by Jay Allan
“Yes, General.”
He listened to Ana’s voice as she relayed his commands, crisply, efficiently, without any indication of the fear he knew she had to feel. He’d resisted her desire to take the training regimen and become an Eagle officer, but he had to admit, her talent and ability would have been wasted as just his mistress.
Well, not exactly wasted…
And, aside from her new duties, she was more than a mistress, and she had been for a long time now, far more. He knew that, but wasn’t ready to admit it to himself.
He glanced over at the display. He had reason to be cautious. His battleships were not only escorting the Eagles’ assault ships, they had virtually every troop transport in the fleet with them. He and Garret had agreed. They would have to land on planet two as quickly as possible following the bombardment. The ground troops would have to dig out every enemy stronghold, hunt down the Black Flag leadership one meter at a time from the radioactive wastes of their planet.
The Eagle battleships were powerful, the strongest ships in the fleet, but the transports were vulnerable, and Darius wasn’t going to send them into orbit until he was sure there were no surprises waiting. Two battleships could hold their own without risking the rest of his forces.
“Captain Petrov reports Eagle Ten entering orbit, General. Eagle Thirteen is forty-five seconds behind.”
“Very well, Lieutenant.”
Darius watched the display. Petrov was one of his best naval captains, his usual go to for command, when he needed to split his fleet into two components. The two battleships were in good hands.
“General, I have a transmission from Admiral Garret, sir.” Ana turned abruptly, and looked over at Darius. “He says it’s urgent, sir.”
“On my line,” Darius snapped. “Augustus?”
He waited while the signal made its way to Garret’s location and then back to his position just off planet two’s orbit. The bridge was silent. Darius suspected none of his people thought there was any more chance that an urgent communique from Garret was good news than he did. And three minutes was a long time to wait.
Darius’s eyes moved back to the display, checking on his ship. Both battleships were in orbit now. They’d be running their scans, and in a minute or so, he’d know what defenses he was up against.
He saw the indicator light, even as Ana said, “Captain Petrov, General.”
“Anton, report.”
“General, we’re picking up…” Darius knew from the tone, Petrov was worried. Something was wrong. But just then, Garret’s voice poured into his headset.
“Darius, we walked into an ambush. They’ve got heavy batteries, bigger than anything we’ve got. They might have them at planet two also. Pull back, get your ships out of there until we…”
“Petrov,” Darius yelled, “get the hell out of there. Now!”
But there was no response, nothing at all except static.
“Get Petrov back on the line,” he yelled over toward Ana.
“…we’re going in, we’re committed.” Garret’s words were still coming through. “I’ve lost six battleships already, and even if we take out these guns, I don’t know if we’ll have enough left to handle their fleet. Be careful, Darius…and good luck.”
“General, Eagle Ten has been attacked.”
Darius heard the words, but he knew even before they’d been uttered.
“I’ve got the link reestablished, sir.”
“Petrov?”
“It’s Commander Barrington, General.” A pause. “Captain Petrov is dead, sir. The bridge is out. Engines and main power out. I don’t know what hit us, but it…”
The line cut out again, leaving nothing but static. Then, Ana’s voice, strained, emotional broke the near silence. “Eagle Ten has been destroyed, General.”
* * * * *
“We’re still going in!” Tyler’s voice wasn’t a yell, not quite, but there could be no question in anyone’s mind he was serious.”
“Yes, sir.” His aide was unnerved, clearly, but she seemed to be keeping it together. Whatever the enemy had fired, it had destroyed three ships outright. Tyler knew he didn’t have capital ships, but he hadn’t expected any kind of attack that would blast his cruisers and destroyers to dust with a single shot.
“General,” the aide said a few seconds later, “we’re getting communiques from the planetary squadron commanders. They want to fall back.”
“Fall back? What do they think this is, a game? Something to run from when it gets tough?” He slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair. “Put me on the wide channel, Major.”
“Yes, General.” Then: “Your comm is live, sir.”
“Listen to me, everyone.” He knew some of the officers in the fleet spoke languages different from his own Alliance English. The AI would translate everything he said, most likely up to and including some of the…colorful…curse words trying to push their way into his mouth. “We must launch our missiles…we have to destroy this planet. And that means we need to stay on our course for another four minutes.” He paused. “I know you’re all scared, that you don’t know what’s going on, but I swear to God, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll hunt down any son of a bitch who runs from this fight now.”
He paused, trying to keep the rage from overcoming him. “Four minutes. Stay on course, and if you get a location on any of those big guns, blast them with anything you have. But no one retreats.”
He jerked his hand across his throat, a signal to cut the line. Then he sat and waited. Waited to see if his ships would follow him in.
The Columbian squadrons stayed on course, to a ship. He was their leader, and for all the ruthlessness with which he held onto his power, he’d also managed the planet well. His military was well-trained and loyal, if not quite the equals of the Marines and the Eagles.
Many of the other planetary squadrons stayed with him too, or at least portions of them did. Some fragmented, a few of their vessels fleeing, even as the others stayed the course, and three of the contingents fled wholesale. Tyler felt his anger grow as he watched the routing ships…and he swore they would pay.
But now he had other concerns. Four more ships had been hit, two destroyed and two severely damaged. He knew his peoples’ morale could only take so much, especially the non-Columbians. But there was no alternative. The had to keep moving forward. The had to destroy the planet.
“General, we’re picking up the heavy guns now. It looks like ten, sir, strung out from the just outside orbit halfway to the planet’s moon.”
Tyler hesitated. Garret would know what to do. But there was no time…the admiral was almost three light minutes away, and Tyler most definitely did not have the luxury of waiting six minutes for advice or orders.
“All frigates and destroyers…increase to maximum acceleration. Get in there and take out those guns.” His smaller ships had limited nuclear ordnance anyway. They wouldn’t be missed much in the ground bombardment. “All cruisers…follow us in. We’re making this bombing run regardless of anything these bastards try to throw our way.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tyler could see he was losing more ships, to the enemy weapons, but even more to fear. Individual vessels, and even entire contingents were pulling away now, even as the range counted down. He cursed them all, but he knew there was nothing he could do.
Lucia was shaking as she approached the planet, her wild evasive maneuvers so far dodging the deadly batteries raking his fleet. The Columbians in general were faring well, only two of his ships hit so far. His people were far more disciplined than the other planetary squadrons, and as he watched he saw two more ships vanish, falling to sloppy and poorly executed defensive maneuvering as much as anything else.
“One minute to orbital insertion.”
Tyler sat, almost motionless.
“The Calabrian destroyers and the Alabarian frigates have engaged the enemy batteries, General.”
Tyler watched as the thin row of light ships, th
e one-third or so of the vessels he’d sent that had actually executed his orders and gone all the way in, opened fire on the enemy’s deadly weapons. One of the massive satellites disappeared almost immediately, then another. Even as the escort vessels opened fire, the enemy guns trained their fire on their attackers, unleashing a devastating attack. At such short range, ships as small as destroyers didn’t even explode, they simply vanished. But the survivors pressed on, shooting down one after another of the enemy’s great guns.
Tyler watched, his rage growing alongside his satisfaction. Those ships, the courageous and loyal crews who’d gone in, who’d done their duty, they were dying in droves, losing far more of their number for the absence of their fellows. Tyler cursed the cowards, a lifetime’s frustration welling up, his rage threatening to slip out of his control. But he had work to do before he could address those who had shirked their duty.
“All ships, prepare to launch missiles.” Tyler had planned to target the strikes carefully, but now he just wanted to get it done. The unexpected enemy defenses had come close to stopping his assault, and now he intended to see the job completed as quickly as possible. The AIs would direct the bombardment, and they would do a credible job of maximizing the impacts of his limited strikes.
“All ships ready, General.”
He stared at the screen, at the image of a blue planet below, not entirely unlike Armstrong. But this world was ruled by people who sought to conquer others. That dug at Tyler’s memories, the terrible wars his homeworld had endured. He remembered being driven into the hills, watching as children starved for lack of food, stepping through the piles of bodies. Lucia, the day she died. The desperate, almost overwhelming grief, the need to try to believe she was only wounded, that she would survive…and then the bitter realization, the emptiness of his life. The corrupt politicians, the ones who had left Columbia vulnerable to that last war…he’d made them pay with a terrible ruthlessness. He’d lost part of his sanity the day his wife had died, he knew that. But he didn’t care. If men had to face monsters, they needed monsters of their own.
“Launch all missiles.”
* * * * *
“All ships, maintain maximum fire.” Garret was watching his ships fall to the enemy batteries. Watching his people dying. The enemy ships had come around his flanks, just as he’d expected, and now their fire was adding to the carnage. But there was no choice. He’d made the right decision, he was sure of that, whatever the cost. To yield now would save no one, and it would cost the chance at victory so many had died to preserve.
“Yes, sir.”
“Any ships with missile stocks remaining, launch them in sprint mode at the enemy battleships.” The focus of his attack was the Black Flag guns, but his mind was racing, trying to come up with any tactic, trick, deceit…anything he could use to buy time. He’d pioneered the use of missiles in sprint mode years before. He’d never employed them as a diversion, but with any luck the enemy would be surprised. The attack might not score a large number of hits, but if it could distract the enemy ships, at least, keep them off his ass until he could take out those guns, that would be enough.
“All ships acknowledge, sir.”
Garret leaned forward as he watched the range count down. His line was almost there, and every gunner on every battleship was ready. But the losses continued to mount up, one irreplaceable dreadnought after another, the heart of his fleet going down…with so many enemy vessels left to fight.
Garret had always had a strange sort of confidence. Even when he’d been scared, when doubts had ravaged his mind, there had always been a part of him that was sure of victory. But now, he searched for that resilience, and he found it was gone. He’d been a stalwart commander all his life, one of humanity’s greatest heroes, but in this moment, he felt like a spent force. He’d done all he could, but he just didn’t know if it would be enough.
He turned toward the tactical station, but even as he did, Bunker Hill shook wildly. Garret’s body slammed hard forward, his harness holding him in place, but shattering half his ribs in the process. The pain was intense, and he found himself gasping for air, every breath an agony.
He could hear his staff, voices shouting, distant. He clawed at the harness, opened it, and his body fell to the deck. He wailed at the pain as he hit the cold metal floor, and he rolled over and lay on his back, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. He could see faces over him, hear the panicked cries of his officers. He could hear shouts for medics, but even as he knew they were struggling to help him, he was aware Bunker Hill was in trouble too, the old ship as badly battered by the hit as his old body.
He wanted to say something, to tell his people to see to the ship, to themselves. To tell them he was fine. That he was ready to go. But no words came.
There were only images, fuzzy at first, and then clearer, scenes from another time, another place. Home. Terra Nova, and his family’s ancestral home. He had brought the family prosperity, fame, become its most famous son.
Is that all I leave behind?
There was something else there. A young girl…no, a woman. Charlotte.
Charlotte Evers had been the love of his life, the girl he’d left behind for glory, for fame. The greatest regret of his celebrated existence.
She’d been dead for almost eighty years, because he’d left her, because he’d failed to save her…and yet her image was clear in his mind, even as everything else faded away.
Forgive me, Charlotte…please forgive me.
He could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks, but everything else was gone. The shouts of his crew, even the cold hardness of the deck. There was just Charlotte…and then nothing at all.
Augustus Garret was dead.
Chapter 34
300,000 Kilometers from Planet Two
Draconia Terminii System
Earthdate: 2321 AD (36 Years After the Fall)
Darius sat in stunned shock. He’d heard the words, but even his cold devotion to realism failed him this time. Camille Harmon had held it together when she’d told him, but even her legendary cool had been strained. For his entire life, for twice the length of his life, Augustus Garret had been the most famous warrior in all of Occupied Space, save perhaps, only for him. But Garret was loved…and you are hated and feared…
As close as anyone else in the Grand Fleet, Garret had been his partner, his co-leader. Now, he was gone. Camille Harmon was in command, and Darius didn’t doubt her ability for an instant. But she didn’t have the mystique Garret had possessed, that he did, the strange thing that drove men and women to incredible feats of courage and endurance.
He didn’t have the data he wanted, no real visibility on the fleet and its situation. Garret’s last command had been to close, to attack the line of heavy guns bombarding his ships. Harmon would see that carried out, with her last breath, if need be. He was sure of that. And he would have to depend on her. He had to deal with things here.
“Status report on Eagle Thirteen?” The big ship had blasted out of orbit—following Petrov’s last order—but she’d been unable to escape the range of the enemy weapons. The first volley of shots had all missed, a credit to Captain Chin’s evasive maneuvers, but one shot from the second barrage had hit.
It had been a glancing blow, one that would have caused only minor damage, even if it had come from a battleship’s main laser cannon. But the emplaced batteries were stronger than anything a mobile ship could carry, the twins of the ones savaging the main fleet out near planet three. Eagle Thirteen had a whole section on its starboard side blown clean off, leaving open compartments and a ship bleeding atmosphere.
The battleship still had power, and her engines were operational. Captain Chin was blasting at full, coaxing every last g of acceleration his wounded ship could give. Darius couldn’t imagine the conditions onboard, the intensity of the g forces slamming into her crew. There would be injuries for sure, broken bones, even some fatalities. But it was the only chance any of her crew had to survive.
/>
Darius’s gut was twisted in knots, the anguish at watching his people run for their lives almost too much to bear. He wasn’t the kind to stay back and wait, to watch as his comrades fought to survive, but he couldn’t send the rest of his ships in there. If he lost the fleet, the battle was over. Everything was over.
Eagle Thirteen was eighty thousand kilometers from the planet now, and Darius began to hope she might make it. The enemy weapons had a substantial recharge time, and maybe—just maybe—that would give Eagle Thirteen long enough to escape.
The enemy fired again…and missed. Chin was earning his pay, and then some. His ship lurched all around, a wildly random pattern intended to thwart the enemy targeting. Darius didn’t even know how the officer and his people were still at their posts, holding up somehow under the agonizing pressure and wild changes in thrust vector. He felt pride in his people, even as despair crept into his thoughts.
Eagle Thirteen was one hundred thousand kilometers from the planet now, and part of Darius wanted to hope the battleship was clear. But he didn’t believe it. The enemy guns were too big, the energy output of their volleys too massive. Then, the moment he knew was coming…another barrage, and a direct hit.
He leaned forward, his hands moving over his workstation, pulling up incoming damage reports. Eagle Thirteen was still there—his ships were strongly-built—but as soon as he saw the figures coming in, he knew it was over.
The ship’s engines were at twenty percent, one reactor was down, the other two operating at less than fifty percent. Widespread damage throughout the ship, internal fires, explosions. He could save the ship—maybe—if she didn’t take another hit. But she’d never escape the enemy’s firing range now.
He stared, feeling a kind of helplessness that was foreign to him, repugnant. His people were dead, he knew that, even as he stared at them, still sitting there. He raged against himself, an angry voice inside demanding that he do something, anything, to aid them. But there was nothing.
