by PJ Strebor
He set course for the I-M.
***
Orson couldn’t believe what just happened. Telford had gotten the better of him again.
“Captain Coppins,” Orson said, “continue the pursuit.”
Coppins stared at him with contempt distorting his features.
“Continue? This boat isn’t going anywhere.”
“Are you disobeying my order, Coppins?” he asked coldly.
“No Commander, I’m not disobeying your order,” Coppins answered. “This boat is severely damaged and it’s a miracle we’re not scrap metal floating in space. We aren’t moving because we can’t move. We’re out of the game.”
***
Nathan fled toward the inner marker in his battered boat. The battle with the enemy E boat had cost him time that he could ill-afford.
“Skipper,” Willet said, “a destroyer squadron is moving into in range. They are Halle class ships. Each have multiple batteries of pulsars and twenty-four forward torpedo tubes.”
Not good. Not good.
“Their weapons are hot. Firing. Over a hundred torpedoes inbound.”
Nathan stood a chance of survival if the weapons read his IFF transponder. However, if the enemy fired a mighty salvo without lock-on some of them, by sheer weight of numbers, would have to hit him.
For the first time in the engagement a familiar pop between his ears. His knack had finally kicked in.
Focusing on the torpedoes he isolated the ones most likely to find him. He read the most danger, focused on it, cut engine power, rolled the boat over and fired a single torpedo. A high grade nuke with a proximity detonator. He counted down the seconds to impact. It flew straight and true before detonating in a blinding wave. The hot spot on his spine cooled as the remaining torpedoes read his transponder and ignored him.
Swinging the boat about he resumed his run to safety. At any moment the destroyers would reload and fire again, and again. This was a losing proposition but he could think of no clever ploy to get him out of this mess.
“Firing,” Willet said. “Same as before, but this time they’re closer.”
Nathan maintained his forward speed while he identified the danger zone. Yes, as before the danger lay in the center of the salvo. Waiting until the last possible moment he cut engine power, rolled the boat over and fired at the sector of most probable danger. The remainder of the enemy salvo which could not lock onto him passed harmlessly by. He resumed his flight to safety.
“Captain,” the weapons officer said, “two more rounds and we’re out of nukes.”
“Understood. Do we have pulsar heads?”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Good, load them after the nukes are expended.”
Again he repelled the attack and with each engagement he crawled slowly away from the slower capital ships. With only one more nuke in his arsenal he doubted he could get clear of their torpedo envelop.
The sound of clamps locking onto his topside startled him. His internal comm beeped.
“Looks like you could use a hand, Nate.”
“Moe?” Nathan said. “Get the hell out of here.”
“Not without you.”
With Adroit clamped onto his boat the speed slowly increased.
“Torpedoes launched,” Willet yelled.
“Moe cut power on my mark.”
“Roger.”
Again Nathan waited until the last possible moment to fire.
“Mark.”
Again he rolled over, fired his last nuke, then rolled over and imposed the E boat between him and Adroit. After the salvo passed, they resumed their flight to freedom.
“Almost out of range,” Moe said. “Just a few more minutes.”
“You should leave now,” Nathan said. “I can make it the rest of the way on my own. Remember, I have enemy IFF, but you don’t.”
“Hey, hotshot, what are you going do, throw rocks at the next salvo? You have to be out of nukes by now. I have six tubes loaded with nukes set with proximity detonators. Give me the target coordinates and I can hold them off for the few minutes we need.”
“That’s a hell of a sales pitch.”
“Torpedoes fired,” Willet yelled.
“Same as before,” Moe said.
He waited.
“Mark.” Both boats cut thrust and rolled over. “Fire, two seven three true.”
Moe was only fractionally off target but it was enough for three enemy weapons to get through. Nathan focused and fired, until all three were destroyed. Again he imposed his keel between the enemy fire and the monitor. Again the torpedoes failed to detect Adroit. Rolling over, the two boats resumed their flight to escape.
They continued the tactic for the few precious minutes they needed.
“We’re clear of their torpedo envelope, Skipper,” Willet said.
Over the five years since Nathan had discovered his knack, he’d become better at recovering from its effects. Now with the battle behind him his knack receded to wherever it hid, until the next time he desperately needed it.
Nathan’s fatigue wasn’t crushing, as it had been in the past, but he could feel it steadily pressing down on him. Removing his helmet he lay his head onto his console.
He sensed Ryden standing beside him. “I can relieve you if you like, Captain. After what you just did, you deserve to take a break.”
Nathan felt tempted to take the offer, but they were too close to the enemy to risk it. He rubbed his hands over his face.
“I’ll rest when we reach the I-M. But thanks for the offer. I just need to put my head down for a few minutes.”
“Okay,” Ryden said.
Nathan rested his head on the console and closed his eyes. Just a few minutes. Fighting the urge to drift into unconsciousness, Nathan allowed his fatigued mind to slip into a state of dreamy limbo. Seven hours till they reached the inner marker. Just seven hours.
Sometime later he began to feel partly human again. Still he drifted in twilight.
His Prep screamed. Nathan sat up and keyed his L-M.
“Moe, detach and break away to starboard.”
The boat shook violently and hauled over to port.
Sensing the danger signals Nathan rolled the boat over. An E boat had snuck up on his stern. Enemy pulsars brutally raked his boat. Firing its forward pulsars he tore at her weapons array.
“Our shields are failing,” Krause yelled.
“Berkner, do we have pulsar heads loaded?”
“Yes, sir. All tubes.”
“Good man.” Nathan locked onto the enemy and fired all six weapons.
The enemy boat fired her torpedoes at the same moment. They crossed one another’s paths. Nathan fired at the enemy torpedoes, but at such a close range could hit only one. The rest exploded just off his bow.
E 692 pitched up on her stern as the torpedoes ripped into her innards.
“Captain,” Bessel said from engineering, “the reactor has scrammed. I’m working on it.” A slight pause. “Winkler’s dead.”
“Captain,” the DCO reported, “our weapons are gone. That last shot tore through deck two like a knife through butter. We have casualties down here.”
“Get them to sick bay.”
While Nathan received the bad news he fitted his helmet and locked it in place.
“Willet, what’s the condition of the enemy boat?”
“That last salvo took out my forward sensors, Skip. I’ve got nothing.”
“Moe, I could use some help.”
“I’ve got an E boat on my six, so I’ll have to get back to you.”
Nathan sensed that his opponent was as damaged as he. Without the means to finish each other off they simply sat toe to toe like two beached barracudas. Feeling confident that he wouldn’t expose his boat to danger Nathan rotated her through her axis.
“Kellerman, are you and Hoppe on the guns.”
“Aye, Skip,” Kellerman said.
“Captain,” Willet said, “stern feeds show the other E bo
at is severely damaged. Her shields are down and her weapons bay is a mess.”
“Captain,” Bessel said, “auxiliary generator on line. It’ll keeps us alive for a while but not much else.”
“Mag maneuvering? Weapons?”
“I can’t guarantee how long it’ll hold out if you overtax it.”
“Understood.”
“Moe, just listen,” Nathan said. “If you can locate us, bring the enemy to me. Get him to follow you over my stern. Then we can both hit him at the same time.”
“On my way,” Moe said.
“X-O, prepare to open the boat bay hatch.”
“Standing by.”
Using the few thrusters that were still operable Nathan, brought the boat around to point in the direction where his senses said Adroit would be coming from.
“I’ve got you on visual,” Moe said. “I’ll pass over your bow in ten seconds.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“Kellerman, any second now.”
“Roger that.”
He couldn’t see the enemy vessel that dogged Moe, but he felt it, seconds away.
“X-O, now.”
***
Moe brought Adroit skimming over Nathan’s topside. Cutting her engines, she hit the forward mag plating and threw in the bow thrusters. The boat shuddered as her speed dropped.
“Now.”
The landing bay hatch snapped open and the marines opened up with their L 50’s, tearing into the enemy’s weapons array. Nathan’s people shot into her engines. She hauled over to port bleeding debris and vapor.
“Her shields are down,” tactical reported. “Captain, her reactor is going critical. She’ll blow at any moment.”
Nathan’s boat looked as if it had been chewed up and spat out. Too close to the enemy vessel, with no shields, he wouldn’t survive the E boat’s destruction. Moe brought Adroit about and latched a tractor onto E 692. Applying full power to her one remaining thrust engine, she took both boats away from the blast zone. She hadn’t gotten far when the enemy boat exploded. Adroit bucked as debris from the dying boat struck out and peppered her hull with shrapnel. Her one remaining thrust engine died and she slowly drifted to a dead stop. The tractor had also been damaged. Moe activated her stealth engines but knew she couldn’t latch onto Nathan’s boat with her undercarriage while using them. Both boats wallowed in open space waiting for the enemy to finish them off.
“Damage control,” Moe said. “Estimated time to repair the tractor.”
“I’m looking at it now, Skipper,” Fish said. “It took a pretty severe hit and I don’t think it can be repaired.”
“Can you doing anything with it, Fish?” Moe asked.
“Even if I had the time, I don’t have the parts.
“Very well.”
Without her tractor she couldn’t save Nathan.
“Captain, another E boat coming in, slowing,” her T-O said. “It looks to be picking up survivors from the damaged light carrier.”
Her comm beeped. “Captain.”
“How is your boat?” Nathan asked.
“Both thrust engines gone. Tractor badly damaged.”
“Stealth engines?”
“Working.”
“Contact, Captain,” her T-O said. “Destroyers closing.”
“Time to go,” Nathan said.
“I won’t leave you.” Moe’s heart broke. She knew he was right.
“Moe, you are Captain,” Nathan said.
Moe was captain and as such the responsibility for the crew of fifty-nine rested firmly on her shoulders. If she tried to fight off the destroyers, for the sake of her love for Nate, Adroit’s crew would die along with the E boat’s.
“Moe, time’s up. Those destroyers will be within torpedo range in thirty seconds. Go.”
Tears clouded her vision as she brought both stealth engines online and brought the boat about.
“I love you, Nate,” she said, her voice cracking with grief.
“I love you too,” Nathan said. “Hang on.”
Moe’s comm beeped. “Adroit and E boat, maintain your positions,” Captain Garner said. “We’ll take care of the destroyers.”
Moe almost wept with relief. Once again, Nathan had been snatched from the jaws of death.
Streaking past her, the fifteen Cimmerian stealth ships opened up on the destroyers. Hundreds of torpedoes sped toward the enemy. The destroyers fired a massive salvo of anti-torpedo fire destroying half of the Cimmerian weapons. The other half locked onto their targets and detonated simultaneously. The five closely packed destroyers were obliterated in a massive wash of nuclear fire.
Garner brought her ships about, surrounding the two damaged boats.
“You two look as if you’ve lost a fight with the school bully,” Garner said. “I’ll detail two ships to lock-on tractors and tow you home.”
“Much obliged, Captain Garner,” Nathan said.
“Yeah,” Moe said, “what he said.”
Kamoras latched onto the boats and set course for the I-M. The rest of the Cimmerian ships held their positions surrounding them, maintaining a shield of ships between the two battered boats and any enemy vessels foolish enough to approach them.
She keyed her L-M. “SMC, give me a secure channel to Captain Telford on the E 692.”“Channel open,” the computer said.
“Nate, are you still up?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll stay on the bridge until we reach the I-M.”
She knew the price he paid whenever he used his Knack. “You must be exhausted.”
“I’m okay,” he said.
Okay? He’s been on that boat too long.
Moe tried to organize her thoughts.
“Hey, you know when I said, you know, what I said, I didn’t mean -”
“It’s all right, Moe,” Nathan said.
He knows how I feel about him. He probably always has. The realization stunned her. All this time, he’d known. I love him like an unrequited lover. He loves me like a friend. And it will always be that way.
“Hey, we did good today, didn’t we?” Moe said, digressing.
“We did good,” Nathan said. “Even the League of Allied Worlds can’t cover up this act of aggression like they did with Cimmeria. We could be at war by the time we get home.”
“Another war,” Moe said. “I wonder if this will be the war to end all wars.”
“It’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”
Yeah, he doesn’t believe it either.
“I’m going to grab some coffee,” Moe said, “so I’ll catch up with you on Cimmeria.”
“Good idea. I think I’ll do the same. E 692, out.”
Although the boat’s coffee tasted as foul as ever it helped to keep her awake. It had been quite a day. Her comm beeped.
“Allied vessels,” a strong though elderly voice said. “Admiral Symonds of the sixteenth Athenian battlegroup. Are you in need of assistance?”
“Captain Garner, Cimmerian navy. Thank you, Admiral, but no assistance is required. We have two disabled boats with casualties aboard. We are returning to Cimmeria for repairs and treatment for our wounded.”
“Very well, Captain,” the Admiral said. “You didn’t leave much for my battlegroup to clean up. Well done. Now we’ll finish the rest off.”
“Admiral Symonds,” Nathan said. “Excuse me for cutting in. It’s Vogel of the E 692.”
“Yes, Captain, I’ve been briefed as to your situation by ... a mutual acquaintance. What can I do for you?”
“Sir, I’m all for eliminating the threat but some captured ships and talkative crews might be prudent.”
“I’m two steps ahead of you, Captain,” he said. “Good lord, your boats look dreadful. Are you in need of assistance.”
“We’re fine, sir,” Nathan said, “thanks to the Cimmerian navy.”
“Very well,” the Admiral said, “I’ll see you on Cimmeria once I’ve finished mopping up. Symonds out.”
The massive battlegroup passed
by the small attack ships, on their way to deal with what remained of the enemy Armada.
Cimmerian landing boats docked with the damaged boats and evacuated their wounded.
In two days they would be back on Cimmeria and could set about repairing their damage. And burying their dead.
As soon as they entered hyperspace Moe called her relief, stepped into her quarters, removed her armor and V suit then fell into her rack with a bone weary groan.
CHAPTER 82
Date: 15th January, 327 ASC.
Position: En route to Pruessen, Imperial space.
Orson lay on his bunk, his eyes staring at the overhead. The scale of the disaster had been beyond imagining, and the responsibility for it would drop squarely onto his shoulders. His one great chance to achieve eminence within the family had slipped through his fingers. No, not slipped. It had been snatched from his grasp, by Telford. Instead of hearty congratulations from his masters, and all of the attendant rewards that would come with it, he would be lucky if they didn’t destroy him. It would be a miracle if this disaster did not propel the Empire into total war with the League of Allied Worlds.
With the aid of vastly superior forces, the battle should have been a foregone conclusion. Telford should be rotting in a cell. Instead, Telford would be the one who would received tribute. He would continue to live out his days, where Orson would probably die a slow and unimaginably painful death. His masters did not look kindly on failure. A catastrophe of this magnitude would no doubt awaken their dark wrath. Orson shuddered at the thought of the horror they’d inflict upon him.
He had come to understand something about the Athenian. He hated Telford. Hated him with a single-minded disgust he could feel, churning through his body and mind, like a vile corruption. If he’d been allowed to kill him, the story would have had a happier ending for Orson. His masters wanted the Athenian alive. Why? He was just another southern naval officer. Skilled at survival, to be sure, but not one of the elite. How the devil had he managed to consistently out fox an Associate?
Somehow Orson determined that he must survive the horror to come. His manifest destiny demanded it.
A low growl rose up from the pit of his stomach. Retribution was his goal now. A single focused purpose that would drive him forward, past all and any obstacles. Yes, that thought brought a type of closure to Orson’s troubled mind.
