‘Hangers 12 through 37 now on fire, Admiral.’
‘Send damage control teams but keep most stationed near engineering, the turrets and the rotating section,’ Wilson responded. ‘We can stand to lose a few hangers now but if we lose anything else...’
‘Sir, I am getting life signs on the Eros.’
‘No, we can’t do anything for them now.’ Wilson felt pity for the people of his task force but the stricken cruiser would have to wait. ‘If we send shuttles out to retrieve the survivors, they’ll just get cut to pieces by those damned Centauri fighters.’
He consulted the tactical station once again and saw the Corax had manoeuvred into the middle of the Centauri ships. Though it placed the Corax in the middle of their concentrated fire, it also meant that, at last, the Corax could use all of its own weaponry. It was also out of the line of sight of those dreaded battle lasers, and if the Corax could soak up more of the secondary weapons fire, it might relieve the pressure on his other ships.
‘We are in position,’ he announced. ‘Weapons batteries, open fire, time on target.’
‘Time on target, aye.’
An exterior camera view on the tactical display showed the pulse cannon tearing into the three Centauri ships, one salvo catching a battlecruiser on the thinly armoured underside of its hull. Centauri interceptor technology lagged far behind that of Earth’s, and Wilson’s time on target order ensured that the Corax’s batteries fired simultaneously, giving the defence systems little time to respond. A stream of energy punched through the forward section of one battlecruiser, and Wilson felt relief as a single bright explosion announced the detonation of generators driving its lasers. An entire section of the battlecruiser s hull spiralled away into space. At least one of the enemy ships was rendered toothless, and the bridge crew gave a ragged cheer when they realised their efforts were paying off.
‘Rotate!’ called Wilson. ‘Concentrate fire on the other two, let’s see if we can do the same thing again--we might just be able to force a surrender if they lose their big guns.’
A shattering crash resounded through the bridge and Wilson was thrown over the tactical display to hit the metal wall with a dull thud. Acrid smoke filled the bridge and the atmospheric processors began to whine audibly as they strained to clear the air. Wilson shook his head as his vision swam, trying to shake off the ringing in his ears. He dimly realised he was prone against the wall, several feet from the floor. His vision clearing, he looked across the bridge to see many of his officers floating helplessly in the air, struggling to reach their station or a handy support from which to push off. His tactical officer had managed to hold her station and was scanning the incoming damage assessment.
‘We’ve gone Z-gravity!’ she shouted. ‘The rotating section has locked!’
They were lucky the bridge had not been hit directly, Wilson knew. The more immediate problem was that while the Corax could carry on fighting under these conditions, vital minutes would be lost as the crew recovered and readjusted to zero-gravity conditions. The shuddering of the bridge from the weapons fire became more persistent, and Wilson guessed the Centauri had realigned their targeting systems to avoid the hangers.
‘Back to your stations! Tactical, make sure the batteries keep firing--we can’t lose momentum now.’
The Ares had joined its sister ship, the Persephone, which was now drifting through space helplessly but still intent on engaging the Centauri, pulse cannon and plasma fire raining onto whichever battlecruiser presented itself as the nearest target. Forming up alongside the stricken ship, the Ares now added its weight of fire and manoeuvred to open up with its own heavy laser. Based on older Centauri models, it was not as powerful and the cruiser did not enjoy the same power reserves as the larger enemy ships, but it was still a potent weapon. The red beam lanced out to strike a battlecruiser, cutting through its port fins and slicing off a sizeable section of hull. Fires raged across the whole left side of the Primus, but its weapons batteries did not slow in their firing. Massed particle beams from its turrets pounded the Ares and Persephone as the three ships continued to trade fire, the space between them a lethal criss-crossing of bright energy. The hulls of all three were soon pitted and scored with black craters, though a knockout blow had yet to be landed by either side.
Continuous volley fire from the Dowding rolled over the battlecruiser with the smashed laser as it turned to join the third in targeting the Corax, simply ignoring the dreadnought’s pounding--though broken turrets and debris trailed behind it. Across the length of the Corax, energy bolts streamed down to flay armour plates and ignite fires. From stem to stern, the Corax burned, though pulse cannon and interceptors doggedly continued to return fire, throwing every ounce of energy its reactors could generate into fighting the Centauri. The third battlecruiser then matched the turn of its comrade and fired its battle lasers.
Within the bridge of the Corax, the crew had settled back into their stations, strapping themselves in with nylon belts used before only in drills. The knuckles of Wilson’s hands were turning white as he gripped support beams and stations to steady himself. Monitoring the tactical station, he could see how his ship was suffering under the smashing power of Centauri weapons fire. Much of the ship’s internal communications were now down, and the weapons batteries were firing more or less independently, reducing their effectiveness. His eyes met briefly with the tactical officer’s and he could see that, despite her young years, she too realised how badly the ship was fairing. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he searched for some platitude when he felt her tense.
‘Energy spike!’ she shouted.
Wilson looked down at her display to see two of the battlecruisers bearing down on the Corax, one making ready to fire its primary weapons.
The red battle lasers struck the rotating section of the Corax with punishing effect, cutting right through armour and decking with consummate ease. The metre-wide beams carried on through living quarters, mess hall and on through to the bridge, where they vaporised every crew member in a microsecond, boiling their atoms before they were sucked out into the void of space. The rear of the rotating section broke away from the rest of the ship, taking the engine section and reactor with it. The firing of the Corax’s pulse cannon ceased almost immediately as the massive ship, the pride of the EarthForce fleet, became a floating hulk.
The Ares and Persephone struggled to repel the fire coming from the battlecruiser they faced, a warship massing more than the two of them put together. One by one, the weapons batteries of the Persephone went offline as incoming fire either blasted turrets clear of their hardpoints or power relays detonated under power fluctuations from the main reactor, now running to dangerously unstable levels. The crew on board fought valiantly, struggling to manage the constant pounding and keep their weapons firing at all costs. Against a larger ship, they could not hope to win.
While the Centauri ship concentrated its particle arrays against the Persephone, it traded laser fire with the Ares, completely outclassing the smaller cruiser. Cycling its laser faster than the Ares could, the Primus speared the Earth ship with red light, smashing into its reactor and penetrating the shielding that kept its energies in check. A blossoming ball of fire from the Ares’ rear section grew quickly to engulf the ship before a massive explosion tore it apart, sending huge parts of its superstructure spinning across space. So close to the explosion, the Persephone absorbed the shock wave, buckling its hull. The remaining power relays, jury-rigged by a desperate crew, finally gave out and the ship stopped firing, every light on board growing dim before dying completely.
As it had been designed to do, the Dowding held its line, keeping its broadside facing the nearest Centauri ship at all times. Though lacking the heavy lasers of more modern ships, the Dowding nevertheless possessed a huge number of weapons batteries and it unleashed pulses of energy as fast as its weapons could recycle, taking incoming fire on the chin. Now outnumbered and with jump engines offline, its crew went about their duties
with a grim efficiency, intent on avenging their fallen before joining them.
The target Primus visibly shuddered under the impact of the Dowding’s combined weaponry, paying the price for ignoring the dreadnought. Fins were sliced off the Primus, turrets blasted apart and sections of the superstructure sagged visibly under the relentless hammering.
More pulse cannon fire thudded into its hull, and the multitude of lights emanating from the viewports along the hull suddenly flickered and died. Fires licking outwards along streams of venting atmosphere grew brighter and an explosion blasted a large piece of hull plating clear of the ship. More explosions soon followed and the Primus rocked as a chain reaction of fire leapt from section to section, sweeping through the ship to sear any Centauri inside. A bright light shone briefly from the viewports and open sections of hull as a massive interior explosion, barely contained by the superstructure, finally silenced the ship. Within the Dowding, the captain announced the death of an enemy ship to his crew and was met with joyous relief. The weapons teams redoubled their efforts as they sought the next target.
July 7th 2263, The Urza Jaddo, Deep Space, Narn Regime
The loss of the Protera had caused Barini some irritation but it did not worry him unduly. As losses went, it was more than acceptable, especially in return for the honour of destroying the huge Earth flagship. He shook his head in some wonder at the thinking of the Earth Alliance. Why go to the time and trouble of building a ship that large if it was not armed for frontline combat? The Centauri had little use for dedicated carriers in their fleet, and their naval tactics simply did not revolve around support vessels. In a Centauri fleet, every ship had to pull its weight.
Today, Centauri tactical thinking was vindicated. The vaunted Earth Starfuries were unable to consolidate their superior numbers and the Sentris picked them off squadron by squadron. Even now, they were chasing the stragglers attempting to regroup around the remaining Earth ship.
Barini recognised it as an older model and was surprised it had lasted this long. It stood up well to their attacks, but now it faced two battlecruisers. These were the kind of odds Barini favoured. It was a shame, in a way, he thought. Of all the ships he had faced today, this one seemed most Centauri in its design. Of course, it lacked the technological sophistication of Centauri ships, and he imagined the crew inside worked in primitive zero-gravity conditions, but the thinking behind it he could admire.
No matter. ‘Is the Voxa forming up with us?’ he asked his first officer.
‘Yes, Vocator. I believe she is just waiting for our lead.’
‘Excellent.’ Barini could see the Earth dreadnought in the main viewport, dead ahead. Its weapons continued to cycle, pushing out bolts of energy in their direction, but they were out of its effective range and what little reached the Jaddo was intercepted by the defensive screen or else pattered harmlessly off its hull.
‘Charge the lasers,’ Barini said, waiting for a nod from his first officer. ‘Fire!’
The twin lances of red from the Jaddo were soon joined by those of the Voxa as they skewered the Dowding amidships. They drilled four holes straight through the dreadnought, then worked fore and aft as their gunners expertly altered the focussing lenses to caress the Dowding. Though the Dowding was well-armoured and could take a significant amount of punishment from regular weapons, it had no defence against modern battle lasers. Regulating their power output, the Primus’ crew maintained the laser beams on their target. Armour buckled and broke free on the Dowding, revealing the superstructure beneath, which were eagerly consumed. Fires sprang up under this assault, and the dreadnought slowly began to break apart, its hull cut into several sections.
Barini relaxed for the first time since battle began. He thought of himself as a well-trained officer of the military and a good example to his crew, but he always felt tense during battle, no matter how one-sided. Service of this nature was a sure route to wealth and power, especially with a patron such as Minister Territt, but it always carried the risk of disaster and death--two things a noble could never recover from.
His first officer stood at attention below the command plinth until Barini acknowledged him.
‘Yes?’
‘Vocator, we have detected life signs within some of the wreckage.’
‘You know what to do,’ Barini replied.
‘Yes, Vocator. We have also found a few life signs on the Protera.’
Barini shrugged. ‘We have no time for rescue attempts. Deal with that wreck as well.’
If the first officer or any of the bridge crew blanched at the idea of murdering their fellow Centauri, they were wise enough not to show it. Each was in a privileged position on board a ship as powerful as the battlecruiser and, more to the point, they would be well compensated for their actions today. The core of Centauri society rested on the best striving to get ahead of those they bettered, and politics was as much a part of the military life as was combat.
The two battlecruisers charged their weaponry once more, spending the next hour blasting apart the broken ships into ever-smaller pieces. Lasers were not used this time, as the Centauri crews worked to use the impact of their weapons to lend momentum to the debris, sending it reeling across space, far from the scene of the battle. Barini knew that, at some point, Earth would send ships to investigate the disappearance of the task force. Within hours, any recognisable part of any ship would be far beyond any sensor range, destined to keep its secret as it travelled through deep space for a million years. If discovered after that, Barini really did not care. He had no time to mask the energy signatures left by the discharge of weaponry. The aim, as Minister Territt had been at pains to point out, was to ensure that any investigation did not lead back to Barini’s own squadron--it was inevitable that the Centauri as a whole were blamed, but there was no sense in Barini being called to account.
Barini readily agreed with that sentiment. As his ships finished their post-battle task and prepared to jump back to Centauri space, Barini considered the favour the Minister now owed him.
He considered that the Minister might double-cross him after this mission, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He would make the perfect scapegoat if anything went wrong, of course, but he had fulfilled his orders to the letter. Barini harboured a strong sense of his own innate worth. As powerful as the Minister was, having a squadron of battlecruisers effectively in his own pocket was something that he prized, and Barini was the key to that. No, he was sure the Minister understood the value of a powerful military force at his beck and call.
In return, Barini could ask for a higher position within the military, a political appointment to the Royal Court or even a boost in the standing of his House--which could potentially lead to a place within the Centaurum, given time. However, all that could wait. Barini did not have sufficient power among the nobles nor his House among the other families to take advantage of the gifts the Minister could bring in that arena. No, on reflection he would ensure his ships were repaired and that the Protera was replaced. After that, he would simply take money. With money came power and freedom of choice. If, later in his life, he decided to enter the political arena, he would be well funded. If not, well, a good retirement awaited, possibly in a small manor among the forests south of Imperial City. No sense in being greedy, after all. Come what may, Barini’s actions today would provide him with a safe and secure future.
Chapter Ten
July 8th 2263, Mars Dome One, Sol
Sequestered in a tight booth on one side of the communications hub, Shaw and Tilanna had been literally falling over one another in an attempt to backtrack the Earth Alliance’s investigations into the attack on their government. Shaw encountered bureaucratic resistance with his initial enquiries. Here, at least, he found himself on firmer ground as he had dealt with monolithic Earth institutions, in one form or another, all his life on Mars, and he managed to negotiate access to the files he sought with little extra effort.
Shaw found his spirits raised slig
htly. He now had a course of action to follow, though he still could not imagine where his investigation would lead or how to convince the President and brass of the Earth Alliance of his findings. He decided his lifted spirits were probably a direct result of his affinity to his homeworld of Mars. Maybe something in the recycled air seemed familiar or the gravity tugged at just the right level. Though Shaw had been taught and conditioned by the Anla’Shok to accept the places he travelled and consider his own body his only real home, there was something comforting about Mars. He knew many Earthers hated the place, visiting only on sufferance because of duty or business, but for him it just felt . . . right.
While Shaw had been navigating the treacherous waters of Earth bureaucracy, Tilanna was interpreting the information on the data crystal transmitted by the Ranger-Analysts of Tuzanor. Sitting just to Shaw’s left in the close confines of the booth, her proximity was at times distracting, and on more than one occasion he smiled to himself. Frankly, he had more important things to worry about, but if her presence could offer some relief from the administrators he spoke to, then it was also reassuring to have her close by. In the very least, he was not alone.
‘Mr. Shaw, given the depth of information provided, it seems clear that House Kaado is implicated in the plot,’ she said after a period of silence.
Shaw smiled. ‘Tilanna, if we are going to be working together like this, you really need to start calling me Michael. Or Mike.’
‘That would not be . . . appropriate. It would not show the respect due one of the Anla’Shok.’
He winced slightly, having encountered the stubbornness for protocol common in the Religious Caste before. It could be an immovable obstacle, and many humans had trouble understanding just how this sect of Minbari thought. Count him among them, certainly.
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