“From enemy fire?”
“Mechanical problem. Actually, the planet has been very quiet during this entire op. Maybe intelligence was wrong about the enemy’s strength down there,” Paruzzi said in a hopeful voice.
Nyondo was doubtful. “They are down there, Commander. The Massang haven’t made anything easy this entire war, and I doubt they’re going to start now.”
The planet Serrat IV was home to rich deposits of brenadium, an element employed in the production of crystal plating used in starship armor. As such, the mining operations on this world were invaluable to whomever controlled them.
It was Sunny Nyondo’s mission to help her side do just that. She was in command of Cruiser Flotilla 105, which had one simple task: protect and support the Sarissan Marines landing on the planet below. The force was comprised of her heavy cruiser, Tempest, the Sarissan cruisers Electra and Swiftsure, and four Jangsuvian light cruisers.
Not that many years ago, the Sarissans and Jangsuvians were shooting at each other in a war of their own. However, after a Massang attack on the world Kolo Khiva killed three million people, human starholds temporarily put aside their own conflicts to stand together in a fight for survival.
Humankind had unexpectedly been thrown into the intergalactic community. For thousands of years, they believed themselves to be alone in the universe. Then four years ago, after First Contact with the Massang and an android race called the Lytori, humanity quickly found itself engaged in dealings with over a dozen different alien species.
Most were either under the control of the tyrannical Massang Unity or targeted by them for subjugation. The xenophobic Massang saw themselves as ethnically superior to all others, with a sacred duty to conquer and rule. To halt the aggressors, an alliance called the Trans-Stellar Defense Coalition and Co-operation Pact was formed. In human space, it was simply referred to as “the Coalition.”
The destiny of billions of sentient beings was being decided in Serrat and other star systems like it. It was the reason warships from many different worlds were locked in battle throughout this region of the cosmos. It was also why Sarissan Marines were landing on a barren planet some eighty light-years from home. This was intergalactic war on a scale—and for stakes—previously unimagined.
Tactical Officer Lewis spun in his chair to speak to Commander Paruzzi. “XO,” he started before being cut off.
“I see it, Lieutenant.”
Captain Nyondo raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “You two care to share?”
Paruzzi tossed a virtual screen from his station to a spot in front of the captain. “Trouble in the main fleet,” he said as a tactical map materialized in midair before her. While Flotilla 105 was protecting the Marine assault on Serrat IV, Admiral Wallenstein and Tenth Fleet were engaged in battle against a sizable Massang force closer to the binary star.
Nyondo examined the icons drifting in front of her, spotting Paruzzi’s concern immediately. Several Massang vessels had broken off from the main engagement and were heading straight for Serrat IV. Before she could speak, another virtual screen popped up before her.
“Captain Nyondo, this is Helena.” The being on the screen was a Lytori, one of the principal member species of the Coalition. The Lytori were androids modeled after their creators, non-humanoid people who had suffered extinction hundreds of years ago. The androids were now a civilization in their own right, carrying on the traditions and ideals of their makers. Lytori liaison officers were posted with Sarissan fleets to facilitate communication with the other aliens of the Coalition.
Some people had developed a skill for reading the android’s facial expressions and body language. Regrettably, Nyondo was not one of them. She had no idea what emotions the alien face staring at the camera was trying to convey, if any. Many compared the wide, white face of a Lytori to an ancient Earth bird, the barn owl, while the android bodies were shaped somewhat like a huge praying mantis. Commander Helena was standing upright on her back four legs, her front spiked arms pulled close against the sides of her thorax.
Nyondo gave her alien comrade a nod. “What’s going on over there, Commander?”
“Yes, Helena here.” The Lytori were prone to repeating themselves, perhaps to make sure their human partners understood them correctly. “Helena” was a name this Lytori had chosen to use with humans, since her native designation would have been incomprehensible.
“Captain Nyondo, a group of enemy ships has broken through the Hixaran flank and is headed your way.” The cephalopod Hixarans were better engineers than fighters and once again had wilted in combat. Be that as it may, the Coalition would not have fared well in this war without them. By using Hixaran-built mobile hypergates, Coalition forces were able to cover vast distances in short times, striking deep into Massang-held space.
Helena’s voice was somber. “Nyondo, these ships belong to what the enemy calls the Vanguard, elite forces of the Massang military. The Massang have not deployed them often against Sarissans. Be advised—Vanguard ships are faster, stronger, and their captains more ruthless than regular Massang forces.”
“More ruthless?” Nyondo repeated. “All Massang are cruel bastards from what I’ve seen. These guys must be real psychopaths.”
Helena tilted her head slightly, perhaps not understanding what to make of Nyondo’s comment. “Admiral Wallenstein will send help when possible, but for now your ships must cope on their own. I wish you good fortune, Captain Nyondo. This is Helena out, and in the Spirit of our Creators, may you have good fortune.”
“In case you missed it,” Paruzzi joked as the repetitious Lytori’s image disappeared, “Helena wishes us good fortune.”
“So, the Hixarans are getting their asses handed to them—again,” said Nyondo as she measured her course of action.
“Do Hixarans even have asses?” asked Lieutenant Hayes under his breath from the helm.
Nyondo thought about the pilot’s quip. It was ironic that humanity’s allies were an eclectic group of species whereas the enemy was humanoid. True, the hairless Massang had reddish-orange skin and sported raised vertical ridges on their faces—hence the pejorative term ‘Pumpkinheads’—but the enemy at least resembled humans. Humanity was fighting a foe that was physiologically much closer to itself than their allies, the unusual Lytori and squid-like Hixarans.
“Mr. Lewis, ETA on the enemy force?”
“At current speed, they should reach us in just over two hours, ma’am.”
The captain turned to Paruzzi.
“Are our drones still reporting the far side of the planet clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. No enemy presence that we can see.”
Nyondo drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. It had taken a long time for her to stop asking herself what Chaz Pettigrew would do in this or that situation, but now she found herself wondering that very thing.
She mentally sighed. There was going to be another battle. More decisions, more orders… and more death. Sunny Nyondo joined the Space Force to pilot starships, not fight wars, but somewhere along the line it had all drifted off course. Her career, her life, the very stars themselves—how had it all gotten so screwed up?
And the fate of so many others would once again be in her hands…
“All right,” she said, shaking off the self-pity. “Mr. Paruzzi, inform Marine Command that our heavy cruisers are breaking orbit. Swiftsure and Electra are with Tempest. We will leave the light cruisers behind to cover the troop convoy in case anything gets past us. Lieutenant Hayes, break orbit and put us on a heading of three-three-five mark ten. Speed at one-third pulse drive, if you please.”
“Aye aye, ma’am,” acknowledged Hayes as his fingers tapped at the controls. The three cruisers elegantly separated from their consorts and picked up speed as they moved to place themselves between the closing enemy vessels and the planetary landing force.
Nyondo stood and walked to Paruzzi’s station. “They’ve sortied a battlecruiser and four destroyers,” she considered a
loud while watching the tactical updates on the main display screen.
Paruzzi nodded. “And all spread out. Unbelievable how those destroyers are just letting the battlecruiser fall farther and farther behind like that. I thought when Commander Helena told us these were elite forces—what did she called them? The Vanguard, was it? I thought maybe we’d see more order than we’ve seen from Massang units in the past.”
“If they keep coming that hard, we can finish off the destroyers before their battlecruiser even closes to within missile range,” observed Nyondo. “Chaz Pettigrew called it years ago when he said that the Massang have no discipline. Essentially, they’re just bullies. For decades, they’ve picked on people who couldn’t fight back, or couldn’t fight back very well. Hell, a lot of their territory consists of worlds that haven’t even reached the space age yet.”
“And now that they have an opponent who fights back,” Paruzzi said, “they aren’t handling it very well.”
Nyondo took a long look at the tactical display. “Just the same, Rico, keep a watchful eye on those enemy ships. We can’t afford to be overconfident. Also, contact Marine Command again. I want an estimate on how long it’s going to take them to finish their landings. Tell them they need to start moving those troop transports away from the planet, ASAP. The damn things move like slugs. I’m going to make my rounds—you have the bridge.”
Before any upcoming action, Nyondo liked to walk around the ship and visit with crewmembers if she had a chance. It was good for morale—hers and theirs. Returning to the bridge an hour later, she noticed a slight change in the enemy disposition.
“I see our friends have tightened things up a bit.”
Paruzzi nodded. “They have. The destroyers did a little subtle braking to let the battlecruiser close on them. It was definitely intentional.”
“Hmmm. Maybe they’re not as muddled as we thought. How far behind is the battlecruiser now?”
“Half a million klicks—still hardly what I’d call a tight formation.”
Nyondo checked over the tactical situation on her command chair console. “Mr. Lewis, time until contact?”
“Enemy destroyers will be within our missile envelope in twelve minutes, Captain.”
“Very well,” said Nyondo. “XO, signal Electra and Swiftsure to assume formation Tango One. Lieutenant Lewis, signal all hands to General Quarters.”
* * * *
Within seven minutes, the missiles began to arrive—Massang missiles. Most exploded against shields, and those that got through were swatted down by point-defense batteries, except for one hit on Swiftsure.
“How bad?” asked Nyondo.
Paruzzi scanned the intership data link. “Not bad—the armor took most of it, but I wouldn’t want them to get hit in that particular spot too many more times.”
“Helm, slow to ten-percent pulse. Lieutenant Lewis, that barrage arrived earlier than expected. We weren’t even supposed to be in their missile envelope for another five minutes. What happened?”
“Unknown, Captain. The enemy birds came in at normal speed. I can only guess that the Pump—er, um, enemy… is armed with longer range missiles than we have previously encountered.”
“Analysis confirms that, Captain,” chimed in Ensign McCue from her damage control station. “That was a new type of missile not previously listed in the Coalition database.”
“They are Vanguard ships. Helena warned us,” Nyondo said, her words growing louder and meant for everyone on the bridge. “The Vanguard are the Massang elite. Their best ships and best weapons. That means we have to put forth our finest effort today, people—nothing less will earn victory. Nothing less will keep us alive.”
Pausing to let that sink in, she turned back to her Tactical Officer. “Mr. Lewis, slave the fire controls of Electra and Swiftsure to your station and prepare a salvo of quantum missiles. Target the lead enemy destroyer on my mark.”
Lewis worked quickly. “Ready, ma’am.”
“Wait for it…”
Nyondo had placed her ships in a triangular formation with Tempest above the others, Swiftsure to the lower starboard and Electra on the lower port. The plan was to hit the oncoming Massang destroyers hard and leave what remained for the Jangsuvian light cruisers to mop up. Then, the three Sarissan cruisers would advance and engage the oncoming enemy battlecruiser.
“Steady, Mr. Lewis…”
Fundamentally constructed to be ‘light battleships,’ battlecruisers weren’t utilized by most human space navies. Heavy on weapons and speed but light on armor and shielding, the Massang put great faith in the vessels.
“Fire!”
Thirty-six quantum missiles homed in on a single destination—the unfortunate destroyer which happened to be riding point for the Massang Vanguard force. Within seconds, the enemy’s shielding and anti-missile defenses were being overwhelmed, straining vainly against the onslaught. After a fleeting struggle, enough of the dispatched missiles found their mark to vaporize the destroyer.
By obliterating the lead ship, Nyondo hoped to disrupt what little cohesiveness the Massang destroyer group had shown, and it appeared to work.
Quiet cheers came from those on the bridge. “Target destroyed,” reported Lewis in anticlimactic fashion as the remaining three enemy destroyers rapidly altered course.
“Something’s wrong,” declared Paruzzi.
The two forces rushed closer to each other, now separated by just over six thousand kilometers.
“What is it, XO?”
Paruzzi made a puzzled face. “Each of the three remaining destroyers is on a direct course for one of our cruisers. They’re not even trying to regroup. It’s crazy.”
Nyondo shot up from her seat. “A suicide run. Helm, take evasive action! Commander, alert the other ships. Lieutenant Lewis—pour fire onto that oncoming destroyer.” The captain turned to punch at the intercom key on her command chair. “Attention all decks—collision alert!”
The three Sarissan warships pounded the enemy destroyers with continuous fire. Missiles and torpedoes launched one after another as the gap between combatants closed. Electra managed to destroy its target, smothering it with so much fire that the enemy ship literally broke in half, as if some all-powerful deity had reached out and ripped it in two with their mighty hands.
Conversely, Swiftsure was fighting for its life, with its opponent inexplicably landing missile blows against her. Several warheads broke through the cruiser’s shielding and registered hits.
“Keep firing, Mr. Lewis,” Nyondo ordered. “The target is almost to energy weapon range—be ready with your particle beam cannons. Helm, continue evasive action. Once we cripple him, we’ll come back around and—”
“Surgewave!” yelled Paruzzi. “The battlecruiser launched a surgewave against us. Impact in thirty seconds!”
Nyondo’s first instinct was to ask why the wave hadn’t been noticed until now—that battlecruiser was still a long way out. For now, the question could wait until later, provided there was a later. Surgewaves were horrid Massang weapons, ripples of energy in the form of a spatial distortion field. The very fabric of space-time was disrupted with dire consequences for anything that came into contact with the wave. For some reason that Coalition engineers still didn’t quite understand, Sarissan shields diminished the effects, but not entirely.
Even if they went to emergency speed, they couldn’t escape the enlarging area of the wave. Nyondo quickly considered her options. “Mr. Hayes, come right to three-one-four. Bring us around with our portside facing the wave. Mr. Lewis, full power to shield generators one and four.”
Tempest pivoted and alert klaxons blared throughout the ship as gun crews and automated systems continued to fire at the oncoming destroyer.
“Target vessel is experiencing internal explosions,” conveyed Paruzzi checking his sensors.
“Kill her off!” ordered Nyondo, sitting down and triggering the command chair’s automatic restraints to secure her in place. “Hold on, everybody
! Wave impact in three, two, one…”
Tempest rocked as the surgewave crashed into her, causing the few things on the bridge that had not been secured to go flying. Braced at their duty stations, crewmembers dealt with the myriad of alerts and alarms that sounded and flashed, all begging for their immediate attention.
“Where is that enemy destroyer?” asked Nyondo after the worst was over.
“The wave finished it off just before it reached us,” reported Lewis. All objects were equal for a surgewave, with annihilation dispersed to friend and foe alike.
Nyondo surveyed the bridge and wondered about the rest of her ship. “XO—how bad?”
Paruzzi grimaced. “Bad. Swiftsure caught some of it too. Wait… damn it! Enemy birds inbound, contact in twenty seconds.” This was a favorite Massang tactic: the one-two punch of a surgewave strike followed by missiles which hid from Sarissan sensors behind the distortion field.
“Shields?” Nyondo asked Lewis.
“Recharging slowly.”
The Captain impulsively disengaged from her chair restraints, quickly moving to the tactical station. She thought she might help Lewis with his controls, perhaps see something he was overlooking.
When the volley of missiles struck home, Nyondo was catapulted three meters into the air and came crashing down onto the base of the communications console.
“Captain, are you all right!” yelled someone as several spacers rushed to her side. Even they struggled to keep upright as more warheads slammed into Tempest.
Outraged nerves stabbed at Nyondo’s shoulder as she was helped to her feet. She tried to lift her right arm, but couldn’t. It was the oddest feeling—her shoulder shrieked with pain but her arm felt numb, almost like it wasn’t there.
Specialist Kelly called out. “XO, I’m pretty sure the Captain has a separated shoulder.”
Starhold's Fate Page 2
