“You can’t relieve me!” Barton thundered. “I’m the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and this ship is in my chain of command!”
Again, silence descended over the room.
“General Barton, don’t embarrass yourself.” Fuentes' voice took on a timbre of confidence. “Follow the Major, or I’ll have the master-at-arms summoned, with his sidearm.”
It took Barton a few seconds to realize no one had stepped forward to defend him, as Jackson put his hand on Barton’s shoulder and guided him toward the exit. Without another word, he allowed himself to be shown out, and the room was again silent.
“Lieutenant,” Fuentes said as he looked directly at the comms officer. “Get those carriers moving.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the young man replied, a grin on his face.
* * *
“Fleet communications command link restored, Admiral.”
Those were the words Alex Hartford had been waiting to hear for the past hour. He’d studied the enemy formation tirelessly, not trusting the League sailor conscripts to do their job correctly. While the Terrans had received help from several outside groups, one of them, in particular, was vulnerable. Weak. Civilians playing at war… not their smartest move. “Transmit to all ships.”
“You are live, sir.”
“This is Admiral Hartford, commanding from the Ho Chi Minh. We have taken significant losses to the Terrans, none more grievous than the destruction of the Annihilator. Admiral Seville remains missing. But now is not the time to allow individualism to creep into our thoughts. The Admiral would want us to press forward and finish the job. I have identified a weakness in the enemy, one we will exploit.” He paused and allowed a wolfish grin to come over his face. “The Terran Coalition still falls today. Carry out your orders, for the glory of the League!” He brought his hand to his chest in a fist—the classic League salute.
“Navigator, plot a course for one-seven-zero, mark positive thirty-two. Communications, order all ships to advance on this point.” He pressed a finger down on the holotank’s tactical plot, marking it as a waypoint. “We’ll overwhelm them there.”
“I don’t understand, sir,” the tactical officer said. “Why there?”
“Our objective now is to escape. If we can punch through at their weakest link, the thousand ships or so that remain in this fleet is enough to defeat the Terran Coalition in detail across its core worlds.” Hartford set his jaw. “Now carry out my orders.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
21
Stalemate. The worst situation imaginable for a combatant commander, at least in David’s opinion. He’d stared at the 3D holographic tactical plot in the center of the bridge for the better part of half an hour. If, no, when the Leaguers start moving again, our options are limited. Something in him sensed the time they had to get help was running out. As if he could reach out through kilometers of the void and peer into the thoughts of the enemy.
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change! Sir, sublight engine light-off… entire League fleet.”
David’s eyes went wide. Whoever’s running things over there is making a move. He stared at the tactical plot and noted the direction the League vessels were moving in. “The civilians,” he began before his voice trailed off. “Communications, urgent message to Liberator. Tell them they’ve got a world of hurt heading their way.” He walked quickly back to the CO’s chair and sat. “Navigation, intercept course, Sierra Six hundred thirteen. ETA to intercept at flank speed?”
“Thirty-eight minutes, sir,” Hammond replied.
Not fast enough. By far. David knew at the core of his being if they didn’t close the gap sooner, the Leaguers would punch through. Sure, Henry and his fleet would make an excellent showing, and take a lot of communists with them. But not enough, and tens of thousands more people would die. There had to be another way. Then it dawned on him. “Navigation, plot a micro-jump.”
Tinetariro leaned in and whispered fiercely. “Sir, the last time we tried to jump into the Lawrence limit, we nearly lost the ship.” Her eyes were wide, and her jaw stayed open.
“I know, Master Chief. But we don’t have many options. Maybe—just maybe—if we get enough ships there, we can hold the line until the carriers arrive.”
Ruth turned around and stared at him. “We could order the civilians to back off and let the Leaguers escape, sir.”
“Absolutely not. That will free them up to attack several of our core worlds simultaneously. The only way we can defeat them is to destroy this fleet,” David replied, his voice tight and direct. “Now, execute my orders. Communications, get as many ships as we can lined up to follow us through the wormhole.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
David reached down and punched up the intercom to the engineering spaces. “Cohen to Hanson, come in.”
“This is Hanson. Go ahead, sir,” the speaker crackled.
“What’s your status down there, Major?”
“Secure for the moment, sir. Boarding parties seem to have given up on storming us, and we received Marine reinforcements. Reactor is green across the board.”
He steepled his fingers together. “Major, I want you to prepare for a micro-jump inside of the Lawrence limit.” At the pregnant pause on the comms link, David pressed on. “The battle depends on it.”
“Dr. Hayworth would like me to tell you the last time we tried that, he almost died,” Hanson replied. There was crosstalk in the background. “He uh, also wanted me to remind you he doesn’t believe in the afterlife and would like to enjoy this life fully.”
David couldn’t help but chuckle. “Then his calculations had better be good. Run anything you need up to the bridge. Cohen out.”
The next thirty seconds passed without incident as everyone worked to prepare the ship for what would come next. David studied his tactical plot and reviewed the stores left on the Lion. They were starting to run low on missiles but had a full load in both the forward and aft VRLS. I’ll have to make them count. Hammond interrupted his mental gymnastics.
“Conn, Navigation. Jump coordinates computed and ready, sir.”
It comes down to this. We can’t jump into the middle of that fleet and suffer an engineering casualty. David cleared his throat and set his jaw. “Navigation, activate Lawrence drive. Take us in.”
The lights on the bridge dimmed, pale blue as they already were, as the massive artificial wormhole generators came to life. Space ripped open in front of the Lion of Judah, an enormous maw of multi-colored energy, beckoning them on. The ship sprang forward as its sub-light engines kicked in. The transit was rough, far worse than usual, and the vessel bucked wildly as if caught in a powerful current. And then, they were through. Through the transparent alloy windows at the front of the bridge, the League’s fleet was visible.
“Nice work, Lieutenant,” David said toward Hammond. “Master Chief, any exotic particle issues?”
“No, sir. At least not that we’re aware of yet. All systems show nominal.”
“TAO, firing point procedures,” David began as he checked the board for the closest enemy capital ships. “Master Eight hundred fifteen, Nine hundred sixty-four, and Thirteen hundred fifty-eight.” They represented the nearest Rand class cruisers. “Magnetic cannons and neutron beams.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Firing solutions set.”
“Match bearings, shoot, magnetic cannons and neutron beams.” There was something about Ruth’s confidence that struck David. It’s almost as if she’s decided we can’t lose.
The deck shuddered ever so slightly as the turreted mag-cannons let loose with a barrage of shells, followed up by the bright blue hue of concentrated neutron beams striking home. The shields of the League ships held up for a few seconds before they collapsed. Two cruisers exploded violently in the night, while the third went dark as its reactor shut down. A few moments later, return fire found the Lion of Judah as the enemy reacted to their appearance. The vessel shook as concentrated plasma fire lit up the protective screens.
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“Navigation, come about to heading zero-nine-eight, mark positive fifteen,” David barked. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Eight hundred seventy-eight, forward particle cannons. Target its escorts with the magnetic cannons and neutron beams at your discretion.” There were so many enemy ships, he thought it best to let Ruth work her magic, rather than try to pick moving dots off the board. We could practically fire blind and still hit a Leaguer.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Hammond called back. As she did, the ship began to turn, and the scene visible outside of the alloy windows shifted.
“Firing solutions set, sir.”
“Navigation, confirm we’re lined up within one degree of Master Eight hundred seventy-eight.”
There was a pause on the bridge. “Lined up, sir.”
“TAO, match bearings, shoot, all weapons.”
Again the lights dimmed, this time as the enormous power requirements of the four particle cannons mounted under the flight deck came alive. White-hot beams reached out and touched first the shields of the unlucky enemy battleship. Moments later, they cut through into the armor and hull. Molten metal broke off the Alexander class League vessel before something critical was hit—a missile magazine or reactor most likely—and it violently exploded in a brief flare of orange against the blackness of space. As it did, neutron beam and magnetic cannon rounds from the Lion raked the smaller vessels around it, neutralizing several.
“Conn, TAO. Master Eight hundred seventy-eight destroyed, sir, along with its primary escorts,” Ruth immediately reported.
While David was pondering what to attack next, the streamlined shape of the Liberator came into focus. Its weapons suite spoke into the deep, sending globs of purple energy into the side of several League ships. What are they shooting? Doesn’t look like any weapon we have access to. “TAO, analysis of Liberator’s attack pattern?”
“Muonic energy cannons, sir.”
“That’s Matrinid tech,” Tinetariro said with surprise evident in her voice.
“James Henry never ceases to amaze me,” David said with a grin. “We’ll figure that out later.” His eyes went back to the tactical plot, searching for the next target to engage.
* * *
While the battle between massive spaceships raged around, Amir and the rest of the dwindling numbers of CDF fighters and bombers did their best to carry the fight to the League. He dodged out of the way of a large piece of debris and rotated his fighter ninety degrees to starboard as more chunks of what used to be an enemy destroyer came into view. “Reapers, break to port as we clear the field. Target is Master Nine hundred eighteen.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” one of his wingmen echoed through the commlink channel.
Confronted by the mass of red dots in his HUD, Amir felt despair. He was fighting a losing battle, but each ship they took out was one less trying to kill his brothers and sisters. It’s still more honorable to go down fighting, as David explained. He switched to an active-LIDAR tracking missile and locked on to one of the plasma turrets on the League vessel. “Reaper One, Fox Three,” he called out the moment the missile lock-on tone sounded.
The missile’s engine fired, and it raced away from Amir’s fighter. Joined by four others, they all slammed into the destroyer’s hull—fire from other friendly ships or small craft had already taken its shields down. As a result, the warhead had an outsized impact. The plasma turret it hit exploded violently along with chunks of the unlucky vessel’s hull. Two nearby turrets blew apart a few seconds later, and just as quickly, the entire ship went up. Amir’s HUD blacked out as the orange flames overloaded his helmet’s visual processor.
“Mayday, mayday,” the calm and collected voice of one of Amir’s fellow Grim Reapers called over the commlink. “Reactor critical, ejecting!”
A glance told Amir he had a new problem: A flight of League space superiority fighters. Where did they come from? I thought we splashed them all. He gripped his flight stick tightly and directed the thrusters on his craft to bring him around. Ten of them. Three of us. He selected a heat-seeking anti-fighter missile from what meager stores he had left. “Allahummak-fineehim bimaa shi’ta,” he murmured in Arabic, O Allah, protect me against them however You wish.
Red streaks of plasma energy shot by the canopy of Amir’s SF-106 Phantom, as one of the enemies found his aft. Most of them went wide, but a few impacted the already weakened aft shields. Amir pulled up hard on his stick before beginning a series of interlocking scissors maneuvers with the Leaguer. The superior delta-V of the Phantom proved deadly in most one-on-one dogfights, and he was able to exchange positions, ending up on the tail of the enemy fighter. A moment later, Amir squeezed the missile launch button. “Reaper One, Fox Two!”
The missile leaped out of the underslung ordinance pod built into the Phantom and zoomed off into the blackness of space. Amir was unable to track its movement as two more League fighters fell in behind him, lighting up the void with their weapons. I lost track of the battlefield fighting the other craft. Worse, I have no wingmen to help. The rest of his depleted squadron was in individual dogfights, fighting for their lives.
Red streaks blew by the cockpit, highlighting the mortal peril Amir now found himself in. He forced himself to abandon trying to track the rest of the battlefield and focus on the Leaguers on his tail. Terran Coalition small craft had robust integrated inertial dampers that allowed them to perform maneuvers almost as if they were within the atmosphere of a planet. A fierce grin came over his face as Amir decoupled his forward and aft thruster controls, and disengaged the damper. The effect allowed him to pivot his Phantom around while maintaining forward thrust—and pointing the nose of the craft at the enemy. He squeezed the firing trigger to his neutron cannons. “Reaper One, guns, guns, guns!” Blue energy erupted from the twin emitters under the fuselage and connected almost instantly with the first League fighter. It exploded in a bright orange ball of flame. A second later, the second enemy blew up, joining the other in death.
Amir righted his Phantom and reengaged the inertial damping system. “Reaper One, splash two.” Quickly assessing the overall battlespace, he noted one of his pilots was in trouble and changed heading to intercept. “Allu Ackbar,” he whispered as his fighter streaked by the debris from the engagement a few seconds before.
* * *
The Lion of Judah stayed in the thick of the fighting, living up to the ship’s motto of Semper Anticus—always at the front. She’d paid for it too. David gripped the hand rest of the CO’s chair as he stared at the tactical plot. Everywhere he looked was filled by red dots, indicative of enemy vessels. The Leaguers were beating against them with everything they had, and were close to punching through. “TAO, time to magnetic-cannon reload?”
“Thirty seconds, sir,” Ruth promptly replied. “Still four minutes from primary particle beam recharge.”
As David formulated a target for the next strike in his mind, another wave of League plasma fire slammed into the Lion’s shields. We can’t take much more of this. The deflector power display flatlined as the impacts hit them from all angles. Damage indicated flashed red and blossomed across the ship. He briefly considered another micro-jump before concluding the drive hadn’t been able to cool down enough yet, and would likely result in them exploding violently.
“Forward armor is failing,” Tinetariro announced. “Our superstructure is taking sustained damage, sir.”
“Navigation, cease all maneuvering.” David glanced toward Taylor. “Communications, alert the engine room to vent coolant into space. Tell Hanson to pull out all the stops. Make it look like we’re completely disabled and kill the lights to port.”
Tinetariro stared at him. “Sir, what are you doing?”
“Playing dead.” David forced a smile. “Old trick I’ve seen destroyer commanders pull before.”
“I might remind you we’re not a destroyer, and no Leaguer could be stupid enough to fall for it,” Ruth called out from her console.
David hung on to hi
s harness as the Lion rocked again. “I guess we’ll find out.” The shield recharge cycle crept upward on his display as the enemy vessels swarmed around them. The two battleships that had been on an intercept course slowed their advance and came up alongside. “TAO, all forward and aft VRLS tubes still ready to launch?”
“Aye, sir. Tubes one through two hundred forty ready in all respects.”
Everything the vessel had was armed. Magnetic-cannons, neutron beams, and the particle weapons. Too bad our forward beams are out of arc. David leaned forward in his seat. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master One thousand sixty-two, port magnetic-cannons, neutron beams, and VRLS tubes one through one hundred twenty.”
“Firing solutions set, sir.”
David let out a breath. Many times in his career, he’d been convinced he was playing for all the marbles, but none more so than this. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master One thousand two hundred eighty-six, starboard magnetic-cannons, neutron beams, and VRLS tubes one hundred twenty-one through two hundred forty.”
“Firing solutions set, sir.”
The rote work of lining up an attack completed, David turned his focus to the tactical plot. God, help us to fight and guide Ruth’s hands. “Match bearings, shoot, all weapons.”
Between incoming plasma balls and the outgoing volley, the Lion of Judah seemed to twist in space, the deck rumbling as she absorbed impacts and the pressure waves of over two hundred missiles launching at the same time. The League vessels were so close, none of the outgoing rounds missed. Mag-cannon shells slammed into the enemy's shields, followed by the bright blue beams of the neutron emitters. All of it was a warmup for the real coup-de-grace: two hundred and forty Hunter missiles. They evaded everything the Alexander class battleships threw at them, and then some. The shackled AIs worked together to ensure maximum carnage as the multi-megaton warheads exploded against the shields, and then the hull of their targets. The blackness of space turned blindingly white as each explosion produced a miniature sun.
Finish the Fight: Echoes of War Book Seven Page 25
