Kill Before Dying (Tau Ceti Agenda Book 5)

by Travis S. Taylor

  “We love you too, Daddy,” Deanna said to her father.

  “I love you, princess. You keep your fucking shields on!” Alexander kissed her on the forehead and then leaned into his wife. A tear formed in the corner of his eye but he managed to fight it and hide it from the women. “You too, Sehera. I love you both with everything I have.”

  “I know,” she said.

  Chapter 3

  February 19, 2407 AD

  U.S.S. Sienna Madira

  Target Star System

  700 Light-years from the Sol System

  Monday, 1:47 P.M. Ship Standard Time

  “Nav! Change the hyperspace jaunt coordinates to the ones you are receiving now!”

  “Got it, sir!”

  “Seven seconds, General!” the XO shouted. “Mission clock at six minutes, forty-three seconds.”

  “Go, Nav!” Moore gritted his teeth as the purple whirling vortex spun up in front of them just in time. The Madira couldn’t sling-forward or snap-back because, as the Ghuthlaeer had warned, the QMT systems were nonfunctional, but the FTL hyperspace jaunt system worked just fine. Seconds later the maneuver placed them in reality space at almost the mirror-image location of where they had been facing off with the Chiata battleship. The bow of the supercarrier pointed directly at the system’s bright yellowish-green star, and the tilted blue-green planet to starboard and on the port side slightly aftward was the giant, menacing Chiata behemoth that looked like a cross between a giant mechanical sea snail sans the shell and a porcupine on steroids. The giant tuning-fork weapon jutted from the top of the ship, looking almost like a caricature of the sea snail’s antennae—a giant, deadly, mechanical, alien, scary-as-hell caricature. Alexander hoped and prayed they could manage the “hit and run” tactic and “chip away at the stone” until they broke the behemoth’s back. And then they could worry about the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that. But first things were first.

  “I’ve got the target acquired, General!” Lieutenant Commander Lisa Banks, the new Weapons Deck Officer, shouted through her open faceplate. All of the crew had their helmets on, Buckley reaction e-suit shields operational, and their visors up. Alexander was no different as he commanded from the oversized captain’s chair on the bridge of the bot-built supercarrier. His mindview of the battlescape was filling the air about his head with red and blue dots and energy curves and battle tactics, statistics, and weapons inventories. He made mental notes on the blue dot in the aft section of the ship where Sehera was, and the one he could now see moving wildly and erratically through space in the thick of battle. Dee would take care of herself, but if he had to sway the tide of the engagement to help her odds, he most certainly would.

  “Well, don’t waste time telling me about it, Lisa! Fire at will, goddammit! Put energy on the target before it can hit us!” Alexander ordered. He’d been through this before with the Chiata and knew that even fractions of a second meant life and death.

  “Twenty-nine seconds, General!” The XO started the jump clock over. It was the ominous thirty seconds until the damned Chiata targeting system could work out a solution and bring to bear the “zig-zagging blue beams of death from Hell,” as the veterans of the Alpha Lyncis battle called them. The clock was projected throughout the ship on every display and through every AIC direct-to-mind to all crew including the mecha jocks, tankheads, and ground pounders. “Mission clock at seven minutes.”

  The Expeditionary Fleet had QMTed into the system only seven minutes prior, and it hadn’t taken more than a matter of seconds before the Chiata had an armada of the giant beast ships engaging them. The planet that the Expeditionary Fleet materialized near on their final QMT jump was the nexus of activity in the system according to all sensor sweeps. In other words, the jump had apparently dropped them right into the middle of an alien hornets’ nest. Even though they had caught the aliens unaware, the fleet had managed to poke the hornets enough to piss them off. The alien ships were on them like a swarm at their maximum FTL speeds of about seventy-five times the speed of light.

  The long, misshapen dull-brown metal alien sea-snail starships were covered with spires that looked like tuning forks, stretched out into space halfway between the bow and midsection, with the largest of the tuning forks running from the middle of the ship all the way out the front, giving it the appearance of antennae. The smaller forks laid down anti-aircraft and missile-defense fire. It was the large forks jutting forward that spat the zig-zagging blue beams of death from Hell.

  “General, I’m picking up a huge EM buildup around the main tuning fork spire!” the new Science and Technology Officer, USN Commander Tori Snow reported. The entire bridge crew except for Firestorm and Moore had died in the last engagement. Moore had managed to put together the best crew he could and train them in the short period of time since. “According to records it is similar to ones seen before as they malfunctioned. I think it is about to blow, sir!”

  “On screen, STO!” Moore ordered. It was déjà vu all over again. The spire was cracking all about the base and upward through the center between the tines, with big blue arcs jumping from tine to tine like the alien structure was about to engage the primary weapon, but then orange and red plasma ejected out around it in all directions, just as they had seen in the past in the Alpha Lyncis battle.

  The spire exploded. The space around the alien vessel was filled with a mix of blue arcs and red and orange plasmas, and with the force of a small tactical gluonium bomb, an extremely intense high-energy gamma ray burst fried systems throughout the alien ship, sparking off and spreading secondary explosions longitudinally up the ship until one final huge blast threw pieces of the multiple-supercarrier-sized alien vessel into its nearby companion swarm ships, breaking through parts of the exterior armor of its closest wingman.

  “Nineteen seconds!” Firestorm shouted. “I’ve got fire crews being called to the lower hangars and the outer hull tubes, sir.”

  “Stay on it, Sally,” Moore told his XO.

  “Damn right, sir! Seventeen seconds!”

  “Gunner! Target the damaged area of the second ship with everything!” Alexander turned to the ‘Bosses.’ “Air Boss, are my fighters deployed yet?”

  “Aye, sir!” Commander of the Air Wing USN Captain Patrick “Nosedive” Krieger responded. “The Dawgs and Maniacs are laying down cover for the ground pounders as we speak and the Saviors and the Archangels are mixing the ball like hell! No reports of pukin’ deathblossoms yet.”

  “Ground Boss, report!”

  “Roger that, General!” Commander of the Ground Combat Mecha Group Army Brigadier General Geri “Killjoy” Ibanez replied. “The Dragon Slayers have dropped to the planet with the Juggernauts riding piggyback. The hovertanks are smashin’ and trashin’ and the AEMs are bringing Hell, sir. So far there has been less ground resistance than we expected.”

  “Damn good, keep them moving on the ground away from the population centers.”

  “General Moore, CDC!” the voice of the officer in command of the Combat Direction Center called in through the bridge command net.

  “Go, CDC.”

  “Sir, all ten ships from the Fleet are in their pre-described non-Keplerian orbits about the planets over the preplanned target continents. Each ship reports drop tanks deployed and fighters in the mix. Admiral Walker is getting hit the hardest, sir! The Thatcher has already taken several blue beams and the forward DEG batteries are down,” the CDC reported.

  “Keep on it, CDC. I want the fleet moving with random jaunts and if we see it is too thick for any of our teams anywhere I want to know about it before it happens. Game clock is ticking, people. We’ve got to hold to the plan as long as we can.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  Abby, you stay on top of it.

  As always, sir.

  Give me a Fleet view zoom-out and keep me apprised of Walker’s status. I don’t want to lose the Thatcher in the first quarter of this game!

  Roger that, sir, Abigail
replied in his mind.

  “General, Admiral Walker is hailing us,” the communications officer stated.

  Shit.

  Yes, sir. I think from her status readings she is sidelined.

  Shit. Moore hated taking his most trusted and experienced naval officer out of the mix so quickly.

  “Open the channel, lieutenant.” Moore nodded in her direction.

  “Aye, sir.” The young comms officer turned to her console. “On screen, sir.”

  “Fullback, my stats tell me you’re getting pounded to Hell and gone.” Moore could see the very large intimidating figure of Admiral Sharon “Fulback” Walker before him. There were alarms sounding in the background, and a fire crew was diligently working on a flaming panel behind and to the left of her.

  “Yes, General. I believe I’ve drawn the short end of the stick. My CHENG tells me that I can either jaunt or fire the DEGs, but not both. All we can do is make a decoy of ourselves and jaunt about.” Walker sounded disappointed but calm.

  “Casualties are starting to run up on you, Sharon. Pull your ground teams in and get out.” Moore looked at the hole in the line that losing the Thatcher would make. He would have to make adjustments to the attack plan. An entire continent of the planet would be uncovered. But from the battle statistics, that continent looked like it would be the most troublesome anyway and would need a much larger force than a single supercarrier to hold it.

  “Sir, we can still be of some use to you bouncing about to confuse the alien targeting systems.” The admiral almost pleaded to stay.

  “No. We’ll make do. Pull your people, jaunt to QMT range, and lick your wounds. If you get yourselves back in order, feel free to come barreling ass back in. I’m sure we could use any help we can get.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sounding the recall and retreat now. Without QMTs it will take several minutes to pull back my fighters and ground teams.”

  “Get what you can and have the rest retreat to other ships or support other ground engagements. But do not get the Thatcher destroyed.”

  “Understood, sir. Good luck, General! Thatcher out.”

  “Godspeed, Sharon.”

  Sir, I calculate that it will take over ten minutes to retrieve seventy percent of the Thatcher’s flight and ground teams, Abigail warned him.

  Who is closest to her?

  UM61 Alpha03, sir. Captain James 92601, Abigail replied in his mind.

  Open a DTM link between Fullback, the clone captain, and myself.

  Done, sir.

  Captain James. Fullback.

  Sir.

  James, you are to cover Fullback’s retreat and take on any of her teams that she cannot manage to evac. The two of you work out some leap-frogging FTL jumps and get it done. Sharon, I want you out of here in two minutes. Understood?

  Roger that, sir, James answered.

  Thank you, General, Walker’s voice sounded in his head.

  Admiral, don’t worry about the crew you have to leave behind. As soon as the Hillenkoetter drops in I’m putting her on top of them, Moore thought to them. Captain Penzington can help cover your retreat as well.

  Aye, sir.

  The gunner continued directing the red and green beams from the DEGs of the Madira II across the next target. The beams tracked across into the open wound of the Chiata ship. The cannon spires on the side facing them were mostly wiped out by the explosion of the first one. It was the Madira versus the local swarm of three Chiata ships nearest the northern pole continent region of the planet. At Alpha Lyncis the three enemy ships would have easily been enough to overpower the Sienna Madira II. But that was before Moore had figured out the random FTL jumping tactic, and to top it all off, the new and improved Buckley-Freeman shields were holding solid. Whatever upgrades the CHENG had made after getting the note from the Ghuthlaeer CHENG seemed to be helping for the moment.

  “Give me a missile in there and don’t let up on the DEGs!” Moore ordered.

  “Aye, sir!” the gunner replied. Alexander could see in his DTM battlescape the blue track of a gluonium-tipped missile as it rocketed out from the ship and corkscrewed about the DEG beams all the way to target. As he looked out the viewscreen and saw the missile visually, the DTM tracks overlaid in his mind the energy curves and probability of hitting the target. The missile vanished into the burned-through armor and then the probability of hit went to one hundred percent as it exploded on the interior of the alien ship. The Chiata vessel bulged like a bowl of instant popcorn in the center then popped at multiple orifices from the overpressure. The ship was separated into halves as secondary explosions finished it off.

  “Nine seconds! Mission clock at nine seventeen.”

  Then a blue beam zigged from out of nowhere, it seemed, and slammed into the aft barrier shield. Moore felt the jolt but, unlike at Alpha Lyncis, this time he and his crew were fully armored and strapped in and wearing their helmets.

  “That was a solid fucking wallop, Sir,” Executive Officer USMC Brigadier General Sally “Firestorm” Rheims shouted. “But we were ready for the bastards this time!”

  “She’ll hold. She’s a good solid ship,” the Chief of the Boat Chuck Sowles added from his COB’s chair behind the captain’s chair and to the left. Alexander had lost his COB on the last mission. He’d hate to lose this one. Sowles had been in the Navy for more than a century. The man just liked to be in space. Alexander had found him on a long-haul cargo cruiser at Tau Ceti. The man was originally from Biloxi, Mississippi, which was another thing that Alexander liked about him.

  “Hold or not, COB, she’s getting the shit kicked out of her,” the XO replied.

  “Where did that one come from?” Alexander turned to the STO.

  “General Moore! CDC!”

  “Go, CDC!”

  “We have seven more ships that just dropped out of hyperspace, sir!”

  The ship rocked hard forward and vibrations rang throughout it like the inside of a bell. Alexander gripped his chair tighter and thought through the battlescape mindview. All of a sudden the Madira, specifically, was terribly outgunned.

  The bastards know who’s in charge? he thought. Are my naval tactics that transparent to them?

  It would appear so, sir, Abigail agreed.

  How long until the Hillenkoetter team arrives? he thought almost rhetorically. The mission clock highlighted in his DTM view almost as soon as he thought it.

  Seven minutes and forty-one seconds, sir.

  Might as well have said forever.

  “Shit,” Alexander Moore hissed through his gritted teeth as the ship was thrown forward again by another zig-zagging blue beam of death from Hell. It was going to be a long seven minutes and forty-one seconds.

  “CHENG to CO!”

  “Go, Buckley!” Alexander held to his chair tighter as it continued to shake.

  “Sir, the port side DEGs are venting coolant into the exterior hull tubes and we’ve lost both batteries on that section. Worst of it, sir, is that the coolant leaks have shorted out the structural integrity field generators there. If the shields go, that hull plating isn’t gonna hold up to fratricide debris, not to mention one of those damned blue beams!”

  “Get me those DEGs back up, CHENG!” Alexander clutched his fists and focused on the DTM battlescape view. The new influx of enemy battleships was turning the tide against his first attack wave. If more enemy reinforcements appeared they would be in serious trouble. Alexander had to rethink his strategy, but there was little time to think. He barely had time to react.

  “Aye, sir! But you need to be aware, if we get a feedback pulse from the damaged DEGs, it’ll blow every breaker in the hyperspace vortex projector. We’ll be dead in the water, sir!” Buckley explained.

  “Fix it, Joe! Fix it!” Alexander didn’t have time for explanations and excuses. They were in the thick of it and he needed his guns. “COB, see if you can reroute some fire teams to the forward DEGs to help with the CHENG’s team.”

  “On it, Captain!” The COB rep
lied.

  “More fire teams are on the way, Joe!”

  “Sir!”

  “Ten seconds, General!” Firestorm shouted from her station. “Looks like the bastards are trying to flank us and force us into a damned bowl on the planet!”

  “Nav! Jump us now!” Alexander watched as the spin-up cycle for the vortex projector counted in his head. They were cutting it too close. Then, out across the bow zigged and then zagged a brilliant blue beam. Moore watched as the vortex of whirling purples, pinks, and blues of Cerenkov radiation flashed against the changing structure of space and time before the ship. Just as the Madira stretched forward into hyperspace, the blue beams of death from Hell tore into the port side. The alien horde motherfuckers knew just where to hit him!

  “Shit!”

  * * *

  “Shit!” Deanna Moore shouted through the mouthpiece between her clenched teeth as the brilliance of the continually firing zig-zagging blue beams of death from Hell filled the ball with overwhelming irradiance. The illumination reflected off the hull of the Madira seemed to Deanna to be looming far too close to the planet’s upper atmosphere for her liking. But that was the least of her worries presently. “DeathRay, get that motherfuckin’ porcupine off my ass!” Dee grunted through the high-gee-force maneuver as her FM-12 mecha somersaulted forward, transfiguring from fighter to bot mode, all while her AIC drove the plasma cannon targeting and tracking system to the limits trying to lock onto the Chiata porcupine-shaped fighter that was on her ass. “Guns, guns, guns.”

  “Fox three!” DeathRay’s voice cut through the mecha tac-net. The mecha-to-mecha missile zipped past her cockpit, damned near ricocheting off it. Dee winced at the glare from the hot plasma and ion stream pouring from the missile’s propulsion system. As the missile exploded against the shields of the alien fighter, fragments of the warhead housing and orange and white plasma exploded, shifting the alien craft’s vector as its shield rippled and shimmered but didn’t burn out. “I got ’em, Apple1. Guns, guns, guns! Just feint over and go to fighter and kick the HOTAS hard on my signal.”