“We’re in position!” DuPont said excitedly.
“Bucking cables away,” Adrienne Blythe said a split second later.
“Yeah!” Hart shouted as fighters began to disintegrate under the weight of the Rage’s laser mounts and plasma cannons.
Then the enemy started to fire back, and the ship was rocked by a series of audible impacts.
“Hull penetrations on decks five and eight; life support on number five is going to go critical within five minutes. They must have hit something important because decks four and seven seem to be affected as well,” Adrienne Blythe reported in something approaching her usual calm, steadfast tone.
“Missile separation! Enemy Strike Fighters have launched missiles and are continuing forward!” reported Sensors.
“Counter-missile and point defense fire to maximum, Chief,” Hart said urgently into his microphone.
“Hold strong,” I urged the ship while superstitiously patting arms of the command throne, as if it was some giant metal beast that could somehow be reasoned with. “Hold strong and I’ll make sure your hull is repaired at the first opportunity—I’ll even throw in a new paint and exterior finish job,” I muttered to the ship as it continued to lurch this way and that under the weight of enemy fire.
“Enemy Battleships are refocusing the majority of their fire on the flagship,” said Lieutenant Hart.
The enemy Battleships’ icons on the main screen did indeed refocus the overwhelming majority of their fire on the Royal Rage—an observation bolstered by the litany of new damage taken continued to toll out like and unending list from Damage Control.
Then the missile wave struck and the ship shook even more violently, giving off one hard jolt after another.
Gunnery lashed out again and again, with even the plasma cannons being diverted to anti-missile duty. But in spite of their efforts, what seemed like an unending wave of missiles continued to shriek down onto the hull of the ship.
“We’ve just lost main power to deck nine—switching to emergency power,” reported Blythe. “Hydroponics took a hit and the port side main power lines are cut in at least three places; switching to secondary power distribution network.”
“Blast it! We’re getting shot apart,” I snarled as the full firepower of eight Battleships, combined with a massive missile strike, concentrated on our Duralloy II armored flagship. “Roll the ship, Captain!” I barked.
“We can do this, Admiral,” Leonora said with a fey light in her eye that seemed to defy the galaxy itself, “we can stop those fighters. We’ve already taken out their main missile wave; if they’re holding anything back we can get that too. This Battleship is the only thing we have that can effectively stop those fighters.”
“We’ve already blunted their edge—roll us,” I ordered, “we can afford the loss in anti-fighter coverage.”
The lights flickered. “What happened to my weapons?” cried Lieutenant Hart as we suddenly lost half our weight of fire from the broadside.
“We temporarily lost power to the port side. The secondary network is being overwhelmed and I can’t get a Damage Control party into the damaged sections to reroute the mainline until we can cut our way in,” reported Damage Control. “Everything’s rebooting and reintegrating with the distributed intelligence system now.”
Another blow rocked the ship, and deck four’s DC teams started to report major damage.
“We’re dying here,” I snarled standing up from my chair, “DuPont, get us out of here and back in the formation.”
“Roll the ship,” Hammer added after a moment.
“Sirs, if I try to maneuver us back into formation there’s a big chance I’ll expose our engines—without shields, a roll could expose part of our hyper dish,” DuPont reported tightly.
“Damage Control: coordinate with the Helm and use those bucking cables to pull us back in. We’re in close enough range to the Armor Prince to make it work. Saint Murphy, but we just used them to pivot the ship,” I said.
“That’s insane,” said Hammer.
“Just do it,” I said shortly, “it has to be better than sitting here getting pounded.”
****************************************************
“Sir! Message from the flagship—” began the Comm. Officer and then stopped, almost dumbfounded.
“What is it, Comm.?” asked Commodore Druid.
“The Flag wants us to lower our shields so they can deploy bucking cables and pull themselves back to rejoin the formation,” the other officer said incredulously.
Druid blinked. “Sweet crying Murphy…if things don’t just get more and more crazy in this simpering madhouse,” the Commodore swore. Then, after a moment of furious contemplation, he made swirling gesture with his hand in the air, “Make it happen, people. We’re pulling the flagship back!”
****************************************************
On the Invictus Rising, the fleet command team watched as an increasingly battered enemy flagship first broke the fighter attack, then soaked up a storm of missiles—all while enduring the weight of fire of two entire Battleship squadrons without its shields.
“What kind of Battleship can take that kind of weight of fire and just shrug it off?” Goddard asked with surprise.
“They’ve improved the hull. We knew that after the close-in sensor scans,” Janeski said confidently. “Besides, you’ll note she’s venting from multiple locations and they’re having power problems if that hiccough in their rate of fire is any indication. It’s only the fact that these sorts of old paranoid designs are so redundant that the whole gun deck didn’t fall silent.”
“At least now that they’ve stuck their noses out, we get to chop it off for good, Sir,” Goddard pointed out. “Cutting off the head should wreck their battle continuity as they sort out the chain of command. You know how these sorts of provincials are, Admiral.”
“Yes, you’re right. In fact…” he trailed off as the enemy flagship suddenly deployed its bucking cables.
Then, careful to keep its nose pointed at his Battleships, the doughty-hulled Caprian Battleship started to pull itself backwards—prompting Janeski to stand from his chair, “Son of a witch on a stick.”
Captain Goddard’s face went suddenly blank as the enemy Battleship first pulled itself back, and then used its sister Dreadnaught class Battleship for cover.
The Admiral’s face contorted slightly before returning to a professional mask.
“Innovative maneuvers,” said the High Admiral calmly, sitting back down in his chair and giving a slight nod to his young adversary.
“The fighters were almost on them anyway, now that the other Dreadnaught class is blocking them from our ships it’s blocking their plasma cannons from our fighters. Even if the punch isn’t everything we’d hoped it would be, it should be more than they can deal with,” Goddard said with near-total confidence.
“Indeed,” Janeski glowered at the screen for a moment and then nodded as if reaching some sort of decision, “he tests me, Captain. But I shall have him.”
One way or the other, Jason Montagne was going to die.
****************************************************
“Wooo!” DuPont shouted as they were finally sheltered behind the Armor Prince. “We made it!”
“That we did, Helmsman,” I said dryly.
DuPont had the grace to look temporarily embarrassed before he must have finally decided he didn’t care and broke out into a sloppy, happy-to-be-alive grin.
However, all smiles on the two bridges of the flagship soon disappeared as the enemy fighters, no longer suppressed by our fire, surged around the Armor Prince and spread out.
Missiles were fired, breaking against the weakened shields of Battleships all throughout our formation. Even though they were a relative handful of missiles compared to the wave we’d faced, they were more than enough to punch a number of holes in our warships’ protection—holes those fighters would seek to exploit in their close-range a
ttack runs.
“Admiral Dark Hammer is asking for close-in fire support,” reported Lieutenant Steiner.
“Tell them to drop their shields on the side facing us and we’ll clear out what we can,” said Captain Hammer, and the Lieutenant nodded.
I felt a momentary irritation but quickly dismissed it. There was no time for petty power games now—we were fighting for our collective lives.
“The Armor Prince reports they are taking heavy fire,” Steiner reported and the Armor Prince began to roll.
“How far are we from the hyper limit?” I demanded.
“Two minutes,” Brightenbauc replied shakily.
“Helm, we need to start slowing down now,” I said, and then immediately thought better of it. “Message to the fleet: we’re going to turn as a group and begin decelerating. I want us stopped and our Navigators calculating the jump as soon as possible! All other ships can stay with the main body or maneuver for advantage and jump out on their own recognizance.”
“We’ll be sitting ducks,” protested Hammer.
“We keep going like this we’re done. We’ll resume our hedgehog formation as soon as possible,” I said.
“Wait a moment,” the Navigator burst out, “we can’t stop right on the edge of the hyper limit. If there’s so much as a solar flare or a minor gravity fluctuation, the ship could disintegrate or mis-jump into the middle of a planet or star!”
“Just do it, Nav,” shouted the Captain. “We all know the risks!”
I had started to nod gratefully for the support, but I suddenly went wooden. I mean, I knew about a few of the risks associated with ‘improper hyper drive operation,’ but this sort of thing had been much more academic for me up until that moment. And I hadn’t had to deal with screwy jumps since the surprise Tracto trillium deposits. We’d never actually jumped this close to the edge of a hyper limit before.
A sudden sweat broke out on my forehead, but I forcefully kept my heart from beating a hole through my ribcage. Captain Hammer thought it wasn’t too insane of a risk to take, and was actually backing it. So either it must be safe enough to try or we were in a truly desperate…
I shook my head sharply; I really didn’t need to be thinking about long odds right then.
“We stick to the plan and weather this storm!” I said firmly, my decision final.
****************************************************
“Admiral, orders from the flag,” barked Lieutenant Commander Star Smiter.
“I take it you don’t mean Admiral Silverback when you say that, as there are currently three flags in this fleet,” snorted Admiral Dark Matter.
“Correct sir,” Star Smiter said without an ounce of levity, all business all the time.
“What have you got?” he asked calmly, even as all around him the bridge was in an uproar of damage reports and anti-fighter duties.
“Admiral Montagne is ordering the formation to begin deceleration. He’s offering to cut loose any of the smaller ships who think they have a better chance at a point transfer away from the Battleships, Sir,” said the Lieutenant Commander.
“Right now?” Dark Matters asked with surprise.
“Yes. The coordinates are for us to stop right on the ragged edge of the hyper limit,” Star Smiter said evenly.
“Saint Murphy help us all,” Dark Matter prayed and then nodded his head slowly. “We’re going to have to rotate the formation to do this. But at least these invaders don’t suspect what we’re up to; it’s too crazy for normal men to contemplate,” his nods grew steadily firmer and faster as he considered it. “This just might work.”
“They’ll easily be able to keep up with us, Sir,” said the Admiral’s tactical adviser. “It won’t matter if it’s a surprise maneuver or not; they’re close enough to shadow our every move and they have superior engines.”
“We do what we can with what we have,” Dark Matter said seriously. “Besides, it might not be the wrong move even if they do shadow us as you and I both think. Those fighters are tearing apart our engines and our ability to stay in formation is going to be compromised if this goes on for too long.”
“Then you want us to follow the orders from the Grand Flag, sir?” asked the ship’s Captain.
Dark Matter understood the Captain’s point. They could try to go their own way and hope for the best—or at least hope that the main force would follow the Grand Fleet’s titular head.
“We’ve gone down the road this far. What’s a little more?” he shrugged. “I’ll not have it said our people are as faithless and feckless as the leaders of the Aegis Contingent.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” a number of officers chorused vigorously.
Turning to deal with yet another crisis, the Admiral allowed himself a brief moment to wonder if he was making the right call—or, more precisely, if young Montagne was. But like he’d told his officers, they were really too deep into this thing to back out now.
Chapter Seventy-eight: Finishing Touches
Fighters darted in, strafing the Grand Fleet warships in a dazzling display of expert piloting combined with the greatest military hardware ever produced by humans. With their shields low and the last of the torpedoes which the Imperial pilots had held back now deployed, it was the work of moments to cut through. The point defenses on the provincial ships were no joke, but these pilots were the best of the best from top Imperial academies.
“All units: find your targets and take them out,” ordered the Squadron Leader.
“I’m going in, Yellow Leader,” said Yellow 4, closely followed by his wingman.
“All fighters go-go-go!” commanded Yellow Leader.
Yellow 5 dove through the wall of point defense and anti-fighter lasers and locked on target. For a brief second he had a clear and unobstructed line of sight and, linking all four of his light lasers into a quad burst, he fired his weapons as fast as their capacitors could manage. He was not the first to strike the target but he was the last who needed to, because after his attack the sturdily built structure finally cracked. Fully a third of the enemy hyper dish was ruined and even if repairs were possible it would be the work of days or weeks, not minutes, to repair.
“Scratch one main dish!” Yellow 5 crowed.
“Good job, Yellow 5,” said Yellow leader as he redirected his squadron onto the next target.
It had been a long day but their efforts were finally paying off. Despite a few surprisingly heavy losses against a particular group, they were finally getting the job done. And while he couldn’t entirely agree with it, being one of the pilots in the seat, he could understand the necessity. After all, what military tactician wouldn’t prefer to trade a few fighters to neutralize enemy Battleships?
“Let’s get them, boys,” he called out as a stray squadron, forced out of position by counter-fire, hammered the Battleship’s dorsal shield generator to vent their frustration.
****************************************************
“Druid just lost main engines on the Armor Prince and Dark Hammer reports one of his Epsilon Tarantula ships has, for all intents and purposes, just lost its main dish,” Steiner reported her face tight with worry. “There’s a crack running down a third of its length. If they try to point transfer…”
“Understood, Lieutenant,” I said, feeling a sense of loss and helplessness I was unfamiliar with. I was used to desperate battles and terrible odds, but when we had to cut and run we had always done so as a group. Several of our most powerful assets were still with us, for the moment, but as soon as we jumped they’d be left in an untenable situation.
“The Armor Prince is losing engine output and the Hart’s Hart is also struggling to compensate. Those two Battleships and the Aegis ship they’re towing are losing control of their vectors,” observed the Sensor Officer.
“Blast,” Captain Leonora Hammer said with feeling.
“Move the ship to compensate, Captain,” I said.
“Our ship?” she asked, cocking her head.
> “Of course,” I said irritably, “we have bucking cables of our own. Let’s hook up to the Prince and give it a pull.”
“It’s dangerous…and it’s ‘him,’ not ‘it’,” she said, her brows lifting with alarm and before she shrugged. “Make it so,” she finally ordered, turning back to her bridge team.
Over the course of the next several minutes, before we drove off the fighters the fleet lost another major hyper dish; one of the Blackwood battleships from Dark Matter’s home world—fortunately not the flagship. On the flipside, while Admiral Dark Matter’s ship was still jump-capable, the Blackwood Admiral had reported his ship to have taken major engine damage and he was now struggling to keep in formation.
“He’ll make it,” I said firmly.
“We’ve lost our port shield generator; it’s gone for good, Sir,” reported Longbottom. “Whether we can repair it after the battle or not will depend on Engineering.”
“Understood, Shields,” said Hammer.
Finally, the second group of enemy Battleships started to pull away. The relief was only momentary, however, as the first group quickly came swooping back.
“Fleet battleships are reporting increasing incoming fire,” said Steiner.
“Second Reclamation Battleship group is moving to join forces with the first!” cried Sensors.
“Aegis flagship is reporting they have sustained serious damage and are ejecting two fusion cores!” said Steiner as the enemy punishment continued to lash out broadside after broadside in one, continual, rolling wave that didn’t ever seem to let up.
“Focus our fire on the lead Battleship of enemy group one!” I ordered harshly. “I want the whole fleet to focus on her and to not let up.”
“Message sent,” said Steiner.
“Not all of our ships will be able to range their weaponry—or at their least full weaponry—on the lead enemy ship while in our hedgehog formation,” said Hammer.
Admiral's War Part One Page 42
