“But we have our orders. The regular navy is here and the Admiral will take care of things. We are to hold as much of this Sector as we can but we are not to get ourselves destroyed doing it,” Norfolk said slowly. “Cheer up. At least we got the blighters who got our dependents. I doubt one in ten will walk away from this battle. That Confederation Fleet is finished as a fighting force,” he added, still intent on destroying the Lucky Clover no matter what words his mouth was spewing for public consumption.
One of the first rules you learned in the Imperial Navy: never telegraph your moves, especially when you intended to ask forgiveness later on. Well, he’d ask forgiveness if he had to. He had no intention of getting a lot of good men killed for nothing. On the other hand, if it was for a worthy cause, then that’s just what he, they, and the rest of the Reclamation Fleet had signed up for.
“Aye, Sir,” said Wilkins.
“Now cut those bucking cables and pull back. We’ve got to defend our engines,” said Norfolk, “if we stay put we’re going to lose our engines for sure, then all that big bruiser has to do is pull away and take us out one by one. So get moving and do it—now!”
“Aye aye, Sir,” said Xipper.
I watched with satisfaction as the six remaining Battleships released their bucking cables and pulled away from us to face the gunboats.
“Turn and pivot the ship. I want a target,” I ordered.
“Sir, the General reports the enemy on the hull are outside the firing port for the HPC!” reported Steiner.
I started. “Acquire a target and fire. Now! Before we lose the main gun,” I ordered quickly.
“But, Sir!” protested Manblaster.
“With pleasure,” said the Weaponeer, slapping a hand on the firing button, obviously not interested in waiting to hear the order a second time.
There was a deep thrum followed by the deck plates vibrating, and the temporarily unignited plasma ball shot out the front of our ship at a fraction of C. Due to the extremely close range, my eyes hadn’t had time to properly focus or really register the movement when a massive explosion rocked the screen.
“E = mc^2,” breathed the Weaponeer as an enemy Heavy Cruiser exploded. When the sensors cleared, a good third of the center of the ship had just disintegrated, leaving the front and back third still attached by a thin line of metal.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Longbottom cheered.
I shot him a sideways look. “Steady as she goes, Shields,” I said tartly.
“Aye, Sir,” he replied, giving me a look and then ducking his head
An alarm started going off on the weapon’s console. “Something’s jammed the HPC!” reported the Weaponeer, looking like someone had just killed his baby as he mashed buttons on his console.
“It looks like they must have used some kind of explosive charges to weld the retractable hatch open,” Adrienne Blythe chimed in, “the starboard side isn’t responding to my override.”
The First Officer and I eyed each other.
“Let’s try to keep those hatches shut then,” I said crisply, “the last thing we need is enemy Marines crawling into the ship and tearing up the internal working of the HPC.”
Adrienne Blythe’s brows rose sharply. “I can see how that would be important,” she said, turning back to her console, “override locks engaged and, just for good measure, I’m powering down the launch system.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” I agreed as the gunboats reached the first of the reclamation Battleships.
“Four Battleships to port and starboard have turned away but the rear ships on either side have turned.
“Mr. Hart,” I said with alacrity, “why don’t you help those boats find the best targets?”
“On it, Sir,” he replied as our gun deck once again cut loose.
“Mr. DuPont, why don’t you see what you can do to help out?” I said.
“I thought you’d never ask,” DuPont said with a grin, “they may have borked the bow but there’s no reason we can’t reverse polarity and see about getting our broadside into a better position.”
As the capacitors continued to charge and the gunboats moved en masse to target the first Battleship on Hart’s list, I sat back and steepled my fingers.
All that was left was to wait as my bridge crew and Marines fought for our lives.
Oh, and to keep my eyes open for opportunities.
“Go around the side,” ordered Akantha as the commando company accompanying her reached her position.
“My Lady, you need to slow down so that your guards can catch up with you,” the Company Commander panted as he threw himself behind the same antenna array as Akantha.
“No time for that, Captain,” Akantha said distantly as she extended a portable sensor around the edge of the array and spotted a war band set up near the firing port for the HPC. They had at least six crew-served portable cannons and what looked like some kind of explosives they were setting up around the firing port, “we’re going to have to move. Now!”
“But Lady Akantha, our Devastator suits are still trying to catch up!” protested the Captain as Akantha picked up a giant tower shield she’d had crafted specifically for these sorts of circumstance. Holding it up so her head and just about everything except her feet were covered, she advanced on the enemy.
“Blasted royalty think they can control everything including the enemy,” snapped the Captain, “Lieutenant Palmer, Sergeant McClary: after her!”
“Sar!” shouted McClary, rushing forward with a quad of black space commandos and the Lieutenant in tow.
A hailstorm of blaster fire rained down on the Sergeant and his team. A lucky shot to the face plate knocked the Lieutenant spinning off the hull as blood spewed out from his ruined helmet.
Meanwhile, Akantha continued to charge in that loping stride required for external hull walks.
“Messene and the Lucky Clover!” she cried, ignoring several kinetic strikes against the tower shield that tried to push her backwards.
Reaching the enemy, she threw the tower shield forward and released the magnetic lock holding fast her Dark Blade.
“MEN!” she cried, slashing deep into the arm of an Imperial Marine.
A shoulder-charge knocked another free from the hull and, using the flat of her blade, she smacked him toward a crew-served ion cannon swinging her way. The Imperial battle-suit jerked spasmodically before locking solid as it was hit with repeated ion blasts.
“Take this,” Akantha snarled, pulling free a string of four plasma grenades and tossing them at the crew served weapon.
The explosion that followed vaporized half the cannon and sent the entire team flying.
“Forward!” she cried, pointing to where a team of four quads were still placing explosive charges when there was a flash of light, “don’t stop- (Cough)” she blinked in surprise at the sight of blood spots splattered over the lower half of her visor.
She tried to raise her blade and her suit locked up.
“What?” she asked, surprised by a flash of pain in her lower back that followed. It was almost as bad as when she had gone into labor.
“Hold still, my Lady,” the Captain’s voice came distantly, as if through a tunnel even though on some conscious level she could tell he was shouting over the com-link.
“Emergency patch applied,” reported the Sergeant.
“She’s still leaking air, McClary,” shouted the Captain of the Black Space Commandos as flashes blinked all around them. “Somebody get a hold of that hatch she was using as a shield!”
“Roger,” replied a commando she didn’t recognize.
“I can’t get good seal around this sword, Sir,” reported the Sergeant in a tense voice.
“Don’t tell me what you can’t do, Sergeant,” barked the Captain, “don’t you dare—and don’t even think about pulling that blade out. Patch that hole so we can get her inside or I won’t be alone when I march up to the Admiral to tell him what happened to his blasted wife! Do you read me, Mc
Clary?”
“I’ve got a can of space foam for emergency hull patches. It’ll stop the pressure leak, be a job and half to scrape off later but it’ll work,” the Sergeant said after a moment.
Akantha realized they were talking about her and looked down to see the tip of a sword sticking out of her midsection.
“A platoon has reached the edge of the firing port. We need backup, Captain,” reported someone over the coms, “one more push and we’ve got them.”
“By all that’s unholy, where is her Life Guard unit!” the Captain said with palpable frustration. “All units except the headquarters fire team: advance in support of A platoon. I say again: all units advance!”
“Charlie Alpha this is Charlie Horse. I say again Alpha this is Horse. Where are my Devastators? They were rerouted to support a battalion level push but I’m already at the port and we’re taking heavy casualties. Give me back my heavy platoon!” barked the Captain as everything around Akantha faded away.
“More Jacks are reinforcing this group from the other port side of the hull, Captain. We’re being pushed backkkk…!” cried a voice that ended in a gurgle.
“The Diatribe just lost her starboard shields,” reported Fleet Operations.
“Order the Humbolt and Man’s Regret to fall back and address the engines on that beast. We need to take the pressure off the rest of Vorpal Force. The rest of our units—including your ship, Captain—are to pull away and rejoin the screen,” ordered Norfolk barking out orders to try and salvage something from this mess and regain the initiative. “Those boats are getting too frisky by half!”
“Captain Tuvok reports the Diatribe is now taking engine damage, Admiral,” reported Commander Xipper from communications, “he says if he doesn’t get some kind of support he won’t be able to maneuver inside two minutes.”
Norfolk’s eyes burned as he turned to glare at the image of the Super Battleship that still dominated his screen.
“Tell Tuvok if he can’t report better news inside of thirty seconds he is to set the Diatribe on a collision course with the CSS Lucky Clover II and abandon ship,” the Rear Admiral said finally.
“Sir?” Senior Captain Wilkins asked with alarm.
“Mark my words: Montagne will bathe in the fires of his own anti-matter before this day is out, but Sweet Man I’ll be good and blasted if I’ll ask a full crew of our own to go out with him!” Norfolk snapped. “We’ll just have to take our chances with the autopilot.”
“I don’t think that’s what your Chief of Staff was asking when he—” started the flagship captain.
“I know what he meant and I mean what I said. Relay the order, Commander,” Norfolk growled looking over at Commander Xipper.
“A-aye aye, Rear Admiral,” said Xipper.
“Look at them run!” chortled DuPont, fist pumping as the Lucky Clover slid back from the force of firing the main cannon and four of the six enemy Battleships turned to run bucking cables streaming behind them.
One of them in particular was now being swarmed by our gunboats, and despite our guys taking several dozen losses they soon had the Battleship’s shields down. Then they moved onto its engines.
“Tell the boats as soon as they’ve reduced her engines to 10% or less they are to move onto the next ship. If we can catch those Reclamation Battleships with their shields still low from their encounter with us, we can knock the stuffing out of these Imperials,” I ordered with satisfaction. “And let’s see if we can’t give those ships a scare. Line us up for another shot from the HPC, Mr. DuPont.”
“We can’t actually fire, Sir,” DuPont replied, though already working his console.
“They don’t know that,” I said with a confident expression.
“Gunboat Leaders report message received and acknowledged,” Lieutenant Commander Steiner reported as the boats continued to blast the rear end of their target.
“Enemy Battleship is coming about,” reported Hart, highlighting the ship the boats were tearing apart. But as I looked at the screen I saw the two stern-most Battleships were maneuvering in a different direction from the others.
“Tactical, why do I have two Battleships advancing to my rear considering the rest of them at least tried to run away?” I asked sharply.
“Most likely they’re making a play for our engines, Sir,” reported the Tactical Officer.
“Then take care of it, Lieutenant,” I ordered.
“Shields,” barked Hart, reaching for his microphone to Gunnery.
“On it,” said Junior Lieutenant Longbottom.
“That Battleship is adjusting its trajectory…it looks like it’s on a collision course!” course reported Shepherd.
“Mr. DuPont!” I snapped.
“Our secondaries barely move us,” the Helmsman said with frustration even as he activated them.
Like a group of geese, the three Battleships still moving away from us scattered by adjusting course to stay outside our line of fire.
“Weapons, how long before we can engage the main engine?” I asked calmly.
“Another two minutes thirteen seconds until capacitor charged, Admiral,” reported the Weaponeer.
“That ship is adjusting course to match. Even with their engines damaged, they’re still too fast for this slug,” DuPont reported mashing the console buttons to push in reverse as he struggled to get every erg of speed out of the ponderous leviathan that was the new and improved Lucky Clover.
“Steady on, Helm,” Manblaster said smartly.
“Tell the gunboats to redouble their efforts,” I ordered. I didn’t think that a five hundred meter plus Battleship slamming into our eighteen hundred meter Super Battleship was going to do them any favors, but I just as certainly didn’t want to see what we’d look like afterwards.
Far better for all concerned if we just avoided the entire situation.
The Reclamation Battleship continued to approach from the starboard side while the other two advanced to our rear and opened fire.
“Shields dropping. We are taking fire,” reported Longbottom.
“Should I have gunnery focus everything to starboard or do you want us to target one of the ships to our rear, Sir?” asked Lieutenant Hart.
I hesitated for a moment and then stiffened. “I believe in excess of two hundred boats can handle any difficulties to starboard, and if they cannot then our broadside isn’t going to make a difference. Tell the Chief Gunner to pick a target and get ready to tear into one of those ships behind us, Tactical,” I said.
“Aye aye,” said Hart.
The Battleship on a collision course continued to take fire to the point it looked like only her maneuvering jets and thrusters were still operational.
I started to breathe a sigh of relief when I realized the ship was still coming toward us—fast.
“Lieutenant Hart!” I said.
“Sorry, Sir. The boat wings report they’ve knocked out her engines but she’s already built up a good head of steam. Forward momentum is carrying her toward us now just as much as her maneuvering jets,” said the Tactical Officer.
“Can we increase the speed or our advance to the rear, Mr. DuPont?” I asked tensely as the Battleship inched closer on the screen, seeming almost close enough to touch.
I tensed even further when a swarm of escape pods and shuttles began abandoning ship, but the Battleship on a collision course continued to advance with no sign it intended to stop.
My eyes rolled around the battle plot to where the Furious Phoenix was leading the charge into the advance guard of Reclamation light warships. The Phoenix was currently exchanging blows with a Heavy Cruiser so it didn’t look like she or any of her companions were going to make it over here in time.
My eyes swept over local battlespace again and then snagged on the main battle line between our Battleship squadrons and theirs. One of our ships had abandoned the line, leaving his comrade to take on two of theirs and was rapidly advancing in our direction. It also didn’t look like it was about to
slow down any time soon.
******************************************************************************
“Quick, get her out of that battlesuit,” barked the Doctor as soon as Lady Akantha was rushed into Medical on a hover cart.
“The sword, Doctor!” cried the Sergeant who’d escorted the Lady back into the ship.
“Pull it out on my mark and get that suit off ASAP,” ordered the Doctor.
Akantha’s body arched and she cried out in agony as the sword was withdrawn in one swift, power-assisted motion and the battlesuit’s emergency release was activated, causing it to fall to pieces around her.
“Cut off her clothes,” snapped the Doctor to one of his medical assistants as he ran a sensor wand over her.
Leaping into action, the assistant went to work with a knife and a pair of scissors as blood started to pour out of a hole in the Hold-Mistress.
“Tank!” ordered the medical officer.
“Is she going to be okay, Doc?” pleaded the Sergeant.
“That vibro-blade halfway severed her descending aorta when it was pulled out. It’s a miracle she’s still alive. If you’d tried to remove it in the field I guarantee you she wouldn’t be,” the Doctor said, typing frantically into his medical interface before leaning down and stabbing a six inch needle into Akantha’s open sword wound.
“Ready, Sir,” said the Medical assistant, maneuvering a tank next to the hover-pallet.
“Prepare for transfer! One-two-three,” ordered the Doctor, and in one coordinated movement the Hold-Mistress of Messene was transferred into the tank.
“Is she going to make it, Doctor?” repeated the Sergeant.
“The surgical heal will close up the aorta and that tank will pump her so full of oxygen, nutrients and new blood there’s no way she’ll experience death, paralysis or even significant necrosis so long as someone trained is able to program the tank,” the Doctor said grimly, “you’re fortunate you got her to me when you did. As it is, she’ll be out of the tank and back on her feet inside of three days. Maybe two.”
Admiral's Fall Page 34
