking stupid, with all due respect. Let us do our job. The Liberation is nothing without you.”
Straker didn’t necessarily agree with that last part, but he knew Redwolf was right about the first. “Okay. You marines take point, then me, and the Ruxins will bring up the rear. Sorry, Dexon, but the heaviest armor should go first.”
“Agreed,” said Dexon. “Never fear, we are not like Major Wagner.”
“Nobody is. Now move!”
Redwolf ran for the shaft. He dropped a grenade, and then waved on two of his men before stepping in himself and leading the rest. They fell feet-first.
“Grav is off,” Redwolf comlinked. “We landed on jets. No resistance so far. Come on down.”
Straker descended the ladder rungs countersunk into the concrete, dropping the last couple of meters when he could see the floor. The Ruxins swarmed down behind him.
***
Engels couldn’t take her eyes off the hologram. Now that Indomitable wasn’t fighting, she had time to worry about Derek. “Zoom in on Unison planetary space. Run it back to before the covert assault, then play it at five times speed.”
Tixban followed her instructions without comment, probably trying to avoid reminding her of his near-mutinous actions.
The display changed, showing the defenses around the Committee World of Unison as they frantically fended off the attack of over a hundred light warships. For a short time it seemed like the attackers had the upper hand, but that only lasted as long as their accompanying missile swarm. Once those were picked off, the fortresses began to turn their weapons on the vessels harassing them.
Three icons glided serenely through the midst of the confusion: the Archers, in underspace. A dozen attack ships, local defenders, dogged them, clearly vectored there by fortress detectors. Accompanying them were at least twenty missiles in hunt mode, flitting here and there like fireflies.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered as the three approached their emergence point at the edge of atmo, directly over the capital city of Unity. When they reached it, a confusion of blasts erupted, ships fired, and missiles dove and detonated.
Fortunately the fast-forward mode meant she didn’t have to wait for the results. Float mines and Archer-launched missiles had cleared a bubble of space for the covert ships to emerge, destroying or damaging everything nearby. They popped into normal space and immediately dumped the assault lifters clamped to their hulls. The troopships rocketed straight down toward the city.
The resolution wasn’t fine enough to see, but she knew two mechsuits with Derek and Loco would be diving along with them. She sent up a prayer to the Unknowable Creator for their safety and success.
And then Liberator exploded.
“Freeze! What just happened?”
“It appears Liberator was struck by a primary beam from this fortress.” The offending icon flashed. “It was destroyed.”
Engels slumped in her chair, aghast. Of course a mere corvette would be ripped apart by one blast from a weapon made to slice open dreadnoughts. Twenty people, many of them comrades of hers, people she’d shared meals with in the tiny ship’s mess, were no more. Probably there wasn’t even anything to put in a coffin.
Despite the thousands of her people who had assuredly died in this battle so far, the ships destroyed or crippled, the troops on the ground no doubt dying in toe-to-toe combat with their enemies, only this had punched through her emotional armor. She fought back tears, closing her faceplate for a modicum of privacy from the crew around her.
When she’d mastered herself, she opened her faceplate and asked, “What about the other two?”
; “Revenge and Gryphon show successful underspace insertions,” Tixban said.
She took a shuddering breath, nodding. “Good. Good. Roll the record again. Highlight Carson.”
Commodore Gray had declined to transfer her flag to one of the light cruisers, preferring to stay aboard her frigate. Engels wasn’t sure she really wanted to find out what happened to her friend, but she had to know.
Carson’s icon twisted and turned at the center of the attacking cloud of lightweight ships and missiles. Several near misses rocked her, and once a beam stitched a glowing line along her armor, but whoever her helmsman was, she was one ace pilot. She made it through.
The destruction of Liberator and the launch of the assault lifters signaled an end to the harassment. Commodore Gray’s fleet scattered in individual flight, each ship finding her own way past the planet, trying to evade the following beams and railgun shots. Many didn’t make it as they were raked by powerful fortress weaponry, a sad irony.
But Carson made it. That was something.
“We are realtime on the hologram now, Commodore,” said Tixban.
“Any signal from the assault force?”
“Commander Paloco reported the Breakers have secured the area and are holding against heavy counterattacks while the L-Hok seize the Citadel.”
“Dammit.” If only Indomitable’s railgun were operational…but she’d burned that bridge to save the ship. No point in pining for it now. “How long until the fortresses are in our effective particle beam range?”
“Forty minutes, ma’am,” said the still-stiff senior weapons officer. It seemed he took it personally that he couldn’t blast the enemy with the damaged weapon.
“Refine your solution and fire at your discretion, Commander,” she said. There, that should mollify him somewhat. “Tixban, give me a view of the surviving monitors.”
