It Ain't Over... (Cole & Srexx Book 1)

by Robert M Kerns

  “How does their flight profile compare to ours?”

  “Well, they’re not loaded like you are, so they’re faster. But they do not appear to be designed for high-altitude flight. If you can get above 20 – 25 kilometers before they engage you, you should be safe.”

  “ETA?”

  “Your buddy calculates about ten—maybe fifteen—minutes.”

  Cole turned his head to Emily and grinned. “Twenty-five kilometers in ten minutes? Sounds like a challenge. Thanks, Haven!” Emily closed her eyes and grimaced as Cole keyed the PA. “Everyone strap in. If you don’t have a seat to strap into, put your butt against the aft bulkhead, lean back, and hold on to something.”

  Cole accessed the music collection stored in his implant once more and selected a song he first heard in a sci-fi movie from the early 21st Century. He instructed the implant to route the music through the dropship’s speakers and set the volume about three ticks below what would cause hearing damage.

  As the opening notes of Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride” played throughout the dropship, Cole keyed the landing thrusters to push them off (or perhaps out of) the concrete and used them until the dropship was fifteen meters in the air, angling the dropship’s nose up toward the sky. Cole grabbed the throttle with his right hand as his left hand hovered over the master shut-off for the landing thrusters, and he shut off the thrusters at the same time he activated the main engines and pushed the throttle all the way forward to the stop.

  An ear-shattering BOOM! filled the dropship as everyone aboard was driven back into their seats by the sudden acceleration, the dropship rattling and shaking around them as it shot into the atmosphere. The higher they climbed, the less the dropship shook, and soon, the ride smoothed out as the pull of Oriolis VI’s gravity fell away.

  By the time the interceptors reached the vicinity of the last dropship to leave the prison, all that remained was its ion trail.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Flight Deck, Battle-Carrier Haven

  Oriolis System

  7 September 2999

  The moment the dropship touched the decking of the flight deck, Cole powered down the engines and slapped the release for the safety straps, jumping to his feet and racing out of the dropship. People scurried aside to avoid Cole’s mad dash, and Emily dropped the ramp just as Cole reached it.

  From the dropship, Cole raced over to the hatch. He took the transit shaft up to Pilot Country before switching over to one of the transit shafts that would deliver him to Deck Three, where the bridge awaited him. He was sliding into his seat at the helm console six minutes after his dropship touched down.

  “What have we got?” Cole’s fingers flew over the controls, bringing Haven out of orbit and angling toward a course for the cruiser they’d left drifting.

  “A battlegroup is maneuvering to bracket us,” Mazzi said. “One battleship, a cruiser, two destroyers, and eight frigates are approaching from,” stealing a glance at her sensor display, “what is now our starboard bow with that turn you made. A cruiser, two destroyers, and eight frigates are coming in from our starboard aft quarter. Another cruiser, two destroyers, and eight frigates are moving in from our port bow, with an equal number moving in from our port aft quarter. A group of four destroyers and sixteen frigates are approaching from over the planet’s north pole, and a similar group is approaching from under the planet.”

  “Sasha,” Cole said, “what are your thoughts?”

  “They’re trying to block us from escaping, Cole. They’re far enough away from the planet to prevent us from leaving without a fight, and the planet serves as a block that way. The two groups circling over and under the planet are the hounds to drive us to the hunters.”

  Cole frowned. “Where did they come from? Shouldn’t we have seen all these ships when we approached the planet?”

  “They were behind the planet and the planet’s moons,” Sasha said. “We watched them emerge while you were down on the planet. Besides, if you had seen them, would you have abandoned the mission?”

  “Heh,” Cole said, chuckling. “No, not really; this job needed to be done. So be it. Mazzi, sound battle stations. Jennings, my compliments to Chief Engineer Logan; ask him to split all excess power between the shields and weapons.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything,” Mazzi said, “but why don’t we ask Srexx to eject their reactor cores, like he did for the Solar ships in Caernarvon?”

  “I have already attempted that tactic, Alessandra,” Srexx said over the bridge speakers. “Their computer cores possess the software to interface with the ejection mechanisms, but when I attempt to engage those systems, the software returns a ‘Hardware Not Found’ error. They have either severed the computer’s links to the mechanism or removed the mechanism entirely.”

  “Damn,” Cole said. “I guess someone told them about Caernarvon. Well, we’ll just have to do it the hard way. Sasha, the commander for this battlegroup would be on the battleship, right?”

  “Yes, Cole.”

  “Jennings, hail the battleship, please…and tell them your captain is asking for whatever crack-pot fascist thinks he or she is in charge of this stupidity. Be sure to use those exact words, and pre-set the video feed from our side to include the only command chair. I want the feed to show from my feet to about a quarter-meter above my head, and Jennings, put the call through as soon as they reply. Don’t say anything to them about telling me or anything like that; just throw it to the forward viewscreen.” Cole jumped up from the helm and moved to the command chair. “Sasha, make yourself scarce for the comms call. You look far too professional for what I’m trying to achieve, even in civvies…whereas I am just the right kind of shabby. Wixil, take the helm, in case the video pickup shows the station; we have to strike a careful balance here.” Cole’s eyes roamed over the bridge. “Damn…I wish I had one of those old-fashioned paperback books. That would be perfect.”

  “I have a tablet on my desk,” Sasha offered.

  Cole grinned. “Yes, please.”

  Sasha dashed out the starboard hatch.

  Cole sat in the command chair and turned about eighteen degrees to starboard in the seat, lifting his right leg and attempting a negligent drape over that armrest of the command chair and resting his left elbow on that armrest.

  Sasha returned with the tablet and almost froze when she saw Cole’s position and demeanor. Handing the tablet to Cole, she moved to the starboard forward corner of the bridge…where she could be one-hundred-percent certain she’d be outside the visual feed.

  Cole minimized the document Sasha had open on the tablet and placed a stopwatch control on the right side of the tablet’s screen. He then put a thumbnail of the forward viewscreen’s display in the top-left corner and set both the thumbnail and the stopwatch to sit on top of whatever else he opened. That complete, Cole accessed the ship’s library and selected a novel he’d tried many years ago and felt was the most boring work ever produced. Cole practiced scrolling through the novel, using his motion to start the stopwatch control. Once he felt the act was believable, Cole flipped through the novel to have a good rhythm when the call was accepted.

  “Call coming in,” Jennings said right before the viewscreen activated.

  Cole exercised his full willpower to keep from grinning as he tapped the stopwatch control to start it while flipping through the boring prose of the novel he’d selected. His plan a calculated gamble, Cole needed to balance his apparent nonchalance and ineptitude against the frustration, irritation, and anger of whoever was onscreen. Play the part too long, and they’d just close the call. Not play it long enough, and they might not believe it. In the end, Cole judged forty-five seconds of them watching him flip a page or two was about right.

  Cole looked up from his tablet and affected surprise at seeing someone on the forward viewscreen. “Oh, hello! So…you’re the crack-pot fascist in charge?”

  “I am Admiral Selena Bagley,” the middle-aged woman said through a severe expressio
n. “Who in all the stars are you?”

  Cole waved his left hand in a dismissive gesture as he turned off the tablet’s screen and tossed it to Mazzi.

  “Does it matter who I am?” Cole asked. “I’m trying to understand why you’re trying to cut us off from leaving. I mean…it’s very apparent Oriolis VI isn’t the tourist destination it used to be. Why, I had to retrieve my friends from a prison of all things. Really, Admiral…that’s no way to run a resort planet. Someone should’ve told you.”

  “Oriolis VI has never been a resort planet, you clueless fop,” Admiral Bagley growled through clenched teeth. “How did you orchestrate that assault?”

  “Me? Oh, my stars no, Admiral. I’m not military, and I have nothing to do with the messy stuff. I have people for that, you see.”

  If looks could kill, the admiral’s expression would’ve reduced Cole to ash right where he sat. “Take care of my new flagship, you insolent fool. I’ll be aboard shortly.”

  The viewscreen went black as the call ended.

  Cole stood and stretched. “Thank goodness. I was getting a cramp in my back from sitting like that. Sasha, take the conn. Let’s do this.”

  Sasha crossed the bridge to the command chair, shaking her head. Mazzi looked like she wanted to laugh.

  At seeing the shadow of disapproval on Sasha’s expression, Cole shrugged. “Hey…if that admiral dismisses us and thinks this will be super-easy, how does that not help us? The sad thing is, we’ll probably never be able to use this one again, either, and we can’t exactly disguise the ship as a deep-sea trawler and have the whole crew sing, ‘Louie, Louie.’”

  Everyone on the bridge turned to stare at Cole. Cole scanned the varying degrees of confusion and incredulity he could see and smiled.

  “I saw that in an old 2-D comedy my grandfather had me watch when I was little. He was an absolute fanatic about movies of all eras.”

  Wixil was already vacating the helm to return to the seat at Mazzi’s elbow when Cole arrived to take the helm. Cole rolled his shoulders to stretch them one last time before he nodded over his shoulder to Sasha.

  “Can we put the near-space sensor feed up on the forward viewscreen?” Sasha asked.

  “That is possible,” Srexx said over the bridge speakers, “but would you not prefer the tactical plot for combat maneuvering?”

  Cole swiveled to face Sasha and shrugged at her questioning expression. He’d never heard of the tactical plot, either.

  “Sure, Srexx,” Sasha said. “Give us the tactical plot.”

  A hologram coalesced in the center of the bridge, a real-time three-dimensional view of a sphere of space five light-minutes across that was centered on Haven. The data displayed for each ship were the necessities: range, facing, heading, and speed.

  Scanning the tactical plot, Sasha saw that the group coming up from the south pole of the planet were the closest, at a range of fifty-five-thousand kilometers. The group with the battleship at its core was a little over a million kilometers away and cruising toward Haven at a sedate five percent of lightspeed. Its companion groups maintained the same speed and closure rate.

  “Srexx,” Sasha said, her eyes roaming over the tactical plot, “you’re responsible for electronic warfare. Once the shooting starts, do whatever you choose with however many ships you want. Cole, put us on a heading of three-four-five by two-five degrees at five percent of lightspeed.”

  Cole input the heading data and set the speed, keying the command to activate the engines.

  “Missile launch!” Mazzi announced as dozens of dots appeared on the tactical plot. “Estimate two-five-zero inbound contacts! Point-defense batteries online and ready. Estimated flight time…two minutes.”

  “Two-hundred fifty sounds a little light for this many ships,” Cole said.

  “They’re testing us to gauge our anti-missile defenses,” Sasha said. “If they’ve established a distributed tactical network, this many ships should be capable of volleys upwards of five thousand missiles. Srexx, overlay our powered attack range for missiles in light red and the powered attack range for torpedoes in light blue.” The entire tactical plot took on a shade of light purple. “Okay, then…cancel the overlay.” The tactical plot returned to its slight shade of green. “Mazzi, how many missile and torpedo launchers are loaded?”

  “All of them, ma’am,” Mazzi replied, “and we have full magazines.”

  “Concentrate our fire on the battleship and cruisers, with the torpedoes solely on the battleship. As close as we all are, this will devolve into a slugging match in short order.”

  “Aye, ma’am.” Mazzi’s fingers danced across the console as she programmed the firing plan. “Firing plan ready, ma’am, and point-defense batteries have engaged the enemy missiles.” Ninety seconds later, Mazzi continued. “All incoming missiles destroyed.”

  “Fire,” Sasha said.

  One-hundred-three missiles and seventeen torpedoes erupted from Haven’s launchers, and unlike their lesser-evolved cousins vaporized by Haven’s point-defense batteries, these missiles and torpedoes were powered by nano-scale singularities and propelled by the same technology that pushed Haven through space. The key feature for any projectile to be used in battle is its mass-to-thrust ratio, and even the torpedoes had considerable thrust versus their mass when compared to conventional Human weapons. The moment they cleared the launch tubes, each missile or torpedo’s software brought its engine to full power and proceeded to its respective target.

  “Missiles and torpedoes away,” Mazzi reported. “That…that can’t be right.”

  “What is it, Mazzi?” Sasha asked.

  “The computer reports an estimated flight time of forty-five seconds.”

  In the time it took for Mazzi to voice her confusion, the first missiles were arriving at their targets. Three of the cruisers received twenty-six missiles each, while the fourth only received twenty-five. The crews aboard the cruisers were mostly veterans, and the incoming missiles did not catch them off-guard as a less-experienced crew might have been. Their point-defenses destroyed an average of fifteen missiles, and the remaining missiles continued on a staggered approach.

  The first three missiles attacking each cruiser sacrificed themselves to shred the shields facing Haven, and the remaining missiles targeted point-defense batteries that had announced themselves to the missile groups. Each missile that made it through aimed for a different point-defense battery, and soon, several point-defense batteries became debris of varying size drifting through space, their associated compartments opened to space.

  All seventeen of the torpedoes bored in on the battleship. The weapons crews aboard the battleship were all veteran spacers with decades of experience in some cases; they shot down seven of the torpedoes. Five of the remaining torpedoes spread across the forward, port, and starboard shields, shredding them and leaving the way clear for the successive projectiles. Those final five torpedoes accelerated as their computers brought their engines to one-hundred-fifty percent, driving into the battleship’s armor and hull before detonating. Those detonations either vaporized or ripped away whole sections of armor or hull plating and opened many compartments to space.

  “We have confirmed hits across all targets, ma’am,” Mazzi reported.

  “Excellent shooting,” Sasha said.

  Mazzi shook her head. “Thanks, but it wasn’t me. The computer wouldn’t let me choose anything other than something called adaptive targeting in the fire plan; all I could do was set the number of missiles or torpedoes per target.”

  “That’s interesting; we need to study up on that adaptive targeting. Are all launchers reloaded?”

  “The last reload just completed,” Mazzi said.

  “Fire,” Sasha said.

  Cole watched the battle on the sensor display in the helm console, and he noticed odd movement among the destroyers and frigates. “It looks like we have destroyers and frigates ramping up to do strafing runs on us.”

  “Mazzi, use the energy empla
cements as they come to bear on the destroyers and frigates.”

  “Understood, ma’am.”

  The second volley of missiles were arriving at the cruisers by that point, and their detonations walked destruction aft from the bow…almost as if the cruisers’ hulls were strips of ground being carpet-bombed. Many compartments vented to space on each cruiser, and a huge section on one of them disappeared in a secondary explosion of the missiles in the loading mechanism.

  One frigate maneuvered into the path of a torpedo meant for the battleship and vanished amid the ensuing detonation, becoming an expanding cloud of debris.

  The battleship fared worse than the cruisers. With the damage of the previous barrage, there were gaps in the battleship’s point-defense coverage, which the torpedoes exploited. Once inside the point-defense envelope, the torpedoes spread out to create a shotgun effect against the armor and hull, their detonations ripping great gashes across the battleship. One cluster of torpedoes spread so much destruction so close to the forward fusion reactor that the containment systems failed, and sizable portions of the forward fourth of the battleship vanished in the fiery orgy of an uncontrolled thermonuclear reaction.

  Meanwhile, the energy emplacements making up Haven’s broadsides had been busy. Even the battleship’s formation was within Haven’s energy range, and Haven left several slagged destroyers and frigates in its wake. Mazzi tried to leave the ships with some maneuvering capability to keep from creating massive kinetic weapons that would fall to the planet below; not even half of a frigate would burn up on re-entry, let alone a destroyer.

  Still, though, Haven’s shields were taking a beating. The outer shields were gone. The fourth shield layer was at 65% and falling, the bleed-through having brought the third shield layer down to 92% and falling. The Aurelian Navy had sacrificed eight destroyers and sixteen frigates outright—not counting the frigate that ate a torpedo—to the task so far, plus four damaged cruisers and one damaged battleship…but sometimes, quantity has a quality all its own.