by Jay Allan
“Captain, launch control reports that Lieutenant Stockton and his fighters are ready to go on your command.”
Barron shook himself from his thoughts. “Status of escort vessels?”
“Astara and Cambria are ready, sir. Condor is still taking position to the rear.”
Condor was a scout ship, small and fast but with minimal armament. She had no place in the battle line.
“Very well. Commence launch operations. And contact Intrepid. Advise them we are ready to initiate forward thrust.”
* * *
“Yes!” Stockton’s comm microphone was switched off. The yell was only for himself. He’d led the strike force in, closing to point blank range before he allowed the bombers to launch their torpedoes. His aggressive strategy had come at a cost. Three of his bombers went down under the battleship’s guns, but the others delivered a crushing barrage, their weapons tearing massive holes in the enemy’s hull, ripping away entire gun turrets.
The enemy ships had sent all of their fighters forward, no doubt confident that the strike would overwhelm Dauntless. But they hadn’t accounted for Intrepid…and the double contingent of fighters she carried. The massive attack from the dust cloud had virtually wiped out the Union fighters, and Stockton’s people hadn’t even had to face a combat space patrol.
“Interceptors, one more run,” he snapped after flipping on his comm unit. “Let’s see if we can’t plant a few shots inside some of those hull breaches. Lieutenant Curtiss, take the bombers and head back to Dauntless.” The fighters with the anti-ship armaments were too unmaneuverable for precise targeting with their lasers, and too vulnerable to the battleship’s still-active point defense guns. The interceptors were another matter. With no CSP to oppose, they hadn’t burned fuel in endless dogfighting. They had one more attack left in them.
“Roger that, Raptor. Bombers, form up on me. Let’s head back to base.” Curtiss was another of Dauntless’s longtime pilots, a veteran of the ten months the battleship had spent on the Union border and the deadly fight against Invictus out on the Rim.
“Interceptors, on me. Pick your targets…your lasers aren’t going to do much good unless you can find a weak spot and hit them there. And watch out for their point defense turrets. They’re damned dangerous this close in.”
He brought his fighter around, hitting his thrust and changing his course right toward the hulking battleship. He couldn’t see his enemy, of course. Space battles took place over ranges entirely too great for visuals, even when fighters were doing close in strafing runs. But his scanner displayed an image of the Union battleship, and the areas where hull integrity was lost were highlighted.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on one of the largest breeches. It was on top, amidships…near where he guessed the ship’s reactors were located. His fighter’s lasers weren’t likely to penetrate the inner shielding protecting the massive vessel’s power supply, but there would be power lines and conduits all around, stretching out to every section of the battleship, and his guns were strong enough to cause significant damage to those.
He glanced up at his display, checking the range. Four thousand kilometers. That was close by the standards of war in space, but not close enough. Stockton was going right down the Union ship’s throat, and he knew the rest of his people would follow. He was determined to do some more damage before Dauntless closed to firing range and began the final exchange.
He adjusted his course slightly, honing his vector, lining up his guns on the target. Even for a hotshot pilot like Stockton, targeting was ninety-nine percent number crunching by his AI. It was that last one percent—intuition, gut feel, reflexes—that separated out the great pilots from the others. His ship and target were both moving, and both were changing their courses slightly, every blast of thrust affecting the targeting.
He was close, but even at point blank range, he’d be targeting a hull breach twenty meters in length from thousands of kilometers. It was an accuracy that went beyond what any sharpshooter or marksman could hope to match. And it was the only way Stockton’s interceptor could cause meaningful damage to his target.
His finger hovered over the firing stud, his eyes focused on the display. Three thousand kilometers. He adjusted the throttle one more time, an almost imperceptible move. Then he fired. And again. His finger was tight against the throttle as his lasers fired over and over, at least a dozen times. Then he moved the control hard, back and to the side, blasting hard to alter his vector enough to clear the looming battleship. He’d taken his run in close, far closer than the “book” called for, but Stockton had never had much use for rules. He’d have taken it even closer, but he knew his people would have followed him all the way, and he was far from sure they all had the skill to pull it off. His blood was up, but he wasn’t about to take the chance that any of his people would end up slamming into the enemy vessel.
The thrust was slamming him back in his chair, pushing down hard as his engines worked to counter his vector and velocity. He gasped for air while he maintained his grip on the throttle, holding out as long as he could—or, more accurately, as long as he thought the pilots following him could—and then he pushed forward, cutting the thrust to a more manageable 3g.
He had come around enough for his scanners to get fresh readings on the enemy ship. There were great blasts pushing out from the innards of the vessel, through the jagged tears in its hull. The fires he suspected were raging inside died instantly, of course, when they hit the vacuum of space. But his scanners displayed the great geysers of gasses and fluids ejected out of the terrible wounds torn into the giant ship. He didn’t have an exact count of how many of his pilots had scored hits, but from the look of the tortured battleship, most of them had.
“All right, boys and girls, we’ve done our jobs, earned our pay for this month. The rest of the party is up to Dauntless and Intrepid. Let’s head back…and as soon as the fight’s over, I want everybody in the officers’ club. The drinks are on me!”
Chapter Eighteen
CFS Dauntless
Arcturon System
Just Outside the Outer System Dust Cloud
308 AC
“Captain, I’ve got the primaries back online. Reactor A is at one hundred percent output again, but there’s something wrong there, maybe a problem with the feeder mechanisms. Whatever it is, the rhythm is off…I can feel it. We haven’t been able to pinpoint it yet, and we may have to scrag the whole reactor if it gets any worse. So, I’d use those guns now while you’ve got them.”
“Got it, Fritzie. Do your best to keep the reactor online. After the battle you can take her completely apart and work your magic, but right now I need that power.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.” Fritz cut the line. Then she turned toward the small cluster of engineers and technicians standing behind her. “What are you all doing standing around? Don’t you see those battlestations lamps? You know what to do. Something’s not right in the reactor, and if I have to give the captain that kind of half-assed report again, I promise every one of you will regret it until the day an enemy laser blows you to atoms. You hear me?”
There was anger in Fritz’s voice, but it was mostly frustration. She drove her people hard. In fact, she had a reputation—well earned—as the toughest chief engineer in the fleet. But for all her angry rants and her tirades, she was proud of her people, and protective of them too. She still ached from the losses the engineering teams had suffered at Santis, especially Sam Carson. The young engineer hadn’t served long on Dauntless, but he’d quickly become one of the most popular members of the crew…and he’d been a damned fine engineer too. He’d died saving them all, braving the lethal radiation of the damaged reactor chamber to get the primaries back online at the battle’s climax.
She had rarely spoken of Carson in front of the crew since then, but he still weighed heavily on her mind. For all her engineering skill and years of experience, Santis had been the first time she’d seen her people dying in action, and she
was still struggling with it. Now she knew that nightmare could come again. Dauntless had escaped catastrophic damage in the fight so far, but she knew any second an enemy laser cannon could tear into a compartment, vaporizing some of her people or casting them out into space. And she knew if that happened, she’d have to ignore it, that her focus would have to remain on keeping Dauntless in the fight, on giving the captain the power and systems he needed to win.
“Billings, I want your team to go over Reactor A from one end to the other. It’s working at full output now, but there’s something not right. I know it.” Fritz’s voice was stern, almost harsh. Billings had always rubbed her just a little the wrong way. She knew the lieutenant was a good engineer, but he was always clowning around, and that clashed with her own intensity. She suspected it was how he dealt with the stress and fear of battle, and she tried to ignore it. She’d even promoted him, raising him to team leader, filling Carson’s slot. Billings and Carson had been close, and she knew it had to be painful for Billings to take his friend’s place, but she also knew he deserved the job.
And Sam would have chosen Walt if he’d been able to pick his own replacement…
“Yes, Commander. But it checks out on all readouts. I’m not sure there’s anything to find.”
“Just check it, Lieutenant, and I mean every millimeter. The internals and every feeder, every conduit…everything. I can feel there’s something wrong.”
“Yes, Commander.” The engineer turned and jogged across the room, waving and shouting to his techs.
Fritz knew Billings didn’t believe her. Most likely he thought she was imagining things…or that the accolades she received everywhere she went, the recognition as the best engineer in the navy, had gone to her head.
She reached out and put her hand on the wall. There it was. She’d felt the vibrations coming off the reactor a thousand times, and it was…different. It wasn’t a big change. She wasn’t surprised none of her people could feel it. But, by God, she could.
And she wasn’t imagining things.
* * *
“Captain, Dauntless just fired her primaries again. Another hit!”
Eaton sat and listened as Nordstrom snapped out the report. That was the fourth direct hit in a row. Dauntless had quickly finished off the ship her bombers had damaged, and then Tyler Barron’s vessel turned its fire to the other enemy battleship, the one Intrepid had been fighting. Eaton’s people had acquitted themselves well, scoring a hit percentage just shy of fifty percent…well above fleet norms. But Dauntless had hardly missed.
She was gratified, of course. The sooner the enemy ship was destroyed, the less damage the two Confederation battleships would sustain. The fewer of their crews who would be killed or wounded. But she couldn’t deny there was a touch of singed pride there too. She already felt guilty for hiding her ship in the dust cloud while the fleet’s rearguard was systematically destroyed. Orders or no, lack of an alternative or no, it stuck in her craw. Watching Barron’s crew outshoot her people was only making her self-worth take another beating.
“Maintain our fire, Commander. We’ve got that ship two on one, and I don’t want to let up, not for a second.”
“Yes, Commander.”
She watched the display as her gunners fired Intrepid’s primaries again. A hit! Perhaps not as dead on as Dauntless’s last shot had been, but a solid strike nevertheless. The enemy ship had to be in bad shape…but it was still firing, and entirely too many of its guns remained operative.
At least their primaries are out.
The enemy ship hadn’t fired its heavy laser cannons in more than ten minutes. The Union primaries weren’t a match for the Confederation particle accelerators, but they were far stronger than the secondaries.
“Captain, we’re picking up energy readings. The enemy vessel has engaged its engines.” A short pause. “I think they’re trying to break off.”
“Get me Dauntless,” Eaton snapped. She knew what she had to do, but she wasn’t alone in the fight, and she wasn’t about to risk any misunderstandings with Barron. Ship captains could be a prickly lot, and while she didn’t know Barron well enough to gauge his attitudes, she couldn’t help but think someone of his pedigree would be “by the book” all the way.
“On your line, Captain.”
“Dauntless, this is Captain Eaton.”
“Yes, Captain.” It was Barron himself. She was surprised. No stuffed uniform scion of an old line naval family would answer his own comm.
“My scanners report that the enemy is trying to break off.”
“Mine agree with yours, Captain. I suggest we pursue.”
Eaton paused for a second. She had checked the database right after her scanners had ID’d Dauntless, and she’d confirmed what she’d already thought she knew. Tyler Barron’s captain’s commission was two months older than hers. He was her superior officer, even if only by a hair’s breadth, and he had every right to issue her orders. His use of the word “suggest” indicated a far more diplomatic and careful attitude than she’d expected to find in Rance Barron’s grandson. It made an impression on her, and she realized a healthy respect was growing for her comrade.
“Agreed, Captain. They appear to be blasting at 4g. Unknown whether that is their current maximum capacity. Suggest we pursue at 6g and try to close the range.”
“I concur, Captain Eaton. Commence 6g thrust in twenty seconds. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Eaton cut the line. Despite her nagging little prejudices, she was really beginning to like Barron.
“I want 6g thrust in fifteen seconds, Commander. Course, directly toward the enemy.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Intrepid’s bridge lights dimmed for an instant as her primaries fired again. She turned her head toward the display, just as the scanning report updated.
Another hit!
She felt a rush of pride. Her people were rising to the challenge, matching Dauntless’s gunners on the last two shots. Then Nordstrom turned toward her.
“Captain, the enemy ship’s thrust has dropped below 2g.”
Another wave of excitement took her. That last shot must have degraded the enemy’s engines. She knew it was childish, perhaps, to keep a tally of damage inflicted by her people versus Dauntless’s, but it was friendly competition, and it did no harm. If the two crews challenged each other, drove their fellows to higher performance levels, it could only benefit both ships.
“Maintain thrust order.” It was time to close. Time to finish this.
“Engines firing…now.”
Eaton felt the pressure pushing her back into her chair. Intrepid’s dampeners absorbed some of the impact, but 6g was still uncomfortable.
“Dauntless is matching our thrust, Captain. We are closing on the enemy vessel.”
Eaton stared at the display. If the Union ship couldn’t get its engines fully back online, it was doomed. It was doomed anyway. Intrepid and Dauntless were accelerating, increasing their velocity toward their prey. The enemy vessel was thrusting at a mere 2g. Every second that passed increased the relative velocity of the Confederation battleships to their target.
“Secondary batteries, open fire. All gunnery teams, fire at will.” There was no way to power the primaries, not with so much energy going to the engines. But Intrepid’s secondaries could fire, even if their recharges would be a bit slower than normal. And every shot that hit the Union ship wore it down, decreasing the chance of the battered vessel scoring hits on Dauntless or Intrepid.
“All turrets acknowledge, Captain. Secondary batteries are cleared to fire.”
Almost immediately she heard the distant hum of the weapons. Intrepid’s secondary batteries were the same as Dauntless’s, triple-turreted laser cannons. They weren’t bomb-pumped x-ray lasers like the old Confederation—and current Union—primaries, but they were the next most powerful thing. And they were quicker firing, at least when half the ship’s power wasn’t going to the engines.
A gla
nce at the display confirmed that Dauntless was also firing her secondaries. The range was still long for the lasers, and no more than ten or fifteen percent of the shots from the two vessels were hitting. But every passing second closed the range, increasing the accuracy and power of each blast.
She watched as the Confederation ships closed, felt the bloodthirsty instinct inside as she realized the fight was almost over. Intrepid shook once, then again a few seconds later, a reminder that the battered enemy ship wasn’t dead yet. But the hits had been from the Union secondaries, suggesting the x-ray lasers were offline. The engines were too, she realized, as she saw that the enemy thrust had dropped to zero.
“Get me Captain Barron,” she snapped.
“On your line, Captain.”
“Captain Barron, I think we should cut engines and divert all power to the primaries. The enemy ship is in trouble. Getting closer only makes their own remaining guns more effective. We can finish them off with our main guns.”
“You read my mind, Captain. I was thinking the same thing. Let’s cut thrust in ten seconds…and open fire.”
“Absolutely, Captain. Ten seconds…mark.” Eaton turned and looked toward Nordstrom. “You heard me, Commander. Cut thrust in…” She glanced at the chronometer. “…eight seconds.”
“Yes, Captain.”
She stared straight ahead, her hands digging unconsciously into the sides of her chair. “I want the primaries charged the instant the engines disengage.”
“Understood.”
The ship seemed to lurch briefly as the thrust ceased, and weightlessness returned for an instant before the dampeners adjusted and restored a semblance of partial gravity.
