War from a Distant Sun (Savage Stars Book 1)

by Anthony James

  Soldiers on a fleet spaceship generally had it rough and the smaller the spaceship, the rougher it got. Vance and his squad had been assigned to the Finality a couple of months ago and they were probably still cursing their luck. Recker knew from first-hand experience how it was, but he couldn’t waste time on sympathy.

  “Any news on the engines, Lieutenant Eastwood?” Recker asked.

  “I’ve just finished querying the status monitors, sir. We’ve got a forty-metre hole, right through the plating.”

  “What’s it done to the propulsion?”

  “Some of our ternium drive got burned out.” Eastwood blew air through his teeth. “Our maximum output is down six percent.”

  Recker picked up on Eastwood’s concern. “We’re leaving a particle trail?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s not a big trail – only a few hundred klicks long.”

  “Enough.”

  Eastwood nodded. “It’ll make it easier for that destroyer to locate us.”

  “Can you stop the leak?”

  “On anything bigger than the Finality I’d shut down the engine module.”

  “A riot class only has two.”

  “Yes, sir. Front and back. If I shut down one, we’ll lose fifty percent of our sub-light capability and we won’t be able to enter lightspeed at all.”

  Recker knew the score. “And once you shut down the module it might not come back online again.”

  “The odds of getting it restarted aren’t good. Not until we return to the shipyard.”

  “We could shut down the aft module and lay low, sir,” said Burner. “Four days and we could see some backup.”

  Aston wasn’t buying it. “That’s a long time to play cat and mouse.”

  “Sarus-Q is the nearest planet to the Virar-12 star,” mused Recker. “The second planet is 160 million klicks from here.”

  “A hard run in the circumstances,” said Aston.

  “And if they’re watching out, they’ll detect the particles in plenty of time to come find us,” said Eastwood. “Unless we shut down the aft module.”

  Recker called for silence. “I’m aware of the options,” he said, watching the hull temperature creep past 2800 Centigrade. The outer plating had a melting point of 4300C, but the Daklan missile strikes had exposed some of the solid state ternium drive and that wasn’t so resistant to high temperatures. Not only that, the Finality was travelling fast enough that it would soon complete a circuit of the planet. The Daklan captain might well have stayed put to see if Recker would save him the effort of giving chase.

  “Sarus-Q is between the Daklan vessel and the second planet,” he said. “Lucky for us – that should make it harder for them to see where we’re going.”

  “According to the database, someone named the place Rilar,” said Burner.

  “Should I shut down the aft module?” asked Eastwood.

  “We either get seen because we’re going too slow or we get seen because of our particle trail.” Recker wanted to ease the tension in his muscles but he couldn’t release the controls for even a moment. “If it’s going to happen, I don’t want to be waiting for it.”

  “In that case, I’ll leave the aft module online, sir.”

  “I’ve added a course overlay for Rilar,” said Burner. “I’ve made it a slightly divergent route so that we aren’t too predictable.”

  Burner didn’t take many things seriously but underneath the veneer, he was one of the best sensor operators in the fleet – wasted on the Finality. There again, anyone associated with Recker tended to find their careers stalled.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Recker took a deep breath and waited for the right moment. “Here we go.”

  He turned the controls and drew them towards him. The spaceship lifted away from Sarus-Q and, the moment it was free of the atmosphere, Recker fed in the power. The Finality was responding differently after the missile impacts, though he’d flown long enough that it was simple to adjust.

  The engines grumbled at first and their note gradually increased in pitch, becoming something closer to a harsh growl. Recker closed his eyes, losing himself in the sound for the briefest of moments. For twenty or thirty seconds, Sarus-Q was the only thing visible on the rear feeds. Then the edges became visible and the planet dwindled in the Finality’s wake.

  “No sign of the enemy,” said Burner.

  “They’ve got plenty of time,” said Eastwood. “That particle trail will bring them straight to us, assuming they know how to run a basic wide-area sweep.”

  “Maybe we blew a hole in them and they’re heading in the other direction,” said Aston. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes were full of cynical humour.

  Recker didn’t reply and wiped his forehead, leaving a gleaming patch of sweat on the back of his hand. “What I wouldn’t give for a cold beer.”

  “Still clear on the sensors,” said Burner.

  The Finality’s velocity gauge kept on climbing and the spaceship approached its maximum sub-light speed. Recker’s eyes darted from place to place, making sure he kept the vessel glued to the route line on the navigational screen. The course projection had the Finality heading for a waypoint positioned on a direct line between Sarus-Q and the Virar-12 star, to throw off the Daklan spaceship if it was following. After the waypoint, Recker would adjust onto an intercept course with Rilar as the planet sped along its orbital track.

  “We could still shut off the engine module, sir,” said Aston. “Coast through the vacuum for the rest of the journey.”

  Recker was torn. The destroyer was faster than the Finality and if it detected the fleeing vessel, could overhaul it before Rilar. If that happened, Recker would much prefer to have the additional flexibility which came from having both propulsion modules operational. He drummed his fingers in thought.

  “Sir?” It was Burner and he sounded agitated.

  “What is it?” asked Recker, expecting to hear that the enemy ship was confirmed in pursuit. It was something different.

  “I’ve received a comm message direct from Admiral Telar, sir. He must have sent it hours ago and it just reached us.”

  Recker’s intuition was being put through its paces today and it set alarm bells ringing in his head. “Tell me.”

  “Seems like the guys on DS-Quad1 didn’t stop looking after we started our trip out here. They’ve located an anomaly on the fifth planet – a place called Etrol.”

  “What kind of anomaly?”

  “They have no further data. We’re instructed to complete a full scan and report back. Priority 1.”

  “Priority 1 and they don’t have any data?” Recker felt his calmness eroding.

  “No, sir.”

  “Admiral Telar doesn’t know what we’ve run into,” said Recker. He swore.

  “They can’t order suicide,” said Aston quietly.

  She was only half-right and if Recker decided to ignore the Priority 1 in favour of his crew’s safety, he’d be dragged upside down and backwards over the coals once the Finality returned to base – whatever justification he presented. Not that the threat would stop him from doing the right thing.

  “We’re losing this war, Commander,” he said.

  The words were enough for Aston and she shrugged in resignation. “They reckon the Daklan will find one of our planets within the next twelve months,” she said. “The odds went past fifty percent.”

  “Which means the frontline can’t take the easy way out every time,” said Recker.

  Aston smiled. “Not any time.”

  “Let’s check out that anomaly.”

  “Want me to calculate a new course, sir?” asked Burner. “Or are we sticking with Plan A and taking cover behind Rilar for a while?”

  Recker called up the planetary data on the Virar-12 system. The HPA deep space monitoring stations had mapped the planets and their orbital tracks, which gave enough information to plot a course without the Finality having to undertake extensive scanning of the solar system.

  “Etr
ol is 900 million klicks from our current position,” he said.

  “That’s 13600 minutes sub-light travel at our maximum velocity,” said Eastwood. “A little more with our reduced engine power.”

  “More than nine days,” said Aston. “Admiral Telar might have something to say if we keep him waiting that long. He could have a fleet out here in two days if he wanted.”

  “A Priority 1 with no backup data,” said Recker. “There’s more to this than we’re being told.” He grimaced. It was an old joke that high command acted without logic, but this was different. Telar had wind of something and, given the war situation, he’d be desperate for answers.

  “If the enemy destroyer stayed looking for us on Sarus-Q, we’ll be out of detection range by now,” said Recker. “Do you agree, Lieutenant Eastwood?”

  “Yes, sir. Unless they happen to be looking directly at us. I guess you’re thinking of a lightspeed jump. The particle cloud from that will be more visible than the trail we’re leaving now.”

  “Except the propulsion doesn’t throw out the extra particles until we enter lightspeed. We’ll be gone by the time the enemy detect it.”

  “Assuming they find it at all,” said Eastwood.

  Recker felt the weight of the inevitable pressing against him. “The game’s changed. This isn’t about escaping anymore – now we’ve got to find out what kind of intel was enough for Admiral Telar to issue a Priority 1.”

  “Is that an order to warm up the lightspeed drive, sir?” asked Eastwood. “We can’t accurately target the arrival place when we’re already moving.”

  Entering lightspeed took everything from the ternium drive, meaning it couldn’t be under stress while the navigational computer worked on the maths. Since the Finality was already coasting, the engines could be cut and it would continue drifting through space. Unfortunately, that made it impossible for the mainframe to target an exact destination. The further the jump, the less accurately a coasting spaceship’s hardware could predict where it would exit lightspeed.

  The computer was programmed to work around the issue using fuzzy algorithmic compensation as they called it in the research labs. Someone had once tried to explain the basics to Recker and he’d got lost after about five seconds.

  “I don’t want to slow down and I don’t want to arrive too close to Etrol. Aim for a place three million klicks out. That should keep us safe from immediate detection and give us an opportunity to build up a picture of what we’re facing.”

  “Roger that, sir,” said Eastwood. “Aiming for three million klicks above Etrol. Estimated margin of error over that distance at our current speed is ten percent.”

  Eastwood put in the coordinates and the warmup routine automatically reduced engine power to a fraction above zero. The comforting background hum fell away, leaving Recker with a strange sense of loss.

  He flexed his shoulders, though the tension in his muscles remained. With the engine modules at idle, the air conditioning blew cold again and a waft of overchilled air played across his short hair, drying the sweat on his scalp and face.

  “Ten minutes until departure,” said Eastwood.

  Recker tried to get comfortable but his brain was working overtime. The Priority 1 might be the result of a bad call from the team on DS-Quad1. It might turn out to be nothing at all. Somehow, he didn’t think so.

  The comm from Admiral Telar also made him wonder if the encounter with the Daklan destroyer was the result of more than chance. Maybe the enemy was busy in this solar system. Recker accessed the star charts. The Finality was at the extremes of HPA Quadrant 1. No-one knew the location of the Daklan home worlds, the same way as the aliens didn’t know how to find humanity’s population centres.

  Out on the fringes it was tough, and every mission was potentially deadly. Both species wanted the same resources and the Daklan were ruthless whenever they came across a human spaceship or outpost. The HPA navy was badly stretched, while the enemy seemed to keep coming with bigger numbers.

  Something was going to give and soon.

  “Five minutes on the ternium drive warmup,” said Eastwood.

  “I’ve located the destroyer,” said Burner. “Heading straight for us.”

  “Time to intercept?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “For a scouting mission this is turning into real big steaming mound of crap,” said Eastwood.

  “Don’t I know it,” Recker replied sourly. “Commander Aston, have you finished the calcs on their launch range and missile travel time?”

  “Yes, sir. At our current velocities, the enemy will have a single launch window.”

  “Twenty missiles.”

  “No, sir. Sixty missiles. They’ve got time to swing around and show us their flank.”

  “Way too many for a single Railer and a few waves of disruptors. Will those missiles reach us before we enter lightspeed?”

  “Too close to call, sir. As you know, there’s a chance for variation in the lightspeed calcs.”

  “And all we can do is wait and watch it happen.”

  “Yes, sir. The Daklan missiles will lock at a greater range than our Ilstroms. We won’t even get a shot at them.”

  Nobody said anything to that. Space combat was defined by moments like these. Some people beat the odds dozens of times, but for every one of those, another thousand or more personnel got vaporised by Daklan explosives.

  “Why are we always one step behind?” said Burner. His voice sounded calm, though Recker could detect the undercurrents bordering on fear.

  “Steady, Lieutenant.”

  “I’m steady, sir. Here’s the bastard on the rear feed.”

  The Daklan warship was so far away that it showed as little more than a grey blob against the darkness. Burner did what he could to improve the image, though Recker suspected the gradually increasing clarity was more a result of the speed at which the destroyer closed the gap.

  “Faster than I thought,” said Eastwood. “Twenty percent up on any other destroyer we’ve encountered.”

  It was sobering to hear. The Daklan weren’t only building warships in greater numbers than the Human Planetary Alliance, their war tech was also advancing at a greater rate. Add the two together and it was storing up some bad news for the near future.

  Worse yet, the Representation hadn’t called total war and military funding was still under restraint. It was easy to pretend there wasn’t a problem when most of the conflict happened a few thousand light years away from your marble-walled house and manicured lawns.

  Recker normally swallowed the anger which inevitably came when he thought about politics. This time, he embraced it as a distraction from the coming enemy.

  “Enemy launch window coming up,” said Aston.

  “They’re swinging around,” said Burner.

  The feed was clear enough for Recker to see it happen. In a few seconds, the destroyer turned so that its flank was visible.

  “Missile launch detected. Sixty warheads coming our way.”

  “Screw them,” said Burner.

  “Deploy the disruptors,” said Recker. “For all the good they’ll do.”

  “First disruptors gone, sir.”

  The ammunition readout on one of Recker’s screen updated to show the remaining quantity of disruptor drones.

  “Down to sixty percent of capacity,” he said.

  “The Finality wasn’t built for an extended engagement,” said Aston. “I can hold the next launch and hope we enter lightspeed before those missiles arrive.”

  “I’d rather die with an empty magazine than a half-full one.”

  “You and me both, sir. Next wave of disruptors gone.”

  Seconds passed and the Feilar missiles came after the Finality. A few were destroyed by the first wave of disruptors and more by the second wave. It wasn’t enough.

  Lieutenant Eastwood began a countdown at thirty seconds to lightspeed. At fifteen seconds, the Railer locked and fired, the weapons discharge the loudest sound on
the bridge. Eastwood raised his voice to be heard over it.

  “Ten seconds.”

  “Disruptors away.”

  All Recker could do was await the outcome, his influence reduced to zero. Without power from the engines, he couldn’t even try a last-second evasive manoeuvre.

  “Five seconds.”

  “Forty-one missiles remaining.”

  “Three…”

  The red dots on the tactical were so close to the central green dot representing the Finality that Recker couldn’t see how they’d fail to impact.

  “Two…”

  “Shit.”

  The lightspeed calculations finished half a second early and the Finality launched into its jump.

  Chapter Three

  The transition made Recker feel like he’d been beaten with a dozen rubber hoses. He didn’t have time to welcome the pain. Less than a second after entering lightspeed, the Finality’s ternium drive cut out, dumping the spaceship once again into local space and subjecting the crew to a second round of agony long before the first had faded.

  In-out jumps were always the worst and Recker clenched his jaw to stop himself from groaning. The other crew members weren’t so restrained and Burner unleashed a stream of obscenities aimed at the Daklan and the universe in general.

  “Status report!” shouted Recker, more angrily than he meant.

  The harshness in his voice did the trick and the complaints dried up.

  “Scans commencing,” said Burner.

  Recker’s half-blurred vision cleared and he stared at his console. The instrumentation hadn’t settled yet and the readouts were all over the place. He looked up just as the sensor arrays recalibrated after their time at lightspeed. The bulkhead screen was covered in darkness and stars, just like he expected.

  “No additional damage to our hull, so those Feilars didn’t hit us,” said Eastwood. “We got lucky.”

  “We’d be dead if they hit us,” said Aston. She had her face close to her console and her expression still held an echo of pain from the lightspeed jump. “Twenty klicks,” she said. “Our sensors stopped tracking the Feilars at twenty klicks.”