by Blaze Ward
CR–264 was on point. That was her job. Making the big girls look good for their walk down the runway, even if they did it with guns blazing. Usually, that meant pushing a broom to clear out the confetti. Today, it was death by missile.
“Boss, Rajput just fired a single missile,” Lam called from the lower deck where he commanded the guns.
Why would Alber’ launch a missile right now? Rajput was one of the heavy hitters, with as many tubes as Stralsund. He needed to be ready to overwhelm the bad guys.
Oh. Right. Alber’. The man who invented his own tactical manual to fly the most singular vessel in the fleet: the only heavy destroyer of her kind ever built, long considered a failed experiment that everyone laughed at. At least until Jessica came along and rescued him from obscurity and ridicule. He owed her, possibly more than the rest of this squadron of misfits did.
“Lam, this is Alber’ we’re talking about,” Kigali replied. “Assume he just put a shot missile out and jigger your firing solutions accordingly.”
Rajput could do that. Fire one early and reload the tube with a normal missile fast enough to maybe get six out when the flag went up. His crew took war seriously. Very seriously.
“Roger that,” came the reply. “Damn it, I hate it when you’re right all the time, boss. Bird just split four ways and is tracking intercept. What’s your bet?”
“Five levs that he only gets two hits,” Kigali yelled down the open hatch. “They waited too long for the targeting systems to stabilize.”
“Covered,” Lam said back. “Figure he got it out early enough to get three. Man doesn’t play around.”
Not a chance. Fire too early and give away the game. Nope. Still, the Imperials were gonna suspect Mischief if nobody fired anything but guns.
They just weren’t gonna see this coming.
Chapter XLIII
Date of the Republic June 16, 394 Alexandria Station, Ballard
The bulkhead mocked her. There was no other way to see it.
Moirrey kept from snarling out loud. Barely.
“Why won’t the hatch open?” she muttered quietly.
“I suspect our saboteur had a hand in it, Centurion,” the doc said from just behind her.
Apparently, she weren’t quiet enough.
Still, that made sense, in a cruel way. If’n yer were goin’ up against a Sentience, it were a good idea to steal every advantage you could. Like scrambling doors you didn’t need, ta keeps the cavalry at bay.
Moirrey stood, listening to the tick of the clock in her head.
“Arlo,” she said angrily. “Ya gots anything can kill this door quick?”
The marine got a cagey look in his eyes.
“How quick, sir?” he said carefully.
“I needs to be in the core five minutes ago, buddy,” she half–snarled. “We can fix this later. If th’ Red Admiral blows the station up, won’t matter.”
“Right,” he replied, pulling his backpack around and setting it on the ground in front of him.
He looked up with a deadly serious face.
“You two go around behind that pillar,” he pointed. “Get your faces flat to the bulkhead and your asses as tight in as you can get. Close your eyes and open your mouths as wide as they go. Cover your ears, but that’s for pressure, not sound.”
Moirrey considered the man. He were totally war–face now. Like, mean–as–a–hungry–snake kind of mood. She grabbed the doc and pulled him along.
“You heard the man, Doc. Move.”
The wall was cold against her nose. Didn’t help that she was overheating and sucking wind from the running. When this was done, she was getting back to jogging laps around the outer perimeter of the flight deck again in the morning. She’d gotten out of shape.
Tweren’t much in the boobs area to keep the butt out in the line of fire, but she hugged the wall best she could.
Beside her, Doc did the same.
Eyes closed. Ears plugged.
Jumble of footsteps as Arlo came running.
Warm body sliding next to her, kinda pushing her down the hall a little, but also providing a big meat shield between her and whatever.
Whatever happened.
Afterwards, she’d’a said it went on fer’ever.
Sound like an icepick, in one ear and out her nose. Flash of light so intense she saw spots through her eyelids, closed and facing the wall. Shockwave that whacked her on the butt like ma did when she were sassin’.
Moirrey opened her eyes and looked down the hall.
Smoke.
Kinda gray–white stuff everywhere.
That were good. Black always indicated something dangerous burning. HVAC systems were kicking hard right now, sucking the crap down to the floor and up into the ceiling.
She started to take a step, found Arlo’s arm across her chest like a toll–gate.
“Not yet,” he seemed to yell. The face looked like it. The words were a whisper.
Crap. She were deaf, weren’t she?
Better wear off, Arlo, er yer a dead man.
The spots cleared from her eyes. She could see the door.
She could have seen the door. If there was one.
What the hell did you do, Arlo?
Apparently she said that out loud.
Or he were reading her lips. He answered, anyways.
“That,” he yelled, “is what happens when you have time to prepare a proper shaped charge to go at a bulkhead, sir. Kinda like invading Guatemala, right? BOOM!”
Yeah, no doubts about that.
She waited until he moved his arm, more confident that the nasty poisons were gone. Not that it mattered.
Time was everything. She had to be there now.
She looked.
The hatch were gone.
The frame were gone.
She walked closer.
Parts of the hallway walls beyond the threshold were gone.
There was a hatch just on the side of the hallway that apparently opened to a supply closet. It were half gone.
Yup. Boom.
Crazy–ass marines and high explosives. Like peanut butter and jelly.
She turned to look at both men. When she spoke, apparently they were hearing her better. Not that she would wait.
“Let’s go, you two.”
There was an assassin ahead of her somewhere, unless she could outrun him. And he knew where they were now, ’cause that explosion had made the whole station ring.
Time to get gone.
Chapter XLIV
Imperial Founding: 172/06/16. Ballard system
“What did you say, Captain?” Emmerich turned to his flag captain incredulously.
“It is confirmed, Admiral,” the man calmly replied. “Alpha One, Auberon, has turned to starboard and is racing away from the missiles, in an apparent attempt to flee.”
They had been together for decades, the two men. Captain Baumgärtner could speak the truth to him, where others might shade it.
“How is that possible?”
The captain took a breath.
“From your description of the Battle of Petron, sir,” he continued, “this looks remarkably like the maneuver where the pirate vessel Kali–ma tried to flee by coming hard around and racing back towards the planet and potential safety, if they could manage to outrun the missiles and get enough guns to bear.”
Impossible. Insane. What in creation’s name was wrong with her?
No. Jessica Keller.
She was up to something. Something novel. Something not covered in any tactical manual yet written. Something she had planned for this very attack. What was it?
“What of the rest of Alpha force?” Emmerich asked, his voice and his head turning to the side as he considered the angles.
“They continue to close, Admiral,” the flag captain said. “It is possible that they have even begun to accelerate.”
That violated every tactical aspect of modern warfare. All of them. Speeding up just got them to primary range wit
h a more heavily–armed force that much faster. He would simply annihilate the Aquitaine squadron when that happened. They had to know that. Right?
Why didn’t they slow down to engage his missiles?
Moreover, if Auberon was fleeing, why weren’t her defenders turning with her? That would just leave her wide open for him to chase her down and crush her like a bug. Not that the rest of them could do much to stop him, but something was very, very wrong with this set–up.
“Flag, sensors,” the man’s voice called from a corner. “Bravo group has salvoed their missiles. Ragged, but within acceptable range for a time–on–target attach on Amsel. Flank six engaging.”
Battle was done mentally on a hex–shaped board, extended into three spherical dimensions, starting from your bow and working clockwise. There were missiles now coming at him from his left front.
Baumgärtner turned to face the room without waiting for his admiral to speak. “All vessels, prepare to engage missiles. Slow to one–quarter speed and fire as you bear. Acknowledge.”
This was one of those battles where it wasn’t necessary for Emmerich to actually speak the order out loud. After all, he already had, before. This was just the reminder to everyone that the Fribourg Empire was all about following the rules. Aquitaine might play fast and loose. That was one of the reasons they were losing the war.
But what the hell was she up to?
“Flag, sensors,” the other voice continued. “Charlie group has also launched. Fewer missiles than expected, but a much tighter grouping. Flank two engaging.”
Now they were on his right as well. Luckily, he had an escort on each of those hex–facings, already opening fire at their maximum range with their Type–2 beams to kill missiles before they could get past. The two cruisers were also beginning to pour their fire and missiles down range into the oncoming swarm.
Fools. This was standard engagement doctrine. Where was your tactical genius? Or her mad scientist?
“Flag, sensors,” the man called one last time. “Alpha group has launched. Repeat, battlecruiser and both destroyers have launched, enemy warships have engaged. Flank one engaging. Alpha One continues to flee and has not fired.”
And there it was. Engagement on flank one. His entire front hemisphere engulfed. A nest of angry hornets attempting to sting a buffalo to death.
Good luck with that, Light Brigade.
Emmerich couldn’t decide between a chuckle and a snarl.
“Captain Baumgärtner,” Emmerich said as a light dawned. “How many missiles did Aquitaine’s consorts stop?”
The man turned to the projection to confirm.
“Two have gotten through the escorts, sir,” he said, furrowing his brow in confusion. “Why hasn’t she fired?”
“Flag, frigate Kappel calling,” a new voice called to the room. It was deeper, but straining to remain professional. “Escort reports that most of the bravo missiles are apparently targeted on the escort, instead of the flag.”
Emmerich turned to face the man, ignoring the projection and all the information available for immediate consumption in front of him.
“Repeat that,” he said harshly.
“Confirmed, Admiral,” the man said. “Sixteen missiles launched of eighteen expected. Four appear to be targeted on Amsel. The rest are closing rapidly on Kappel. She is at risk of being overwhelmed.”
“Flag, escort Baasch reports the same,” another man called. “Six missiles from Charlie group inbound on the escort, eight more targeted on SturmTeufel. None aimed at the flag.”
And Charlie group should have had more missiles than that. Six M–5 Harpoons could send twelve by themselves. The two S–11 Orca bombers could send nine more each. The GunShip could launch an additional six. They had sent barely half of that at him.
Why hold half back?
There was a sound in his head. It was like the last jigsaw piece clicking into the last hole.
This was a trap. Not for her. For him.
“Captain,” he said quickly. “Notify Essert in case she has not noticed. Keller’s going after the escorts. Turn the entire squadron to port as quickly as possible and accelerate to maximum speed. Like Auberon did. Get the cruisers to close up with the escorts to help engage missiles. Now, damn it.”
“Flag, sensors,” that voice rang. “Missile hits on Auberon. I repeat missile impact on Auberon. I have a debris field.”
“Scan the wreckage, Lieutenant Commander,” Emmerich said, harsher than he intended, but he was angry.
“Admiral, there is not enough debris,” the sensor officer replied. “Certainly not for a cruiser hull. What happened?”
“That’s not Auberon,” Emmerich replied, mostly to himself.
He didn’t know what exactly she had done, or how she had done it, but she had.
Upended modern warfare. Again. That woman was intent on overturning his entire life’s work, undoing everything he had ever achieved.
He was going to destroy her if it was the last thing he ever did.
Damn her.
Chapter XLV
Date of the Republic June 16, 394 Above Ballard
It should be darker in here. The lights should be turned down to the very verge of ominous, like they did in the movies. Those bad ones you watched in the dead of night when nobody else was around to complain about your cinematic tastes. Philistines.
Denis shrugged. That might be too much verisimilitude for the situation. After all, they were only dark and hiding on the outside. Inside, he could still have light and heat. And fresh coffee.
“Tactical,” he said calmly. “Talk to me.”
Tamara actually held up her right hand to show him, across the bridge, that her fingers were, indeed, crossed. She half–smiled at him as well.
No words were needed.
Outside Auberon’s hull, the Red Admiral had launched an entire wave of missiles from himself and two cruisers. In a normal battle, it might have been enough, if he got lucky. Nobody had expected Rajput to speak up and kill three of them. That hadn’t been part of anybody’s plan.
Nobody, however, would ever second–guess d’Maine and his crew. Not in warfare.
“Giroux,” Denis said. “You’re next.”
“Siren appears to have succeeded, Commander,” the sensor officer replied. “All remaining signatures give the impression that they have turned and locked on the shuttle. With our shields turned all the way down and all active sensors off, we look to be a hole in space. I cannot confirm more on passive sensors alone. It helps that Stralsund pulled a drifting maneuver to put her physically between us and the missiles. Muddies up even a hard ping. Figure that’s coming next.”
“Roger that,” Denis agreed.
This would only work once. It only had to work once. Moirrey and Jessica would come up with something even more devious for the next time. Assuming they all lived through this.
“Gunnery,” he continued, keeping everyone on their toes. “Time to primary engagement.”
Centurion Afolayan had a ready smile today. Instead of picking a fight with the biggest bully on the playground, Auberon got to go after the punk sidekick who would slip a knife into your back when nobody was looking.
“Three minutes to the outer edge of range to the nearest escort. Four minutes to the great, white whale.”
“Squadron, this is the flag,” Jessica’s voice came over the comm. “Initiate Phase Four, variant three. Repeat, Phase Four, variant three. Break. Militia squadron, launch everything you have right now.”
Denis had his own little projector in front of his station. Not as impressive as Jessica’s down on the flag bridge, but good enough to follow the battle.
Ballard’s defense squadron launched. And reminded him why they were a rear–echelon unit much more used to the possibility of chasing pirates away than fighting an enemy fleet.
Seriously? All over the place, guys. They even had two launch failures? Someone over there was getting maintenance black stars in their personnel file a
fter this.
Denis made a mental note to have an unfriendly chat with someone, assuming he got to them before Jessica or Iskra did, however unlikely that outcome might be.
Still, it looked impressive enough, considering what it was intended to do. It was 2218 Svati Prime, all over again. Except this time, there would be intentional casualties.
“Tamara,” he said. “You should be up shortly.”
“Roger that.”
“Auberon flight wing, this is the flag,” Jessica’s voice purred. “Launch your birds now. Repeat, launch immediately.”
That was a much more professional looking salvo, even as sad and tiny as it was, compared to what they would have done in a normal battle. Still, as camouflage went, quite impressive.
“Stralsund, Rajput, Brightoak, this is the flag. Launch immediately. I repeat, launch immediately. All units prepare for Phase Five.”
Denis smiled to himself.
Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.
Chapter XLVI
Date of the Republic June 16, 394 Alexandria Station, Ballard
For a moment, she had thought that the end had come. That she was finally done.
The external station sensors showed that the Imperial force was still well away from the station. The fleet had stationed the two patrol gunboats close by if something did get close. They were nothing against even a corvette, but they could handle a missile or two. Nothing had gotten by them, so whatever it was must have happened inside her station.
Evacuation alarms everywhere hadn’t helped with her nerves, or whatever the electronic equivalent was.
The whole place had rattled.
Suvi checked her logs again.
Whatever that assassin had done had left her nearly blind between the outer skin of the current station and almost anything beyond frame four out from her core. Pretty much everything added on to the original station Doyle and Piper had built.
She suspected that the assassin had more help than other people realized. It took a great deal of technical knowledge to do that much damage to her and her systems, that precisely, without just blowing the whole station up instead. She wasn’t sure if he was being careful, or sadistic.
