Fifteen minutes to contact. Ten minutes. “All units in Formation Indigo One, turn port two zero degrees, down one five degrees at time zero four zero nine.”
The Alliance battle cruisers and their escorts yawed left, away from the star Varandal, and down, aiming below the plane of the star system. It had literally taken a minute for the Syndics to see the light showing the Alliance fleet dodging, by which time the two forces were less than seven minutes from contact. Geary tapped his controls again. “All units in Formation Indigo One, turn up two zero degrees at time zero four one three.”
The Syndics would be altering course themselves, angling down and to the side to intercept the Alliance battle cruisers, but the battle cruisers were already bending their track upward as the minutes to contact spiraled down to seconds. “The Syndics have fired missiles and grapeshot,” the combat-systems watch reported.
The Syndic firing pattern had been aimed at where the Alliance force was going, and had assumed that if they evaded further, it would be to continue downward at a steeper rate. As a result, the Syndic weapons shot by well beneath the Alliance battle cruisers as Geary leveled them out again, aimed at the four isolated Syndic battleships.
Behind the Alliance battle cruisers, the Syndic flotilla’s box began coming around so hard that a light cruiser suddenly came apart under the stress as its inertial compensators overloaded.
“Make them mad, make them stupid,” Desjani commented. “You know, not too long ago I would have been really upset at just playing tag with these guys instead of hitting them head-on, but imagining what that Syndic CEO is saying right now is great compensation.”
“Thanks.” The four Syndic battleships would be waking up to their peril right now, realizing that twelve battle cruisers were coming straight for them from one angle while the Dreadnaught task force was boring in from the opposite direction as well. “This is what happens when a commander keeps compromising in an attempt to follow an original plan even though the situation is changing drastically. That CEO never should have split his forces that way instead of focusing on either us or the Dreadnaught task force.”
The Syndic reserve flotilla was still coming around fifteen minutes later when the Alliance battle cruisers braked heavily down to point one light speed and swept past the four Syndic battleships, hammering the closest battleships with repeated volleys of hell lances, followed by null fields from the rearmost battle cruisers.
“Two down,” Desjani announced triumphantly as one of the Syndic battleships exploded and the second drifted helpless. Dauntless was still shaking from several hits on her shields.
Despite the overwhelming local superiority in Alliance firepower, Leviathan, Implacable, and Brilliant had taken significant damage, too. “Dreadnaught, the other two battleships are yours for now,” Geary sent as he brought the Alliance battle cruisers around again.
As the battle cruisers steadied out on a vector aimed at the Syndic reserve flotilla’s box, which was coming back toward them at a full point one light speed, an alarm sounded on Dauntless’s bridge. “Captain, we just hit ten percent on fuel-cell reserves,” the engineering watch reported. “The ship’s maneuvering and combat systems are recommending we disengage and refuel immediately.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Desjani remarked sarcastically. “The systems’ recommendation is noted.”
“Uh, Captain, the systems are warning that if their recommendation is disregarded they will enter an automatic note in the log that the commanding officer is hazarding the ship.”
“Tell the systems where they can stick their warning, Lieutenant.”
“Captain? How—?”
“Use the override!” Desjani glanced at Geary. “You might want to try wrapping up this battle before too much longer.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Ahead, the Syndic reserve flotilla was coming on fast. Behind the Syndic box, the Alliance battleship formation was closing the distance to the engagement.
“The Dreadnaught task force is engaging the two isolated Syndic battleships, but they’re trying to rejoin the main Syndic formation.”
The Syndic box still contained ten battleships and eleven battle cruisers, though two of the battle cruisers had taken beatings earlier. Six of the battleships were in the center, around the remaining heavy cruisers, with the other four posted one to a corner along with either two or three battle cruisers.
Judging from the movements of the Syndic flotilla, which showed that its commander was angry and frustrated enough to be reckless and impulsive, Geary duplicated his previous dodge down and to the left, but then brought the battle cruisers up and right enough to aim for where a corner of the Syndic box should pass if its commander assumed the Alliance ships were trying the same maneuver.
The maneuver worked, the Syndic missiles and grapeshot this time passing over the track of the Alliance battle cruisers as they flashed into contact with a corner of the Syndic box anchored on one battleship and two battle cruisers.
The opposing forces shot past each other in a fraction of a second, automated systems aiming and firing. As they drew apart again, Geary saw that the two Syndic battle cruisers were out of action and the battleship significantly damaged.
It took him a second longer to notice the gap in the Alliance formation. The gap where Furious had been. Back where the forces had engaged, a spreading cloud of fragments marked her remains.
Desjani’s voice came out flat. “They must have concentrated their fire on Furious. She suffered a core overload. Nobody could have gotten off. Damn.”
For a moment Geary had visions of Captain Jaylen Cresida as he’d first seen her, in the Syndic home system, unhesitatingly backing him against the opposition and doubts of others, and as he’d last seen her in Atalia, with the design she’d created to save humanity from its own follies in building the hypernet without understanding the risks posed by the gates.
Then he shook it off. Not now. There’d be time to grieve later. “Dragon is seriously damaged, and Implacable took more hits.” Eleven battle cruisers left and half of them with seriously degraded capability owing to damage.
Geary’s eyes went to his battleships, one light-minute distant as the Syndic box came around again. Eighteen of them, with plenty of escorts. His mind worked instinctively to adjust the vector of the battleships given the small time delay remaining between them and Dauntless. “Formation Indigo Two, come right zero zero three degrees, down zero two degrees.”
The Syndic flotilla commander, focused on the Alliance battle cruisers, must have been rudely shocked when he or she realized that the Alliance battleships had reached the engagement. The Syndic box had barely steadied out to pursue the Alliance battle cruisers again when the Alliance battleships went through one side of it, their massive firepower ripping into the two Syndic battleships and six Syndic battle cruisers anchoring the flotilla there.
In the wake of the Alliance battleships, all eight Syndic capital ships were knocked out, some of the battle cruisers literally blown apart in vengeful counterpoint to the fate of Furious.
But Geary’s jubilation was cut short by a report from the operations watch. “Rifle has exhausted her fuel cells. Her power core has shut down. Culverin’s power core has begun shutting down. The rest of the Twenty-third Destroyer Squadron has less than five minutes’ power estimated remaining. The ships of the Eighth Light Cruiser Squadron report fuel-cell exhaustion and power-core shutdowns imminent.”
On the display, the two Alliance destroyers were drifting, their primary systems off, helpless. “How long can the emergency backups maintain life support?” Geary asked.
“Twelve hours,” Desjani replied immediately. “I thought we might need to know that. This engagement should be decided before then.”
“Damn right.” He ordered the battleships back around, watching their formation shed increasing numbers of power-deprived destroyers and light cruisers, whose momentum was carrying them along the former track of the Alliance ships.
The Syndics were between the Alliance battle cruisers and the Alliance battleships now, the battle cruisers between the Syndics and the jump point for Atalia, but the Syndics weren’t making any major course alterations, just trying to re-form their flotilla’s box after its side had been smashed in.
“They have to know we’re running out of fuel cells,” Desjani muttered.
“They’ve only seen escorts run out. We have to make them think our capital ships still have plenty of reserves.” Geary punched his controls. “Formation Indigo One, immediate execute come left one nine zero degrees, up zero one two degrees, accelerate to point zero six light speed.” Dauntless’s structure groaned as the ship whipped around in as tight a turn as the inertial compensators could handle. All around her, the remaining Alliance battle cruisers followed suit, steadying out aimed at the still-ragged side of the Syndic box. “Concentrate fire on the leading Syndic ships!”
They blew past the edge of the Syndics, Dauntless shuddering again from hits. “Valiant reports heavy damage. Daring has lost all weapons but hell-lance battery three bravo and her null-field generator. Implacable has lost propulsion and maneuvering control.”
Geary kept his eyes on the display, watching the results of the latest firing pass. One of the surviving Syndic battleships had been pounded into scrap, and the single Syndic battle cruiser wearing toward that side of the formation was gone.
The Alliance battleships were coming around, Geary’s display flashing warnings about their low fuel-cell reserves, but to all external appearances still a hammer ready to bludgeon the Syndics again. The Alliance battle cruisers, now on the same side of the Syndics as the battleship formation, kept on toward the Alliance battleships as more light cruisers and destroyers fell away not from damage but from core shutdowns. Dreadnaught, Dependable, and Intemperate were only two light-minutes distant now, but though they had plenty of fuel-cell reserves, all three ships had suffered from their earlier encounters with the enemy.
Another alert pulsed. Geary’s eyes went to the flashing symbol on his display. “Friendly ships at the jump point from Atalia. We just got light showing the arrival of the Illustrious task force.” He looked back at the Syndics, waiting to see their reactions.
They swung a short way right, then accelerated, leaving some crippled ships behind to spit out escape pods. “They’re running.” Desjani was grinning. “They saw the ships with Illustrious but haven’t evaluated how damaged they are. The Syndics just saw more Alliance battleships and battle cruisers arriving, they see us behind them looking ready to kick their butts again and positioned between them and the hypernet gate, and they’re running.”
He couldn’t believe it, watching to see if the Syndics turned again, but they kept going, accelerating as fast as they could. Seven Syndic battleships and two battle cruisers, with their surviving escorts, heading for the jump point for Atalia like bats out of hell.
“Tenth Light Cruiser Squadron and Third Destroyer Squadron report all ships reaching fuel-cell exhaustion. Heavy cruiser Camail reports fuel-cell exhaustion.”
Desjani began laughing, and Geary looked at her in amazement.
She was pointing to her ship’s fuel-cell reserve status, which was fluctuating between 1 and 2 percent. Abruptly Desjani stopped laughing and made an abortive lunge toward him, then caught herself, made a fist, and swung a punch onto Geary’s shoulder. “You did it! By the grace of the living stars you did it!”
“We did it,” Geary corrected, rubbing his shoulder and suddenly feeling on the verge of hysterical laughter himself. “Everyone in this fleet.” He became aware of cheers resonating through Dauntless’s hull. The crew celebrating.
For a moment Geary felt his memories of Merlon’s last moments crowding in again. He hadn’t been able to save his heavy cruiser, he hadn’t been able to get her crew home. No matter what anyone else said of the battle at Grendel, long ago for them and all too recent for him, he had always felt that he had failed. Failed his ship. Failed his crew. But not this time.
“Sir?” Desjani asked, still grinning but now puzzled as she looked at him. “Is something wrong?”
He smiled back. “No, Tanya. I was just remembering something.” Somehow he knew that even if the flashbacks to Merlon’s last moments came again, they would never hold the same pain.
“Captain?” the operations watch reported. “There are three fast transports towing some construction platforms on their way toward the hypernet gate.”
Desjani sobered, taking a deep breath. “Captain Cresida’s safe-fail system. They’re getting it installed. May your ancestors welcome you with the honor you deserve, Jaylen. Say hello to Roge for me.”
“Her husband?” Geary asked, trying to control his voice. The stress and emotions of the moment, good and bad, felt almost overwhelming.
“Yeah. Ever since he died she’d always been sure he’d be waiting for her.” Desjani wiped one eye with a rough gesture and turned to her watch-standers. “Initiate maximum energy conservation measures until we get more fuel cells aboard.”
Stung into remembering more critical tasks left to do immediately, Geary hit his controls. “All units in the Alliance fleet, brake down velocity as much as possible without going below one percent fuel reserves.” He called up another circuit. “All Alliance assets within Varandal Star System, this is Captain John Geary, acting commander of the Alliance fleet. The fleet’s ships are extremely low on fuel cells. Some of our ships have already been forced to shut down their power cores. Request all available assets assist in providing fuel cells to the fleet’s ships on a maximum-priority basis. To the honor of our ancestors. Geary out.”
Another message. “Dreadnaught, shadow the retreating Syndics with your task force.” Dreadnaught wouldn’t be able to catch the Syndics with the lead the fleeing enemy had, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep the Syndics under a little pressure.
One more. “Captain Badaya, the Syndics are fleeing toward the Atalia jump point. They may try to sweep you up on their way out. Avoid contact with them. We’ll get them all another day, and I want the ships with you along with the fleet when we do.”
Rione had been sitting still, staring blankly before her, but she finally came out of her daze, looking at Geary as if not sure what she was seeing. “Congratulations. The fight’s not over, but you’ve already done the impossible.”
The war wasn’t over, but the Lost Fleet was home.
GEARY stood in his stateroom, facing the display now centered on Varandal, the ships of the fleet orbiting in a swarm about the star. For the first time since he’d assumed command of the fleet, it was in friendly territory with no immediate threat to its existence. The planets and cities and facilities he saw would help the fleet, not pose a danger to it.
Twenty-four hours had made a big difference. Two hours ago the retreating Syndics had jumped out of Varandal, still running as if the demon from inside a black hole was pursuing them. While the Syndics still fled, in the wake of Geary’s message for assistance, spacecraft of all types had swarmed out from Varandal’s worlds, colonies, and orbital facilities hauling whatever fuel cells they could carry. Now none of his ships were in danger of running out of fuel cells, and those that had run out were powered up again. The most badly damaged warships were already reaching the extensive space docks and repair facilities Varandal boasted.
He felt a heaviness inside thinking about the warships and sailors who had died on the very threshold of home. Furious hadn’t been the only loss, though it had struck him most deeply. The heavy cruisers Kaidate and Quillion had sustained too much damage to be saved, the light cruisers Estocade, Disarm, and Cavalier had been blown apart during the battle cruisers’ firing pas
ses against the Syndics, and the destroyers Serpentine, Basilisk, Bowie, Guidon, and Sten had either been shattered or exploded during the engagement. Those had just been the ships attached to the fleet, not counting those that had died in the earlier defensive battles at Varandal and alongside Dreadnaught. And it didn’t include the sailors killed or wounded on ships that had “only” been damaged during the battle. Numerous other warships would only be saved because they had been so badly hurt in friendly space.
But the fleet was home. Not exactly safe, and too many ships, men, and women had been lost along the way, but it was home.
There’d been a time when he’d imagined this moment and seen himself gratefully relinquishing command of the fleet. Exactly what he would have done then had always been vague. Aside from a wistful desire to see the planet Kosatka again, Geary hadn’t had any idea where he might find any peace or refuge from the legend of Black Jack.
That had changed. He’d seen where duty led, where honor required him to go, and he’d sworn an oath to someone who mattered a great deal to him. He could still try to walk away from it, try to leave behind his concepts of honor and duty, cast aside his promise. But if he did, the killing would surely go on, the war would continue as it had for decade upon decade, and he would lose the one thing, the one person, whose presence made this hard and violent future a place where he nonetheless wanted to be.
Looked at that way, the decision wasn’t all that hard. Perhaps he was being delusional, suffering from the Geary Syndrome doctors had defined in decades past, believing only he could save the Alliance. But people he trusted told him he was the only one with a chance to end the war. He believed them in everything else. He had no choice but to believe them in this.
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