“Forward shields at ninety-two percent,” Franklin said.
“Their shields won’t hold,” Sam said, with more confidence than she felt. “Keep hitting them hard.”
The Hammond rolled up and over, swooping down on the cruiser as it passed Daedalus, trying for a shot to support the hive. Fire bloomed on Daedalus’s shields, and then Hammond struck, railguns hitting the cruiser’s shields just beyond the curve of the bow. The cruiser staggered slightly, recovered, and rolled away. Chandler kept the Hammond on their tail, and the forward shields recorded more impacts.
“Their aft shields are down,” the engineer said.
“Missiles,” Sam said, and Ellefson answered from the weapons console.
“Missiles away.”
“Direct hit!” someone said, and in the screen the cruiser shuddered and pitched, starting to roll as atmosphere vented from a massive breach. “They’ve lost power, losing life support — it looks like they’re beaming survivors out.”
That evened things up a little, Sam thought. And it proved these new shields weren’t as good as the Asgard-based design. “Leave the cruiser,” she said. “Go for the hive.”
“Ma’am!” That was Jarrett, her voice high but under control. “Daedalus reports they’ve taken a hit to their maneuver engines. They’re launching 302s to cover.”
Sam’s mouth tightened. Two against one had been good odds, meant they could tag team the hive, save their shields while running down its defenses, but this… Was what it was, she told herself, and frowned at the tac display.
“Ma’am, the hive’s launching Darts,” Jarrett said.
“Hive’s coming around for another try at Daedalus,” Franklin said.
Chandler was already altering course to compensate, interposing Hammond between the hive and the drifting Daedalus, forcing the Wraith ship to bank away. Sam saw the railguns fire, a steady pulse of blue, saw a couple of secondary explosions near the hive’s stern before they flashed away. A stream of Darts flickered past, fire too light to do damage yet, but every hit depleting their own shields. She could hear the 302 chatter in the background, forced herself not to pay attention until she had to.
“Take her on the left flank,” Sam said. That would force the hive further away from the Daedalus as she turned to answer, even if it would mean Hammond would take a few more solid hits on the forward shields. They would hold through this pass, she was sure, and then they should show her their tail, try to get her to chase.
“Yes, ma’am,” Chandler said, and Hammond rotated around her own center, diving in for the attack. The hive rolled away, maybe a little sluggish this time, maybe the power shortages kicking in, and the railguns stitched fire along her back, lighting up her shields. The hive’s guns answered, and even with the inertial dampeners, Sam felt the Hammond shudder under her.
“Forward shields at sixty percent,” Franklin said. “Ventral shields at seventy-five.”
“Let’s see if she’ll chase us,” Sam said, and leaned forward in her chair.
Chapter twenty-six
Daedalus and Hammond
The 302s streamed out of Daedalus’s bay, the big rocket engine kicking Mel back in her chair before the internal dampeners fully compensated. And that was worrisome, but there wasn’t time to think about that. Blue Flight formed up on her in loose echelon, Gold Flight following suit on Dwaine Grant’s 302 — there never was and never would be a ‘Red Leader’ on Caldwell’s ship, and as always that made her think of Sheppard and grin behind her oxygen mask. She settled herself into the controls, the thought vanishing as the HUD winked into focus. The cruiser was drifting away, all systems dead, nothing more than space junk. That was a good sign: these new energy shields couldn’t handle their energy weapons. They were ahead of the Darts, the first flight just clearing the hive, the Hammond working the far side to keep them from launching anything from the opposite bay. And that was something, a chance they didn’t always get, though it didn’t do much to offset the damage to Daedalus.
“Blue Flight, Gold Flight, this is Blue Leader,” she said. “Gold Flight, Blue Two, Blue Five, engage the Darts. Blue Three, Blue Four, with me. Our target is the hive.”
The first wave of Darts was closing, spreading out like pellets from a shotgun. The 302s drove toward them, spreading a little to match. Symbols flashed on the HUD, counting down to optimum range, and she pulled up and right as a Dart flashed toward her, spitting blue fire. She turned her roll into a half-loop, caught the first Dart’s wingman in her crosshairs. She fired, saw the bolts clip the Dart’s wing, send it spinning and sparking, but curbed the instinct to pursue.
“No shield!” she called. “Darts are not shielded!”
Behind her, Gold Flight was mixing it up with the Darts; at the edge of the display, she could see someone break off after a couple of Darts that had gotten through. Daedalus’s thrusters flared, trying to turn their narrowest profile, but she put it all from her mind with practiced ease. The hive swelled in her screen, the weird pebbly surface dark against the stars, and her computer shrieked a warning. Enemy at four o’clock, rising from under the cruiser’s belly. A bolt of fire slashed past her, and another clipped her shields. Everything was still green, and she rolled over and down, risking the belly shot to get him chasing. Sure enough, he followed, and she came up on his tail, cannons firing. The Dart exploded, sparks and debris flying, and she dove beneath the expanding cloud, stitching shots along the hive’s spine. Something fired back at her, and she pulled up and away, proximity alarms chattering briefly.
Another Dart dove at her, a companion following; she took their fire, shield warning chiming, and lined up her shots, first one, then the other exploding in a flash of fire. She passed through the edge of the second fireball, pulled up again to check her instruments. All systems green, shields still at ninety percent.
The Hammond swung on its axis, coming in for another pass. A Dart flashed past, and she fired, knew she’d missed anything vital.
“I’ve lost engines!” Blue Three’s voice was high and tight, cutting through the static. “Going in — ”
Sure enough, the 302 was arrowing toward the hive’s stern, trailing debris, engines dark.
“Thrusters,” Blue Four called, “hit the thrusters — ”
Mel hit the emergency channel. “Hammond! 302 in trouble, can you beam the pilot — ?”
EM crackle drowned her words, drowned any answer, and Blue Three hit hard, erupting in a ball of flame and smoke. Blue Four screamed a curse. Mel flinched, and then she realized what she’d seen.
“Hammond, this is Blue Leader. The hive’s aft shields are down. I repeat, the hive’s aft shields are down.”
“Roger that, Blue Leader,” the Hammond’s comm officer said. “Pull back — ”
The rest of the words were lost in static, but Mel was already switching to her command channel. “Blue Four, fall back. Rejoin Gold Flight.” She spun the 302 as she spoke, clearing the hive. She hoped to hell Hammond had managed to get Rob, but there was no time to think about it. She hit the throttle, steadying onto the fastest closing course for the melee surrounding the Daedalus.
The hive swung to meet the Hammond’s dive, more sluggish than before, but all guns firing.
“Forward shields at forty percent,” Franklin said.
“Stay with her, lieutenant,” Sam said. This was what she’d been hoping for, that the Wraith power plant wouldn’t be able to handle the demand, that they’d compromise either shields or maneuvering. She’d assumed they would give up shields first, but if they wanted to sacrifice maneuverability, that was fine with her. The gap in the shield was easy to spot, a smoking scar on the dark hull, a pit where the emitter had been. The hive pulled up, slower, but still dangerous, and Chandler spun the Hammond, fighting for the shot.
“Missiles,” Sam said, and the weapons officer confirmed. She heard the thump of their release, and in the same moment the shields flared blue under a barrage of shots. Something shorted on the secondar
y environmental console, and an airman grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher, sprayed foam. For an instant, the air was thick with the smell of burning wire and the stink of the foam, and then the ventilators cleared it. The hive was firing short now, trying to kill the missiles; she saw one explode prematurely, and then another, but the third struck home.
“Forward shields at twenty-five percent,” Franklin reported.
Chandler was already looping away, turning to present their aft shields to the hive. The railguns flashed again as they turned, but the hits were minimal, caught by the hive’s remaining shields.
“The hive’s lost hyperdrive,” Franklin said. He bent closer over his console. “They’re venting atmosphere aft — no, that’s sealed now.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Our rear shields are at fifty percent.”
“Anything from Daedalus?” Sam asked.
“No, ma’am. She’s still not underway.”
And if Steven could do anything to help, he would, Sam thought. Darts flashed past, a 302 in pursuit: Hocken’s wing doing what she could in support, and the Hammond shivered again as a shot struck a failing shield.
“Ventral shield at twenty-five percent,” Franklin said.
Chandler pitched the ship into a tight corkscrew, trying to keep the good shields toward the hive. He was gaining ground, too, putting a little distance between the ships, attenuating the hive’s fire — buying time, Sam thought. The Hammond wouldn’t win a straight slugfest, was already getting close to the point where she’d need to break and run — but the hive was still vulnerable. If they could get a decent shot at the unshielded stern —
“Get us one more good shot, lieutenant,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Chandler said, and Hammond turned on its axis, trying again for the stern shot. The ship shuddered, the ventral shields taking fire as they rolled past, and red lights flashed on Sam’s console, warning of damage in the empty 302 bays. Harmless for now, she thought, and concentrated on the hive as it dodged and turned. Chandler matched it, but the hive’s guns were striking home, the shield warnings flashing.
“Forward shield at ten percent,” Franklin said. “Ventral shields at minimum.”
“One good shot,” Sam said.
The railguns were still firing, groping for the target, and Ellefson launched another missile salvo for good measure. For an instant the hive loomed in the screen, and then Chandler broke away, rolling to catch the return fire on the dorsal shield.
“The hive’s shields are down,” Franklin said. “We’ve lost ventral shields, forward shields holding at eight percent. Rear shields at twenty percent.”
They needed to get clear, Sam thought — well, they needed Daedalus’s support, but that wasn’t happening. But they couldn’t let the hive get close enough to see that Atlantis was undefended. And they couldn’t afford to lose the Hammond, either. The hive was turning, a little faster now that the shields were down, all its power channeled to the engines, and Chandler drove past its nose, turning again to put the dorsal shields between it and them. The railguns were firing, shots solid on the hive’s leading edge, but the hive’s guns were still intact. The Hammond rocked as a blast hit somewhere aft, and an alarm shrilled for an instant before the duty engineer slapped it to silence.
“Hull breach in compartment C14. I’m rerouting shields.”
“Good,” Sam said. She looked at her screen again, looking for another way out. “The cruiser,” she said. “Lieutenant, put the cruiser between us and the hive.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Chandler said, and pitched Hammond into a tight turn. The hive followed, wallowing, and Franklin looked over his shoulder.
Sam forced a smile she didn’t entirely feel. “Let’s play dodge’em.”
Caldwell watched the Hammond drawing the hive ship away from Daedalus, getting a little more maneuvering room every time she broke away in a tight turn the hive ship apparently couldn’t quite follow. It bought him some breathing room, but it also meant he couldn’t bring Daedalus’s weapons to bear on anything but Darts that unwarily ventured under his guns.
“Sub-light engines are still not on line,” Meyers said, as if he had any doubt about why she wasn’t closing the distance.
“I can see that,” Caldwell said. He resisted the urge to tell Meyers to take evasive action, since she was obviously already doing that to the extent that she could. Two Darts streaked across the forward viewscreen, with 302s in pursuit. Marks’s hand twitched on the weapons controls, but he held his fire, his shot fouled by the 302s.
“Dr. Novak, we need those sub-light engines,” Caldwell said, raising his voice to carry over the comm system. “Can you give me anything?”
“I’m trying!” Novak said from down in Engineering. “They’re just not responding. We’re trying to re-route power around damaged components, but I think the ignition system itself may be shot. I’m just not sure I can get this back online without doing major repairs.”
“Do what you can,” Caldwell said. “Right now pretty much all we can do up here is watch.”
“I know,” Novak said unhappily. He suspected she was wishing Hermiod was here muttering to himself in Asgard and coming up with some improbably fast fix for their problems. At the moment, so was he.
He could see Sam maneuvering to keep Hammond behind the derelict cruiser, getting off shots from her railguns whenever she could bring them to bear. The last thing she probably wanted at this point was a full-on exchange of fire, but the hive kept maneuvering for one, trying to get clear of the cruiser’s bulk.
At least its shields were down. He hadn’t even had time to think about that yet, except as an immediate tactical problem, but he was aware that the bigger problem was looming. The main advantage they had over the Wraith was that ships equipped with Asgard or Ancient shield generators could take more punishment than the fragile hives. If they’d lost that advantage…
Two more Darts streaked into view, arrowing straight toward the viewscreen, apparently on a kamikaze run for the bridge.
“I’ve got them,” Marks said. Meyers’ hands were moving swiftly over her console, playing with the maneuvering thrusters to get them a slightly better angle. Caldwell’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair, but he resisted the urge to backseat drive.
“Fire at will,” Caldwell said, and Marks waited another endless few seconds, then fired, two bursts from the forward rail guns that splintered both Darts well clear of the Daedalus’s hull.
“Forward shields at seventy-five percent,” Marks reported. “Rear shields back up at twenty-five percent.”
“We’re in better shape than they are,” Caldwell said. He hated to leave himself even more of a sitting duck, but the Hammond was clearly having trouble extricating herself from her standoff with the hive ship. “Blue Leader, Hammond could use some help.”
“Copy that, Daedalus,” Hocken said crisply, and then, startled, “Daedalus, I have multiple Wraith Darts breaking away in formation.”
“Confirmed,” Meyers said.
Either they were pulling back to support the hive ship, or, worse, planning to make an exploratory run on Atlantis. The first would be bad news; the second, a disaster.
“We’re in pursuit,” Hocken said.
“Copy that, Blue Leader,” Caldwell said, wishing grimly there were anything he could do besides sit and wait.
Chapter twenty-seven
Over Atlantis
John stretched out in the control chair, feeling it come alive under him as he leaned back, lighting up and warming up under his hands. As always, it felt easy to sink into its enhanced perceptions, the world lighting up around him, showing him the airspace around Atlantis, the bright spots of jumpers launching and then dimming as they cloaked. There was more information there when he thought about it, wind speed and direction as much a feeling as a visual display, the wider sweep of the solar system sharpening as he reached for a broader view.
Some part of him was restless, though, thinking of too many other places
he needed to be. He itched to be up in the control room, to know where all the security teams were and what they were doing. The chair responded, obligingly building him a map of the city with life signs readings included, and John willed it firmly out of existence. It wouldn’t tell him anything he wanted to know.
Lorne was up in the control room, coordinating the security teams, checking in with Teyla to make sure she was ready to alert them if she sensed Wraith in the city. Lorne wasn’t up in a jumper because he had to be in the control room. John wasn’t either place because he had to be in the chair. He took a deep breath and let it out, willing himself to let it go.
He relaxed deeper into the interface, the view from the long-range sensors coming up for him as he thought about it, easy and clear. The Wraith cruiser was drifting, clearly disabled. Hammond was engaged with the hive ship, and while they were too far out for the sensors to pick up individual Darts or 302s, the energy signature surrounding the two ships suggested a melee in progress.
Daedalus wasn’t coming up to support Hammond, clearly damaged. Still, they were holding the hive ship off. There was no way it was in close enough to be able to tell that Atlantis’s shields were down. Two battlecruisers on one hive ship wasn’t bad odds, even with one of them stationary. He wished he could see what the Darts and 302s were doing, and met the soft resistance of the interface when he asked for something beyond its capabilities, which he always imagined as apologetic.
That’s okay, he told it. We’ll just sit tight.
Something was changing, though, something subtly shifting in the pattern of the fight, and then the display lit up with the first warning of incoming Darts, still well out from the planet but heading for it fast. He heard the crackle of his radio activating as if it came from a long way away, the words seeming painfully slow.
STARGATE ATLANTIS: Allegiance(Book three in the Legacy series) Page 32
