Sun King (The Void Queen Trilogy Book 3)

by Michael Wallace

  “You need me to act?” she said. “What do you think I’m doing here?”

  A glance at the main screen. Donkey was slugging it out with a dozen Albion warships targeting its port cannon array. Yet another destroyer was falling back, armor shattered and torpedo tubes obliterated.

  “I need you to support my operations,” he said. Again, she noted that glint in his eyes.

  “Cheng, what are you babbling about? You’ve got nine bloody war junks, and they’re nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile, I’m losing ships right and left, Hammerhead escaped, and Donkey tried to eat my ship and spit out the bones. And that’s barely a metaphor. Get in the action if you want, but stop wasting my time.”

  “I’m in the action now,” he said, his voice even more forceful. “Figure that out and you’ll know exactly what to do.”

  With that, he cut the line.

  “Smythe, find those war junks and figure out what Cheng is going on about,” Catarina said. “Use active sensors, whatever we’ve got.”

  The alien commander had apparently found her nerve again after the nuclear strike, and Donkey was closing again, rather than retreating to Sheol. A wave of allied warships came up from below, while destroyers continued to pound the harvester from above. Little was getting through the enemy countermeasures and armor.

  “Captain!” Smythe shouted. “I found Cheng. Look!”

  He rotated the view of the battlefield to show Donkey from a different angle, with the harvester no longer shown as a purely visual representation, but as a thermal image. A white-hot spot glowed on its underbelly, in front of the engines and behind one of the bubble-like protrusions that contained the ship’s larder: thousands of Persians in stasis, awaiting their slaughter.

  Smythe was working furiously at his console, and soon brought up another visual representation. There, a collection of gray blobs, which had to be the heavily cloaked Singaporean vessels, concentrated in a mass, so close to the harvester ship that it could have harpooned every last one of them with little effort. If only it knew where they were.

  “I don’t understand,” Capp said. “What are they doing?”

  “I believe Cheng has softened up a large patch of the enemy ship for us,” Catarina said.

  Capp touched her ear. “I’ll tell the fleet!”

  “No! Stop! You tell them and the buzzards hear. Then Cheng is dead and the advantage gone. We’ve got to charge forward on our own and hope the rest are smart enough to follow. Nyb Pim, bring us in. Capp, get me the gunnery.”

  Moments later, they had Void Queen underway, flying straight at the harvester ship and its grasping arms, which opened wide in an eager embrace.

  Chapter Twenty

  Olafsen cut off two separate attempts by his crew to start the Scandian war chant.

  “Too soon,” he told them. “Not until we’re in combat.”

  Let them chant. It may be the last time. Maybe for us all.

  No, not yet.

  His men were eager. Down in the launch bays, not only on Bloodaxe, but across the Scandian fleet, raiders were out of stasis, loaded in mech suits. Ready to board or be boarded. The men running the engines had them hot, just at the edge of the containment fields’ capacity. Gunnery crew had stockpiled pummel gun ammo and double-checked missile batteries. Everywhere, men were ready to fight, to kill, to die.

  Here, on the bridge of Bloodaxe, Björnman, Jarn, and the others kept shouting their orders, punctuating everything with curses and pleas to the gods.

  Olafsen had been growing increasingly uneasy as he watched the twin battles play out near the planet Sheol. So far, the allied fleet had yet to destroy a single harvester, while losing more than twenty ships between Drake’s battle and Vargus’s. True, they’d taken out more than a dozen lances and spears, but what did that matter if they couldn’t bring down the main enemy battleships?

  The only real victory had been Vargus’s successful destruction of Donkey’s cannon array. But in the meantime, the largest of the five harvesters, Hammerhead, had slipped loose and was now barreling down on the only remaining force capable of stopping its escape into Nebuchadnezzar: Olafsen and McGowan.

  “Maybe the minefield will hold them a while,” Björnman said.

  Olafsen grunted. “Doubtful. But even a few minutes would help. The closer we take this fight to the main battlefield the better.”

  “Main battlefield? We’ve got eighty ships right here! This is the main battlefield, Marauder Captain.”

  Not with four harvesters battering the allied forces outside of Sheol, it wasn’t. But his chief mate was right in one regard. This would be the battle on which it all turned, with Olafsen, Longshanks, and McGowan earning either a glorious victory or a defeat so profound that no human or Hroom would live to tell it.

  Hammerhead stumbled into the Albion minefield, laid down earlier to turn it and Donkey away from a straight flight toward the Nebuchadnezzar jump point. While mines exploded off its hull, Drake’s three frigates, kept out of the fight so far by distance from the battlefield, let loose a firestorm of missiles.

  The ferocity of the frigate attack forced the harvester and its escorting hunter-killer pack to slow and fight them. Missiles flashed out from the harvester. A few more precious minutes, Olafsen thought with grim satisfaction. But may the gods protect those frigates.

  The three ships turned to flee. Two frigates got away, making for McGowan’s force, but the third took a hit to an engine, and began to falter. A pair of lances trailed it, blasting with energy pulses. The poor fools were soon dead, their ship gutted, their life-sustaining atmosphere vented into the void.

  “Twenty minutes,” Jarn announced.

  “I want every man on this bridge in his mech suit,” Olafsen said. “Tech officers first, then chief mate, then I’ll fetch my own.”

  “By the gods,” Björnman said, “how will we fly the ship suited up?”

  “We’ll sync with the onboard computer and give our commands by voice.”

  “There will be a delay running it through our suits,” Björnman said. “That could prove critical. If you’re afraid about being boarded . . .”

  His voice trailed off, and he joined the others in staring at the marauder captain. Olafsen took the rune hammer pendant hanging around his neck and rubbed its cool silver surface between his thumb and forefinger, suddenly consumed by doubt.

  Olafsen closed his eyes and offered a prayer to the gods. A plea. If this were to be the end, let it be a glorious one. He tucked the rune hammer inside his shirt and let it rest against his breastbone, then turned to the others, who remained silent.

  “I’m not afraid of being boarded. I’m embracing it, in fact.”

  Björnman’s eyes widened. “We can defeat this monster in open battle. We have eighty ships!”

  “Smaller harvesters than this one are chewing through destroyers and cruisers like a bear snatching salmon from a stream,” Olafsen said. “There is no battleship here, no battle cruiser. Nothing to stop it.”

  “Twenty star wolves!” Björnman protested. “And cruisers. Missile frigates. Such firepower! I’ve never flown in such a fleet.”

  “And neither have I. But it won’t be enough.” Olafsen took in a breath and let it out slowly. “Five blackfish are ready, packed with mech raiders. If they can get inside that harvester, then we’ll see, won’t we? Our mech suits will tear those buzzards apart from inside while the rest of the fleet keeps up its bombardment.”

  There were skeptical looks at this. How many thousands of drones on that big harvester? What chance was there the blackfish could survive the harvester’s weapons and ram its hull?

  “But only if we guard the blackfish approach,” he continued. “Create a distraction, an opening for them. I shared my plan with Longshanks already, and my brother spread it to the other captains. They will charge the paralyzing eyes and attack with all pummel guns to draw fire. Meanwhile, we’ll approach the monster’s jaws.”

  Curses and shouts of disbelief greeted this
pronouncement, and Olafsen growled at them to shut up and listen.

  “It wants McGowan—Peerless is the main prize from this fleet—but a good second choice is Bloodaxe. Us. The enemy commander wants to eat the men on this ship. We’re going to let it grab us.”

  “We are?” Björnman asked.

  “That’s why we’re suiting up. When those arms rip open Bloodaxe, they will find us in our mech suits. And then, my friends, we will bring down the wrath of the gods.”

  #

  Twenty minutes later, they were in combat. The two escaping missile frigates blew past the Scandian forces, looking for refuge, even as McGowan threw his ships out in a defensive formation. Cruisers up front, screened by destroyers. Corvettes and destroyers ready to lead a torpedo boat charge. Missile frigates to the rear, protected from short-range jumps by General Mose Dryz and fifteen Hroom sloops of war.

  Peerless hung back from the main cruiser force in the vanguard. McGowan was directing the battle from the rear and ostensibly holding a reserve force of two other cruisers and a pair of corvettes, ready to charge in as a relief force.

  No surprise there. McGowan may have thrown his fleet into the battle, but his own ship remained well protected. A few stray missiles harried the small knot of ships, but McGowan brought them down with countermeasures.

  Hammerhead launched a long-range barrage. McGowan responded in kind. The void between them filled with dozens of crossing missiles. Countermeasures flashing, exploding.

  Olafsen nudged his star wolves and blackfish forward, waiting for a lull in the long-range fighting so he could make his charge. His brother’s ship, Thor’s Hammer, lurked off port, with Frost Giant, Hellfire, Firebolt, and Devil’s Tooth sweeping behind them, followed by the five blackfish and numerous other star wolves in the rear.

  A trio of lances approached, trying to lure the Scandians toward the harvester. Withering pummel gun fire drove them back again. A few minutes later, the enemy made another attempt, this time with six lances and a pair of spears. The two sides traded blows, until again, the Scandians threw back the attack. Again, Olafsen declined to pursue.

  The harvester fired long-range projectiles at the Scandians throughout this exchange, but directed the bulk of its attack against a wave of Albion warships that swooped in to batter its shields with torpedoes and cannon.

  “Now?” Björnman said.

  His voice was tinny through his helmet and across the com. The men on the bridge had suited up, together with every other crew member on board. A hundred more raiders were out of stasis and packed the hold, to go along with the hundreds of raiders on board the blackfish, waiting for their chance to take the fight to the enemy.

  The harvester rolled toward the oncoming force of Albion ships. The eyes flashed green. A destroyer’s guns fell silent, but the harvester ignored it as it swept past. It paralyzed a corvette next, and left it to drift back alongside the harvester’s rear guns. The corvette was a gutted wreck before its crew could recover.

  The fleet lost a destroyer minutes later, followed by a charging torpedo boat, which detonated before it could fire its weapons. Other torpedoes, missiles, and cannon fire struck the harvester, but none inflicted significant damage.

  And then Hammerhead spotted a prize. This was HMS Zealand, an Aggressor-class cruiser that had approached to fire a broadside. She got off her guns, but couldn’t fall back before the harvester caught her with the paralyzing ray. The grasping appendages opened wide.

  “Now!” Olafsen said.

  Bloodaxe leaped forward. Two dozen other Scandian warships followed. They let loose a massive blast of concentrated pummel gun fire that struck the harvester on its upper decks as it caught hold of Zealand with its arms. They came down, serrated edges biting into the cruiser’s hull.

  Wolves attacked from all sides. The blackfish came, too, sidling up to the enemy ship, but drifting back under pressure of enemy fire, unable to close for their main mission.

  All of Olafsen’s attention was focused on trying to free that cruiser. To knock out the arms, to force the enemy to respond. Anything to get the enemy’s attention. Albion warships joined the assault, and now, to Olafsen’s astonishment, McGowan’s small reserve force made its move.

  Throughout the initial stages of battle, Peerless had reminded Olafsen of a powerful mastiff, calm and aloof, sleepy even, as she surveyed the battlefield. Now aroused to battle, she came roaring into the fight. All guns blazing.

  “He’s no coward after all,” Olafsen muttered.

  Hammerhead could no longer ignore the attack. It spat out Zealand, which bled plasma and flaming gasses from a dozen wounds. Men and women were still alive in there, trying to get the engines moving, firing as the cruiser limped away.

  The harvester, now fighting back in earnest, shortly obliterated another cruiser and two destroyers. The Scandians were taking devastating fire, as well. Devil’s Tooth exploded, followed by the death of two more wolves in quick succession.

  Hammerhead made a lunge for Peerless, which danced out of the way and took shelter behind a barricade of Albion warships. In frustration, the harvester lashed out with a battering ram of outgoing missiles and other exploding ordnance, which cleaved a path right to McGowan’s cruiser. Explosions burst along the cruiser’s spine, and it seemed as though the man and his ship would die right then and there.

  But a fresh push of star wolves forced the enemy’s attention. Bloodaxe, Thor’s Hammer, and Firebolt took position in front of the enemy bridge, where they pumped in pummel gun fire. Other wolves bit and snarled along the enemy’s flanks.

  Hammerhead turned toward Bloodaxe, which inched out alone. The green eye swept toward them. Olafsen’s knees buckled, but the mech suit attenuated the paralyzing beam. He didn’t need full strength from his muscles; the suit would do it for him.

  “Don’t pull back,” he ordered Jarn.

  Bloodaxe drifted toward the harvester. Blackfish scooted in to one side, ready to hurl themselves against the enemy hull. The grasping arms reached for Olafsen’s ship.

  This time it was the marauder captain himself who started the chant:

  Blood, spoil, plunder, death.

  Valhalla!

  The others shouted along. War cries punctuated each line.

  Then Bloodaxe shuddered. Alarms sounded everywhere. The enemy had them in its grasp.

  #

  Void Queen rolled away from Donkey’s eager embrace. Catarina nearly swooned as a paralyzing eye tried to burn a hole through the ship’s hull and incapacitate the crew, but she still had command of her facilities and fought through it. She ordered torpedoes thrown out the back, and the harvester, already struck by a nuclear torpedo, was forced to respond.

  Countermeasures brought down the torpedoes, but Void Queen used the distraction to squirm free. A ferocious bombardment from Triumph and Fierce helped guard her escape. Catarina was trying to get around the back side of the enemy ship, where Cheng’s war junks continued their quiet assault, but smaller Apex craft were making it difficult.

  “Get that spear out of there,” she ordered.

  “Trying, sir,” Smythe said. “Its energy pulses are lighting us up right where that bomb struck earlier.”

  “Warning,” Jane said. “Number five shield at thirty-two percent.”

  “That’s the blasted armory,” Capp said. “We lose the number five and we’re done for.”

  A pair of sloops came to Void Queen’s aid and swarmed the spear with bomblets from their serpentine batteries. At last the Hroom forced the spear to retreat, where it fell into the waiting clutches of Pussycat and Nineveh, along with the rest of Fox’s destroyer wing. They blasted it apart with a punishing wave of cannon fire.

  Catarina’s losses continued to mount as well. Another destroyer lost. A sloop. One of her falcons.

  “We’re through!” Smythe said. “There’s the soft spot.”

  As seen through the sensors, the weakened portion of tyrillium glowed along a wide swath of the enemy hull. Under
the Singaporeans’ concentrated energy beam, it should be as soft as melting glass, but thick. She had to hit it and hit it hard.

  “Bring us up from below for a broadside. I want explosive shot in every gun.”

  Capp called the gunnery, while Nyb Pim maneuvered them into position. Smythe and Lomelí worked desperately to repel enemy fire, with only limited success at this range.

  Void Queen shuddered. Another heavy blow absorbed. The number seven shield this time. It fell to thirty-nine percent.

  “Captain?” Capp said.

  “Hold your nerve. We’ve got to get closer.”

  Catarina clenched her jaw in determination. She ignored blow after blow against her shields. A strike to the engines nearly breached the containment field, but engineering got it under control. Donkey loomed alongside, dwarfing the battle cruiser.

  Now!

  “Fire main battery.”

  Void Queen shuddered. Tons of explosive shot raced out and struck the enemy ship right in the weakened spot. It smashed straight through Donkey’s hull, and a massive secondary explosion sent a jet of flame and debris shooting hundreds of feet into space. The harvester fell back, reeling. Gas kept venting in flaming geysers.

  Only now did the enemy seem to understand its risk, twisting like a harpooned whale as it tried to escape its tormentors, now charging from every side. And it had no more allies; the lances and spears had at last been swept from the battlefield.

  As Donkey bucked and twisted to protect its shattered underbelly, waves of ships pushed a relentless attack. Cannon, torpedoes, missiles, serpentines, energy pulses. Falcons and torpedoes. Destroyers, cruisers, corvettes. Sloops and mercenary schooners. They struck the damaged, burning section of the enemy ship again and again.

  “It’s breaking up,” Smythe shouted. “My God, it’s coming apart.”

  Catarina ordered a full retreat. The front of the harvester exploded, and arms shot out like missiles, venting. The engine ruptured next, destroying the rear of the ship. Pieces the size of torpedo boats burst from the midsection and exploded, and finally, the entire central part of the ship broke apart, each large piece flaming, exploding as gasses and bombs and missiles all went off at once.