The Pride of the Damned (Cochrane's Company Book 3)

by Peter Grant

  “Command to Navigator, very good. Turn us onto our port side, to aim our missiles directly at the target as she passes us. Break. Command to Weapons, you are authorized to launch missiles without further orders when the target reaches the firing point. Weapons free.”

  “Navigator to Command, aye aye, sir.”

  “Weapons to Command, aye aye, sir.”

  Frank watched as the ship was slowly, smoothly turned ninety degrees on her longitudinal axis. Since her artificial gravity pulled everyone and everything toward her keel, it was not possible to detect the change of angle from one’s sense of balance. Only the OpCen instruments confirmed it had occurred.

  When the maneuver was complete, Aidan added, “Command to Helm, shut down the gravitic drive. As soon as all missiles are launched, stand by for a new course from the Navigator. Make sure our gravitic drive frequency modulator is on – we don’t want them to identify our emissions. Break. Command to Navigator, as soon as the target is disabled, go to max power and catch up to her. If she goes silent, track her on radar for as long as possible, confirm her trajectory, and steer to rendezvous with her, so we can prepare for the next phase.”

  “Helm to Command, understood, sir.”

  “Navigator to Command, understood, sir.”

  Frank forced himself to sit back in his chair. Now all they could do was wait. He found himself murmuring, almost sub-vocally, the opening line from an ancient children’s poem.

  “Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider to the Fly…

  SS SZIPNIJ

  Lieutenant-Commander Haxhiu returned to the bridge as Szipnij approached the system boundary. Normally he would leave such routine maneuvers to the Officer of the Watch, but in this case, with so many billions in gold at stake, he wanted to make absolutely sure the jump was performed correctly. The future of the Brotherhood lay, quite literally, in his forward cargo hold.

  He relieved the OOW, and sat down behind his command console. Glancing at the time display, he could see it was one minute before fifteen. Less than twenty minutes to our first hyper-jump, he mentally noted. He brought up the navigation program and scanned its proposed course to Neue Helvetica, complete with hyper-jump intervals, nodding in satisfaction. The extra two hundred million francs the Brotherhood had invested in his ship, to provide her with anti-missile defenses, a quantum computer and electronic warfare systems, had included the best commercial navigation system money could buy. It had proved its worth in all their gold-carrying journeys so far.

  The scream of an alarm made him jerk upright. Even as he looked across the bridge at the Plot display, a mechanical voice announced, “Missile launch to starboard! Range two hundred fifty thousand kilometers!”

  Too close! he instantly realized. We haven’t enough distance to turn away, even if we wanted to. Can’t evade, so don’t even try. Give our computer the most stable firing platform we can.

  Even as he thought, his right hand flipped up a screen over a button on his console, labeled “Defense – Auto”. He pressed it as he called aloud, over the curses and exclamations of his bridge crew, “Maintain course and speed! Give our defenses the best possible chance!”. He reached for another button, and the clangor of the General Quarters alarm resounded in every compartment. The ship’s startled crew dropped whatever they were doing and began to race toward their action stations.

  Faster than human reflexes could even begin to react, the quantum computer took over the tracking of the missiles. The first two launched were clearly decoys of some kind, broadcasting confusing signals, portraying themselves as multiple inbound missiles, jamming Szipnij’s radar emissions. Fortunately, her active arrays, far more sophisticated than those usually found on commercial vessels, could counter that by transmitting on multiple frequencies at different power levels. Her computer rapidly established a picture of what was coming at them. It ignored the leading two targets, and focused on the ten following them. Those were the true danger.

  Four laser cannon barbettes emerged from their concealed emplacements in the hull. They swiveled onto the bearing of the approaching threat, and waited for firing instructions. The computer raced through its calculations, analyzing, assessing relative motion, predicting. Haxhiu followed its analysis on his console, unable to help. Human reaction speeds were so slow, relatively speaking, as to be useless at a time like this. Everything depended on the computer.

  As the missiles drew nearer, he realized from the Plot analysis that none of them were aimed directly at his ship. They would all pass close above or below her. That could mean only one thing. They were not intended to destroy Szipnij, but to disable her. They were almost certainly carrying electromagnetic pulse warheads, to shut down all his ship’s electronic systems. Drifting helplessly through space, she would be easily captured. Somehow, whoever was out there knew of his extraordinarily valuable cargo, and was determined to seize it.

  His face went pale as he suddenly understood what was happening. He forced down his emotions as he reached for another screen cover, this one over a red button marked ‘Demo’. He flipped up the cover, and turned the knurled button through a hundred and eighty degrees. It instantly lit up, and its label on the console began to flash. The five-megaton nuclear demolition charge in the spine of the ship was now armed, and would detonate if the button was pushed. He replaced the cover, so as not to accidentally press the button, and glanced back at the Plot.

  The computer raced through its final calculations. The leading missiles were now less than two hundred thousand kilometers away, accelerating at a mind-boggling rate; but laser beams moved at the speed of light. If the cannon could ‘see’ a target within range through the ship’s sensors, they could hit it. One after another, they began to fire.

  The closest missile was one hundred and eighty-two thousand kilometers away when it took a laser beam right through its nose cone. The megajoules of energy imparted by the powerful beam ripped straight down the weapon’s fuselage, and tore apart the magnetic bottle enclosing the nuclear fusion in its micro-reactor. In a perfectly circular fireball, the missile ceased to exist. Slightly behind it, the next three missiles in the salvo were treated likewise; then Szipnij’s computer swiveled the laser cannon to lock onto the next four targets.

  Lieutenant-Commander Haxhiu let out an undignified yell of triumph, echoed by everyone on the bridge, as he saw the first four missile traces disappear from the Plot display in the starburst icons that denoted nuclear explosions. He slammed his fist down on his console. “Yes! You beauty! Now get the rest!” he urged the electronic brain guiding his ship’s fight, even as his mind raced. Once all of the incoming weapons were defeated, what evasive maneuvers should he adopt? How could he get away from whoever was out there, trying to target him? Given even half a chance, he could outrun almost anything in space in this speed machine.

  The next four missiles closed to within eighty thousand kilometers before all of them were destroyed; then the four laser cannon concentrated on the last two. The ninth incoming weapon exploded fifty thousand kilometers away; then, agonizingly close, only thirty thousand kilometers distant, the final weapon was hit. Its reactor did not explode, but its fuselage was blown apart by the impact of the laser beam. Its forward section, now inert, tumbled as it fragmented. Its trajectory was forced almost imperceptibly downward.

  Haxhiu and his crew were still yelling in jubilation when a chunk of the destroyed missile struck the stern of their vessel a glancing blow, in the last meter of her hull. The impact occurred at a crossing velocity of more than twelve thousand kilometers per second, releasing unimaginable kinetic energy, even from so relatively small a piece of metal. It wiped out the aftermost ten meters of Szipnij’s hull, smashing her docking bay and associated compartments into scrap metal and vaporized steel molecules. Her hull shook violently under the enormous impact, and her main fore-and-aft passageway was blown open to space.

  In a hurricane-force holocaust of wind, every pressurized compartment in the ship vented to vac
uum down the passage. None of Szipnij’s airtight doors had yet been closed, because many of her crew were still running to their action stations when the impact occurred. They were not wearing spacesuits, either.

  Every soul on board felt the air sucked right out of their lungs. The blood began to boil in their bodies as atmospheric pressure was removed. The lucky ones were carried aft by the wind, smashing into the hull or its fittings, scraping across the torn, twisted metal at the rear of the ship, their lives snuffed out as if by the blow of a giant hammer. The unfortunate ones died more slowly, screaming soundlessly in vacuum, writhing, gasping for oxygen that was no longer there.

  On the bridge, Lieutenant-Commander Haxhiu stabbed his hand toward the ‘Demo’ button. Even as he did so, the bolts securing his chair and the command console to the deck were snapped in half or ripped out of their sockets by the whiplash of the hull. His finger never reached the button. Still strapped into the chair, he was hurled through the space formerly occupied by his disintegrating console, and across the bridge, to collide head-first with the Plot display. The impact killed him instantly, which was merciful. He did not have to witness the deaths of those around him, or the final agony of the ship he had loved and served so well.

  Szipnij’s fusion reactor went into emergency shutdown under the impact. Her wiring harness was severed at a number of critical junctions, cutting off backup power from her capacitor ring. Every system on board, even her ruptured emergency beacon, shut down instantly. Lifeless, powerless, she drifted onward through space, unguided, at one-fifth of the speed of light, followed by a slowly expanding cloud of debris, bodies, and body parts.

  19

  Salvage

  MAVRA SYSTEM, HCS BOBCAT

  The OpCen team watched in disbelief as their missile salvo was eviscerated by the target’s unexpectedly proficient defenses. The Weapons Officer cursed aloud. “Weapons to Command, request permission to launch the second salvo, plus all our decoys!” he called. If the massed decoys could burn a way through the target’s defenses for the missiles, their attack might yet succeed.

  “Command to Weapons, per-”

  Mackenzie’s assent was interrupted by a disbelieving shout from the entire team as a piece of the last missile slammed into the courier ship. Her stern disintegrated, and every emission from her hull ceased. The Plot display showed her forward portion, sliding away from them, followed by the expanding cloud of debris that had been her after section.

  Frank snapped, “Aidan, go get her!”

  “Yessir! Command to Helm, full ahead! Break. Command to Navigator, accelerate around her, then come in ahead of her and slow down to let her catch up with us. We don’t want to get hit by any of that wreckage.”

  “Helm to Command, aye aye, sir.”

  “Navigator to Command, aye aye, sir.”

  The Commander turned to his boss, eyes wide. “I thought she’d got away scot-free! That was sheer blind luck!”

  “You said it! Our missiles would only have disabled her, but she damned nearly shot herself out of space. We’re lucky it was pieces of the last missile that hit her. It was targeted at her stern. If fragments of other missiles, targeted further forward, had hit her, the whole ship might have disintegrated – and then where would we be?”

  Mackenzie shuddered. “Don’t even think that, sir, much less say it!”

  “When we board her, I want your technicians to look at her OpCen, to find out what defensive equipment and systems they have. She dealt with our missiles far better than any courier ship in my experience could have done.”

  “Will do, sir, but we may not have enough time to do a thorough job. Why don’t we ask your friend to load the entire remaining portion of the hull? It probably contains the OpCen and her main computer. That way, we can examine it at our leisure, back at Constanta.”

  Frank blinked. “It’ll be tricky – we have no docking cradles shaped to fit her – but I’ll be darned if that’s not a good idea. I think she’s small enough now, after losing her stern, to fit into his biggest hold, if it’s empty. Let’s get her under control, then see what Saul says.”

  The Navigating Officer plotted Szipnij’s slightly altered trajectory as she zoomed ahead of them, disappearing out of radar range as Bobcat’s own speed began to rise. He snapped orders, directing the fast-accelerating frigate to swing further out from the wreck’s course, to avoid any fragments spreading out from her hull. His skipper and the squadron Commanding Officer watched and listened in silence, not interrupting him, letting him do his job.

  HCS JAGUARUNDI

  Jaguarundi was much closer to Mavra. Her OpCen crew picked up the traces of the fight at the system boundary about half an hour after it had occurred, as soon as the speed of light allowed its echoes to reach them. It was followed almost instantly by a signal.

  “Communications to Command, signal, Ma’am. ‘Bobcat to Jaguarundi. Close the door.’ That’s all, ma’am.”

  “Command to Communications, thank you.” Commander Sheena Stroud stretched in her command chair, smiling. “We’ll just wait for the fight to be noticed at the planet, and their patrol craft to head this way, then we’ll do as he says. They don’t yet know we’re here. We’ll be a nice surprise for them.”

  Tense, excited laughter rolled around the OpCen.

  MAVRA SYSTEM CONTROL CENTER

  Lieutenant Sanna jerked upright in his chair as the Plot operator suddenly shouted in alarm, “Missile launch! Correction – multiple missile launches at the system boundary, sir!”

  He jumped to his feet and ran across to the three-dimensional Plot display, staring in utter disbelief at the traces appearing almost a billion kilometers from the planet. “How – what – I…” He suddenly remembered his responsibilities, and dashed back to the Command console. He slid into his seat, flipped up a cover and hit a button. Alarms began to clang throughout the facility, summoning the headquarters personnel of Mavra’s System Patrol Service to their posts.

  A Commander burst through the double doors to the OpCen, still shoving an arm into a sleeve of his uniform jacket. “What the hell’s going on, Sanna?”

  “M-missile launches at the system boundary, sir! Given light speed delay, they must have happened more than an hour ago. Szipnij’s beacon has gone silent, and her gravitic drive emissions have stopped. She was attacked by something that’s accelerating very fast along her course, sir. We’ve never seen those emissions before. Whoever it is must be modulating them, to avoid being identified.”

  “Of course they’re bloody modulating them!” The senior officer glanced at the Plot, and his face and voice hardened. “If she can crank out acceleration like that, she’s no ordinary pirate. That’s got to be a warship of some kind, to move that fast, and launch missiles like that. Give me that chair!”

  “Aye aye, sir!”

  Sanna jumped up and slid out from behind the console. The Commander took his place and reached for the microphone.

  “Communications, signal Kriezis and Tatoi to leave planetary orbit at once and head for the scene of the engagement. Signal Thetis and Kyklon to abandon their present patrols and do the same. Let’s see if there are any survivors, then we can try to locate whoever did this. If they’re still looting Szipnij, we may have a chance to nail them.”

  “Communications, aye aye, sir.”

  Sanna said diffidently, “Ah… sir, Kriezis is giving her crew extended liberty. I doubt she has more than a third of her people on board. Should we sound the alarm in the Orbital Space Station, to alert them to return to their ship?”

  “Yes, dammit! Do so at once! You shouldn’t need me to tell you that!”

  “A-aye aye, sir!”

  MPV TATOI

  The patrol vessel scorched away from Mavra under maximum acceleration, speeding toward the place where Szipnij had been ambushed. Her skipper, a young Lieutenant, was rattled by this completely unexpected turn of events, and her crew even more so. After all, nothing ever happened in the Mavra system. That was why the
company that owned it had spent relatively little on its System Patrol Service, equipping it with older, second-hand patrol craft and hiring only the minimum number of spacers to crew them. Now, that emphasis on economy meant that they might be going into a fight against enemies whose capabilities were unknown, with only old-fashioned weapons and equipment to defend themselves. That was not a comforting thought.

  After an hour, Tatoi was a hundred and fifty million kilometers from the planet, still gaining speed, her inertia compensator whining loudly under the strain of dissipating the stress of such violent acceleration into the dark matter of space. Her crew listened with growing concern. If the compensator let go, they would be smeared against the bulkheads like so much strawberry jam. The only comfort in that prospect was that it would happen so fast, they’d never know what hit them.

  The Plot operator reported, “Sir, Kriezis has left orbit and is following us. She must have got her crew aboard at last.”

  The skipper grunted unhappily as he studied the display. Their sister ship was too far behind to be of any assistance, if trouble awaited them. The other two patrol craft were even further away. He had just opened his mouth to reply when the operator stiffened and yelled.

  “Missile launch! Multiple missiles launched, very far ahead, sir! Looks to be at least two hundred million kilometers ahead of us. They’re headed this way, sir!”

  “That’s insane!” the Lieutenant spluttered. “No missile in the settled galaxy has that kind of powered range. They’ll never hit us from that far away!”

  They watched, dumbfounded, as the missiles picked up speed and headed for them. The Plot operator began to call out their time of flight. “Thirty seconds elapsed… one minute… one minute thirty…”