by David Tatum
The unknown shieldclad had managed to line up one shot since being driven off of the Zephyr, and while the Chihuahua’s own shields were able to hold back the bulk of the blast they quickly had to dodge before their shield was completely overwhelmed. As it was, Beccera suspected they were being badly rocked by each glancing blow. Her return fire was entirely ineffective, as the enemy shields were quick to recover once the streams of energy from the particle cannons were halted. It would take prolonged fire in order to penetrate them.
Beccera shook his head. “This doesn’t look good. We have to find some way to help them.”
“How?” Meier blurted in frustration. “We don’t have shields. The Chihuahua’s crew didn’t share their discoveries with the rest of us until it was too late to do anything, so we’re no better off than those Cygni ships it was mowing down earlier. Worse, actually, since we don’t have any weapons which could match the caliber of what is on those Cygni ships.”
Farmburg frowned, wondering how she had rated high enough in either tactics or leadership skills to qualify for command. Then he recalled that his own research indicated that she may have cheated her way through the Academy, taking advantage of at least a dozen other people... including the Chihuahua’s current commander. She seemed quite happy to build a career on other people’s work. At the time, Farmburg had been pleased to find that such an unqualified woman could make her way into the command structure of an enemy power. Now that Earth and Cygni were allied, and he had to depend on her command ability to keep him alive, the prospect seemed less appealing.
Still, someone had to point it out. “We do have certain resources that could help them, I think,” he offered hesitantly.
Meier looked down at him furiously. “Who are you to tell—”
“No, please,” Beccera said, interrupting. Farmburg was clearly more than just an Academy student, and this battle appeared to be drawing out his real expertise, so he would use it. “Tell me, young man. I’m not a naval tactician, but I imagine allowing your most valuable assets to speak when they know something makes good sense even in the Navy. If you can think of something, please, tell me.”
Farmburg was a little surprised. Beccera hadn’t liked him from the moment he stepped on board, and for good reason. They barely talked, even in an official capacity, and the Army officer seemed to ignore just about every suggestion the ‘Academy officer’ would offer, no matter how reasonable it was. Now, though, he was listening. He might have a chance to redeem himself, after all.
“Well, sir,” he began. “The mass readings for the unknown ship keep fluctuating because of their shield, but we’re starting to be able to compensate for that distortion. None of the readings we have suggest they’re very heavily armored; the ship is just too small and light. If our forces can hit it with enough firepower to penetrate their shield, even a little, we should do some serious damage. Chihuahua keeps getting close, so all they need is a little help....”
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Alcyone Star System, Pleiades Alpha, Hexagon Park
Director Karlsson watched the monitor display the results of the battle alongside the impassive Skorrjh. “It seems,” he said slowly. “As if our trump card isn’t going to be quite as helpful as I’d hoped. Somehow the Earth Alliance has already developed a ship to counter yours.”
Skorrjh snorted. “In the fog of war, intellect and guile are even better trump cards than simple technology. I have full confidence in Captain Raknuh and the Flynohr. I’m sure he has spotted the vulnerabilities in their rather primitively shielded ship, even as I have, and is preparing to use them to full effect.”
“Such as?”
Skorrjh gestured to the screen impatiently. “You’re a scientist. The data is there. Draw your own conclusions.”
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EAS Chihuahua
“Tactical,” Burkhard called to Rachel and Cohen. “Have we yet been able to pinpoint a weak spot in those shields?”
“Not yet,” Rachel replied. “There are no obvious holes. They don’t even bother to open a portal for that weapon of theirs when they fire. It seems that whatever that weapon is firing, their shield doesn’t interfere with it. Furthermore, their shield is shaped roughly like an eggshell, with no obvious stress points to target. We even considered trying to see if the shield would allow solid objects like rail gun fire through, but the Cygni fleet tried that and even battleship-grade rail guns weren’t able to penetrate their shields. I’m stumped.”
“I think we need to return fire more often,” Cohen suggested. “We need to study how their shields react to weapons fire, how quickly their shields recover from particle cannon fire, and anything else we might be able to find out about them.”
Burkhard nodded decisively. “Mr. Schubert, can you maneuver us to get in a clean shot without opening up the unprotected portions of our hull to their fire?”
“I’m trying, sir,” Schubert admitted. “It’s pretty difficult. They’re both faster than we are and a touch more maneuverable. I’m also still waiting for a firing pattern to figure out the best position.”
“Concentrated firing pattern locked in,” Lieutenant DiMarco said from his position at Weapons Control. “It’ll provide the maximum amount of fire to a single concentrated spot. All you need to do is get him dead center in front of us, Mr. Schubert. Sorry for the delay.”
“Sir,” Emily called from her station. “I’m receiving a very odd transmission. I don’t understand it at all, sir, but—”
“Put it through,” Burkhard snapped, unwilling to wait for her explanation.
“Aye, sir,” she replied, keying in the speakers.
“...was old and foul and slow,” a chorus of people were singing. “But the French are gone to Martinique, and Nelson’s on the trail, and where he goes the Ol’ Superb must go!”
“Target acquired!” Schubert reported over the singing. “Opening fire!”
Once again, Chihuahua’s barrage of particle fire streamed outward into the enemy shielding. This time, however, it was joined by similar streams from at two other sources.
“Sir, the Superb and the Ishmael are emerging from silent running,” Cohen reported. “And they’re both concentrating their own particle fire on the enemy ship.”
As the concentrated fire finally pierced through the unknown ship’s shields, the sound of the transmission continued echoing throughout the Chihuahua’s bridge.
“...Round the world if need be, and round the world again, with a lame duck lagging, lagging all the way....”
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Alcyone Star System, Pleiades Alpha, Hexagon Park
“I believe you were saying something about intellect and guile?” Karlsson echoed dryly.
“Our ship can handle it,” Skorrjh replied, undaunted. “What concerns me more is where all these fresh ships are coming from. If they have another fleet in flanking position you’ll need to re-vector....”
Just as he said that, the tactical display showed a large number of ships emerging from silent running just outside of firing range on the majority of Pleiades’ orbital stations, their sensors suddenly active. There was nothing left to defend the stations outside of their own point defense mechanisms, and those wouldn’t protect them long enough for reinforcements to arrive from the center of the battle.
All that Karlsson and the WISPR officer could do was watch as Pleiades’ entire orbital industrial complex was systematically destroyed.
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EAS Chihuahua
Burkhard was too busy focusing on the action with the unknown ship to pay much attention to the rest of the battle, although he noted with some satisfaction that Beccera’s squadron was able to make the attack a success. Had it not been for the initial course error, Superb and Ishmael would never have been able to peel off from the rest of the attack force without drawing attention to the fleet. Making very slow adjustments as the Chihuahua had done, they had
managed to keep their maneuvers below sensor background noise and evade detection. A whole fleet couldn’t turn unnoticed like that... but two individual ships had no problem making such maneuvers.
“Press them,” Burkhard ordered harshly. “We’re the only ones on our side who have shields, so we need to keep their attention and draw their fire to us. We can’t afford to allow them the time to turn their fire upon the others.”
“Yes, sir,” Schubert replied, although he sounded a little uncertain. “But I don’t think that we’re going to have a problem keeping their attention. They’re coming about to an attack vector against us....”
“Enemy vessel opening fire!” Cohen called a few seconds later, confirming Schubert’s assessment.
“Keep our shields to them!” Burkhard snapped. Schubert was already in the process of turning the ship as he spoke, and he was able to get the shields to take the brunt of the blow. However, the weapon used was significantly more powerful than anything their shields had absorbed before, and even the muffled blast through the shields nearly sent the Chihuahua reeling. It didn’t last long – Schubert managed to outmaneuver them after a split second – but the hit was still powerful enough to cause significant damage... damage that hit squarely on the Chihuahua’s bridge.
As with many ships, the exterior of the bridge was in one of the most heavily armored parts of the ship’s hull. That extra armor was the only reason anyone on the bridge survived, but the damage was severe nonetheless. Instrument panels exploded, shards of glass went flying, chairs snapped off their spindles and flew across the bridge. The devastation was overwhelming, and it took a while before the survivors could move enough to see what they were doing.
Rachel was bleeding in several places – there was a cut across her forehead, a small piece of shrapnel imbedded but easily removable from one arm, and she could tell something happened to a spot on the back of her shoulder although she couldn’t immediately tell what. Her wounds were all superficial, thankfully, but most of her friends couldn’t say the same.
Luke DiMarco was dead... or at least she hoped he was dead, considering how much of his lower body had been severed from his upper by a large piece of bulkhead. Nothing would save him at this point, even if he wasn’t.
The Navigation console had been ripped out of the floor, and was now lying on top of both Schubert and Weber. They were both breathing, and looked to be alive, but Weber was unconscious and Schubert’s left leg was bent at a funny angle. Both were covered in blood, but most of it wasn’t theirs.
Cohen was bleeding profusely as well, and he looked quite pale. He’d need immediate treatment, or he would die of blood loss. Even Rachel, with no medical training, could tell that without a second glance, and her eyes darted around, looking for a First Aid kit.
Rappaport and Emily had both escaped the worst of it, and neither of them looked especially wounded from the attack. Emily had burn marks on her hands, though, from a fire that had burst out of her communications console. Nothing serious, but they would blister.
None of those casualties, however, had as strong an impact on Rachel as the person lying at her feet, pale and clammy and barely breathing. Lying unconscious in front of her was Burkhard, their Captain... the only experienced officer in the chain of command.
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EAS Natsugumo
“All secondary target defensive systems have been eliminated,” a tactical officer reported on board the bridge of the Natsugumo. “The Kilauea and Acadia will concentrate on the remaining secondary targets, while the Sherwood and the York will join us in the assault on the primary.”
“Good,” Captain Meier replied, obviously pleased. “Very good. I’m glad we’re having such an easy time of it, even with twenty percent of our forces occupied with that... unexpected surprise.”
Beccera was not nearly as pleased. He was paying more attention to the rest of the battle, and it wasn’t exactly looking good. Yes, he knew that the Natsugumo was involved in what some people would have called the only important part of the mission, but he was not one of those people. He’d tried to make the Natsugumo’s captain understand that, but she wasn’t exactly interested in the opinions of an Army officer masquerading as her Commodore, as she apparently thought of him. Not that she’d said as much in so many words, but it was pretty obvious considering how she reacted every time he made a suggestion or asked a question.
The Cygni fleet was starting to take a bit of a beating of its own. Despite the initial success, that unknown ship had managed to more than level the playing field, and the Cygni were finding that, without the element of surprise, their ships weren’t quite a match for Pleiades’ counterparts. The Cygni forces were still holding things to a stalemate, but that wouldn’t last long.
The battle with the unknown ship, though, was much more distressing. Beccera had just seen Chihuahua take a powerful hit to her broadside, and while her shields held out most of the damage some of it had peaked through and slammed into several areas, including the bridge and several weapons ports. Beccera wondered if any of the friends he had made on that ship were killed, and if so whether he would survive to attend their funerals.
He frowned. “Is it just my imagination, or is the Chihuahua flying oddly?”
Farmburg stared at the display. “You’re right, she is. I’m not sure what... oh, wait, she’s starting to maneuver again. If I had to guess, I’d say that something happened to the pilot or the navigation system, and the new person isn’t as experienced of a pilot. That’s pure speculation, however.”
Beccera clamped his teeth together grimly.
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EAS Chihuahua
Rachel had just managed to reroute navigational control to her station, and was doing what she could to get the Chihuahua turned around safely. In principal she knew how to pilot a ship. She was a licensed civilian pilot, after all, and the only reason she wasn’t allowed to take the helm in a Navy ship was that her eyes rendered her ‘medically unqualified.’ Navigating a warship with megatons of mass and armor was a lot more complicated than she expected, however, and she started to understand why two people really were needed during combat. It would take her full attention to fly the thing at all... and, right now, she was also the acting captain and only tactical officer.
A team of Marines – drafted into duty as emergency medical staff – had been slowly carrying the wounded off of the bridge. Cohen was the first person they took out, and there still was no word on whether or not he would survive. Burkhard was second, and Weber and Schubert had gone down together. But now they needed replacement personnel, and fast.
Rachel was the only person available to pilot the ship. Personnel requirements labeled certain other individuals as ‘navigators,’ but they had been Academy freshmen who hadn’t had a single lesson in how to fly a paper airplane, much less an interstellar warship, and were essentially being used as unskilled labor. Mumford, working as best as she could with her blistered hands, was calling people up to replace the wounded – Tarbell for Weapons Control and Langer to fill the second tactical slot. There was no-one to call to take either the pilot’s or the navigator’s slot, though... which left Rachel with a decision to make, and no time to make it in.
“I can’t do this and command, too,” she finally said, shaking her head. She put on her personal headphone and speaker set, not wanting to have this conversation public. “Ms. Mumford, put me through to Mr. Desaix. Make it a private channel – I don’t want the whole engineering staff to hear all of this.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Emily said, although her voice cracked with pain as she worked. “He’s on private with you now, ma’am.”
“Whatever it is, Rache, we’re rather busy down here,” were the first words she heard him say. “So keep it short.”
She glanced over, meeting the eyes of Rappaport and nodding to him. He slowly stood up and limped his way off of the bridge. “I’m sending Mr. Rappaport down to relieve you,”
she said. “You’re needed on the bridge.”
“I thought he didn’t have medical clearance to work down here, yet,” Chris protested, obviously resentful of her decision. Apparently, he was under the impression that they were unsatisfied with his work. “I’m handling things down here just fine, and you can tell the Captain that!”
Rachel swallowed. “Chris, you’re doing as good a job down there as anyone could ask... but right now I need you up here more. And I’m not able to tell Captain Burkhard anything at the moment – he’s unconscious, and I have no idea if he’ll live.”
There was a long pause at the other end. “So you need me at tactical?” he said, understanding that command had fallen to her.
“Not quite. The bridge was hit hard, really hard. Wolf and Weber were both injured along with the Captain. I’m the only one who understands enough about flying this thing to take over for them, but I can’t do it, and run tactical, and be Captain at the same time. Just keeping this ship under control is going to take all my attention.” She paused. “I’m hurt, too, and so is everyone else on the bridge, and half the stations are ruined so we’ve rerouted controls to the other half. There’s no one left to replace us, and several of us are trying to run two stations at once. But we need a Captain and a tactical officer, and you can be both.”
Chris paused. “I can’t be Captain, Rache. I’m not fit for it. I’m sure you can, though. You have a talent for command, and you’d do a much bet—”
“Not right now I can’t, damn it!” she snapped, her voice cracking. “But you can. I know how much stress command and tactics puts you through. You think I want to do this to you? You think I want to be the navigator, for that matter? But I don’t have a choice. We need someone who can beat all of those damned no-win scenarios... and you’re the closest thing we’ve got. I can’t do it. Especially not and fly the ship, too. Please, Chris. Just... please.”
