Auberon (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 1)

by Blaze Ward

  It would take them a few moments to redline the engines even if they had been prepared, but she expected it. She had just called their bluff a little early.

  That was still a Battleship.

  “Damage Control, stand by,” someone called over the general comm. “Incoming fire.”

  Auberon rocked as if she had just been sideswiped. The very metal of the hull rang like a bell. Even the air turned hazy as dust was vibrated out of cracks.

  That was what it felt like when a Primary beam hit you, even with shields.

  “Tactical,” Jessica said calmly, “who fired that round?”

  “That was the cruiser, Muscva,” Tamara responded. “Battleship is still a little outside of range, unless he gets very lucky.”

  “Expect him to try, Strnad. There’s trouble brewing up here.”

  “Roger that. Vanek is on her guns.”

  Jessica watched the projection with trepidation. There wasn’t much she could do at this point except count the seconds until the big ship brought her cannon battery to bear. And then, how long they would have to endure it to escape.

  If they could.

  Muscva fired a second salvo of Primaries while Jessica watched. Three shots missed completely. Two grazed low as Auberon had already begun to flare up and away from her previous track.

  The last one caught the carrier right in the teeth. She bucked like a wild stallion trying to throw a rider, twisting, rolling, and bucking.

  Jessica felt light as the gravplates went down. The entire Flag Bridge went dark, except for the big projector.

  She thanked whatever benevolent gods watched over them that they had that much power left.

  In slow motion, Jessica watched the Imperial Battlecruiser let loose every Secondary she had at the wall of incoming missiles. Missiles that would have been targeted at the big ships were suddenly fired at incoming missiles, like bullets meeting in mid–flight. The carnage Muscva wrought was terrible, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

  At least a dozen missiles got through and ran home as Jessica watched.

  The Imperial Battlecruiser simply disappeared under a wall of flame, explosives detonating and mixing with oxygen and metal from the ship itself.

  Jessica frantically pushed comm buttons, but nothing responded.

  “Commander,” she heard Enej Zivkovic say, groggy or in pain, “I have the Emergency Bridge on the line.”

  “Em Bridge,” she called, “who’s on?”

  “Centurion Brewster, Commander,” he said. Once, her least favorite person, but he had worked hard to redeem himself in her eyes. Now their fate rested on his shoulders.

  “Tobias,” she said distinctly, “the Bridge and Flag are off–line. You are Tactical Officer until relieved.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  She heard him gulp once. She felt the same.

  “What are your orders?”

  “The Battlecruiser is dead, Brewster,” Jessica said. “Ignore the frigate and get everything ready for missiles and an Imperial Battleship.”

  “The frigate died with the cruiser, ma’am,” she heard him say faintly, “one of those secondary explosions was her going up as well.”

  “Understood, Brewster,” she said, “do not hold anything back. We were four minutes from Jumpspace, when the engines still worked.

  “Roger that, Commander,” he said quietly before his voice took on a new tone. “I have the Flag.”

  Jessica looked around the Flag Bridge and tried to orient herself. Damage Control would be furiously fixing things, but were most likely going to be down in Engineering, or up on the Bridge. Nobody would bother with them, just yet.

  She detached her restraints and glided across the room, waiting in the back of her mind for the gravplates to come back on and drop her like a stone.

  She made it to Zivkovic’s station just as someone restored some of the power to the gravplates, dropping her suddenly to her feet. It was barely twenty percent, but it would do.

  Jessica pulled her Flag Centurion’s head back where she could get a look in the light of the projection. Goose egg on the forehead. Probably slammed his skull into the console when Auberon bucked. No blood. Pupils the same size.

  “I’m all right,” he muttered, trying feebly to pull away from her hands.

  “You cracked your head, Enej. Sit tight until we can get you go medbay.”

  Around her, the hull rattled with a variety of sounds.

  War, in all its glory.

  Missiles from both tubes as Brewster dueled with a ship several times his firepower. Even the dull thump of one of the Primaries. Had Amsel closed already?

  Jessica reached under the Flag Centurion’s console and found the reset switch. It didn’t fix everything, but at least the emergency lights came on, a dull yellowish hue. Jessica sneezed reflexively at all the dust revealed.

  With light, she made her way back to her own console and reset it. The Comm to the bridge was still offline, but she could apparently talk to other stations.

  She hoped that the silence was caused by a burned out relay, rather than a direct hit that had killed everyone on the bridge.

  It was supposed to be protected almost as well as the Flag Bridge, but when your number came up…

  She studied the projection in front of her, the only part of the Flag Bridge working at one hundred percent. What she saw astonished her.

  CR–264 was still close, trailing in along Auberon’s side, even as the carrier continued tumbling.

  Rajput had somehow shut down her engines, spun on her short axis, and was coasting backwards. Her Primaries lashed out like lightning bolts.

  Jessica would have to ask him how he had done that trick. d’Maine was even firing his Type–3s, although hits at this range were rare and soft. Still, anything that kept Amsel at bay.

  Auberon’s own Primary battery fired once. Considering the weapons normally pointed forward, they shouldn’t even be able to bear straight back.

  She checked the partial readout and realized that Auberon was tumbling like a wounded duck through space, engines running fitfully, with apparently at least one of the big gyroscopes off line.

  Every time Auberon tumbled just right, Brewster was firing a Primary.

  Hitting, too, although at this range it was like tickling a bear to death.

  Unless they got lucky, Amsel’s shields could hold out long enough to get a killing salvo in. Unless he wanted them alive.

  That thought chilled Jessica even more. Yuda wouldn’t have had time to talk to him and tell him about Project Mischief.

  He might be out for blood.

  “Commander, this is Em Bridge,” she heard Brewster say. “We’re seeing no enemy missiles incoming from the Imperials. Suggestions?”

  “Best guess, Brewster,” she replied, “they were all set to do to us what we did at 2218 Svati Prime. Every rack was loaded with shot missiles and they have to be cleared in order to fire ship–killers. We fired everything the wrong way and caught them off guard.”

  “Roger that, sir. Small blessings. CR–264 has nothing to do but stay clear of us as we tumble.”

  In the big, hollow projection, Jessica watched Jouster line up the entire Flight Wing in a shape that looked like a cone, tip pointed at the Battleship. Every craft fired at the same moment.

  Fascinating. Each individual fighter didn’t have nearly enough energy to do much damage against those shields at this range, but collectively, she watched them limn the big ship like St. Elmo’s Fire.

  They weren’t going to kill a Battleship today, but they were going to make him pay a desperately high price for their hides.

  With a lurch, the rest of gravplates came back on and lights came full. It was almost blinding after the warm semi–darkness she had been wrapped in.

  The comm came live as well.

  “Squadron, this is the Flag,” she heard Brewster say loudly, “Auberon has power again. Time to run.”

  “Brewster, this is Jež,” she heard her First
Officer say, “I’ll take charge, thank you.”

  “Negative, Bridge,” Jessica overrode their voices. “This is Keller. Brewster has command of Auberon. I have been watching things move out there. I have the Flag. Stand by as needed.”

  She heard a chorus of grumpy assents, but they were all professionals.

  And Brewster had managed to score hits on a target at extreme range while tumbling a Strike Carrier. She wasn’t sure she knew many others who could have done that. Let alone while under fire.

  She checked the projection.

  “Engineering, I need emergency flank speed, right now.”

  “Working on it, sir,” Ozolinsh grumbled over the comm. “We are well aware of who the neighbors are.”

  Auberon shook once like a horse and then steadied.

  “Flight Wing, this is Auberon,” she heard Brewster say over the comm. “Prepare to make an attack run on the Battleship and her escorts.”

  Jessica caught herself short of overriding him.

  If they lost the wing and escaped, it was a terrible–fierce price to pay. But if they lost everything, then the Imperials won, simple as that. Better to salvage what they could.

  “Auberon, this is Jouster,” she heard the reply. “It has been an honor to serve with you guys. Good luck.”

  Jessica ground her teeth as the squadron lined up. Now was time for the Charge of the Light Brigade out there.

  On the projection, Amsel suddenly backlit as if a supernova had erupted behind her.

  “Giroux,” Brewster called over the comm. “What just happened?”

  As she watched, the Imperial Battleship fell off–line and began to wobble awkwardly, like Auberon had been moments ago.

  “Flight Wing, this is Keller,” she said suddenly. “Abort your run. I repeat, Abort your run. Return to base immediately and prepare for Jumpspace.”

  “Roger that, Flag,” Jouster called back. “Standing down.”

  “Flag Bridge, this is Engineering,” Moirrey’s lilt floated across the air. “Mine number two has magnificently scored a direct hit on the enemy flagship. That design is a success. I will add it to Project Mischief.”

  On the screen, the Battleship’s consorts had pulled back to swarm around her defensively, suspecting that someone had manage to sneak up on them.

  Auberon was forgotten in the kerfuffle.

  Time to run, indeed.

  Rajput spun gracefully on her midline as Jessica watched. d’Maine must have turned off the gravplates and cycled several gyroscopes to pull that trick. She had to find out how he did it. That was just an amazingly–rude surprise for someone chasing you.

  The gap between fleets began to widen as the Imperials faded. Jessica let out a breath.

  “Squadron, this is Auberon,” she heard Brewster announce proudly, “transition to Jumpspace now. See you at rendezvous Theta.”

  Auberon made the leap. Jessica felt Wachturm’s blade miss and slide away behind her.

  Chapter XXXIX

  Date of the Republic March 24, 393 Jumpspace outbound from Qui–Ping system

  It was the biggest space where she could comfortably seat enough people.

  Jessica filed into the big conference room in Engineering last, as befit her rank, and because the main corridor connecting it to the Flag Bridge was still open to space in places, forcing her to almost circumnavigate the ship to get there. Her command staff was intermingled with a great many engineers, as well as a couple of pilots.

  They had saved her the chair at the end. She took it gratefully, doubly so as Marcelle appeared with a fresh mug of coffee.

  The room watched her expectantly as she sipped. They could wait. This was Marcelle’s coffee.

  She set the mug down as the warm happiness flowed into her limbs, and eyed the room. Her two evil engineering gnomes were the only two she wanted to talk to, anyway. The rest of the mob was just taking up space.

  “Quiet,” she growled, stilling the few whispered conversations.

  Vanek and Kermode were at the other end of the table, dangerous little pixies. Jessica speared them with a glare, but softened it. Moirrey was smiling bright enough to light up the room, all by herself.

  “Normally,” Jessica began, loud enough to be heard, “after–action reports are dull, boring affairs, where various officers interview their staff and review logs to go into excruciating detail about what happened, what went wrong, and how to learn from it.”

  She let the room dangle. The only sound was the air circulating.

  “And I’ll get around to that, tomorrow. Right now, I would like to ask Moirrey what she did to save our butts from the bogeyman.”

  All heads rotated like gun turrets. Jessica watched the Yeoman blush furiously and take a deep breath.

  “As you know, ma’am,” she began, projecting her voice across the room like a stage. Perhaps it was. All the world. “At Ao–Shun, we left behind a dozen o’ those lovely little orbital mines that look a wee bit like communications satellites. Only these went boom when ya gots too close.”

  She reached down and fired up a projection of one of those mines.

  “I were buildin’ a new one that was a bit bigger an’ wee smarter,” she continued, drifting into a brogue as she worked, “but that one apparently missed, or misfired, or something. No boom. Number two worked.”

  “Moirrey,” Jessica said, “those mines didn’t have enough explosives to knock a Battleship that far off line. Maybe a Cruiser if they got lucky. Certainly a Destroyer, but not a Battleship.”

  “Yus, ma’am,” Moirrey replied. “But that tweren’t a boom. We fired a Primary round into ’er ass as she went by. Figured she’s have all her shields focused for’d an’ no be payin’ attention. Leave us a soft spot.”

  Jessica waited for the room to settle down from the nearly–painful eruption of sound. She used a fist on the table top to get everyone to shut up.

  “Moirrey,” Jessica inquired, “where did you get a Primary shell to use? I don’t remember authorizing one to come out of stores.”

  Jessica fixed her glare on Jež.

  His eyes got big and he shook his head forcefully no.

  “Oh,” Moirrey brightened, “Alber’ had a discharged round he let us have. Said ‘twere bad luck on his ship. Would be good fer ours.”

  Alber’. Alber’? Command Centurion d’Maine, commander of Rajput? That Alber’?

  Jessica fought successfully to keep her face relaxed and her eyebrows out of her hairline.

  “I see,” she said.

  She hadn’t, but she was beginning to. The pixie had charm. Dangerous charm. She would need to be watched.

  “Okay, people,” she yelled before the noise got out of hand. “Official business.”

  They quieted down, for the most part.

  “Everyone in the squadron officially owes Moirrey and Nina a drink for saving our butts. Again.”

  She watched both women blush as the room cheered.

  “Tobias Brewster,” she continued, finding him halfway down the table on her left. He looked like he expected a scolding. She smiled instead.

  “Brewster, I have good news and bad news for you.” She watched his face swell and then collapse. “You did a fantastic job back there, taking charge of the Emergency Bridge, exactly like you were supposed to.” He smiled nervously, waiting for the other shoe.

  “You also managed to score nine hits in fourteen shots, at extreme range, at maximum deflection aft, from a tumbling Strike Carrier. Tactical Simulator predicts that the average Fleet Gunner would get four. Congratulations on setting a new high score.”

  She watched his mates slap him on the shoulder and back. He was apparently well liked down there.

  “However,” she continued.

  He cringed.

  “I think we’re a better ship if you remain down on the Emergency Bridge, but I am promoting you to Emergency Tactical Officer. Functionally Tamara’s backup in all things. Good job, Tobias.”

  The whole room erupted wit
h cheers this time. They went on for several minutes before she rapped her now empty mug for attention.

  “And now, people,” she yelled, “let me say thank you. We’ve made the Fribourg Empire plenty mad, so we’re doing our business. We’ll be in drydock for a while when we get home. Remember that you represent the best ship in the Fleet and behave accordingly.”

  This time, she let the cheers rolls on as she made her way out the door and went to take a nap. It had been one hell of a day.

  Epilogue: Ladaux

  Date of the Republic April 30, 393 Ladaux

  Jessica let Marcelle fuss over her best dress uniform and stood still as wrinkles were flattened and imaginary dust wiped off. She smiled when Marcelle turned and did the same to Jež, standing beside her.

  His uniform didn’t have nearly the awards and citations on it, nor had he had access to a personal steward like Marcelle to handle those things. Maybe she needed to fix that. Or at least suggest it.

  Marcelle finally finished her task and fixed them both with hard eyes. “You will not muss them up, you two,” she said quietly, fiercely. “If this is an execution, I will not have you looking sloppy on the way.”

  “Aye, sir,” she heard Denis say in all seriousness.

  Marcelle stepped back and left them space before the airlock as they waited for it to open on the other side.

  “Sir,” Denis continued, “have you ever gotten a reception like this from Flight Control?”

  “Negative, Denis,” she replied. “Normally, we’d be slotted off to a small dock and met by a Quartermaster Yeoman to supervise linking to station power and recycling.”

  Jessica took a breath. In. Out.

  “I have never been docked at a central bay,” she continued. “And never been told to wait for the Stationmaster to arrive before they let us out of the lock.”

  She had also never done something this big before.

  “The Fribourgers make enough noise that we really are about to be arrested, and walked before the whole fleet in chains as a warning and example?” Denis looked concerned, but not frightened by the prospect.

  Jessica considered everything they had done, starting at 2218 Svati Prime and running up to the raid on C’Xindo. Even the near–disaster at Qui–Ping had worked out.