Nothing to fear from them. No, the prize jewel was now his only priority. He focused on Ramm Stallahad, reached into the volumetric hologram, and turned the entire planet on its axis.
Odd.
He had expected to see a similar attack pattern to that which the records from Meccrace had shown him. Instead, he saw something completely different. The dreadships did not surround the planet as Command had anticipated. Whatever the Shaeld Hratha planned to do, they were clustering their mighty craft above one continent in particular.
He isolated that area of the holo and expanded it further still.
“They’re going after the stockpile,” he announced. “That’s their primary objective.”
“Defensive efforts look like they’re proving problematic,” said Tactical. “The dreadships are now in effective firing range of just three percent of the orbital batteries. Rift-equipped ships are having trouble getting beyond the flak boundary.”
“We need them to scatter,” said Betombe.
“It would certainly help,” Tactical agreed.
“How do you scatter a group of dreadships?”
Betombe turned to face Laselle, considering the question carefully. The most damaging weapon they had in the fight was the rift system, and the ships carrying it could not get close enough to make it effective. With so many hostiles out there, all ready to fill a ship with holes should its main power dip momentarily, cutting beams were out of the question.
“We may need to halt the interdiction process for a short time.”
“So that we can…? Oh.”
“A wormhole right in their midst might give them pause for thought,” Betombe said.
“But then they’ll be able to contact their forces outside the system.”
“If they have any.”
“Even if they don’t, they’ll be able to report back to someone.”
“We’re only assuming they have no means to do that while we’re interdicting,” said Betombe. “Their tactical advantage is unknown; ours is certain. COMOP: contact Fearless Actual and run the idea past her.”
“Aye Sir.”
“Which of our ships has the greatest range on their GNGs?” Betombe asked.
Laselle tapped away at her holo, comparing specifications for the various ships of their task force.
“I think that would be the Fearless,” she said. “Any Grex-class really. The Dauntless is also out there.”
“Tactical: assume a Grex-class dreadnaught makes a run at the dreadships. Once they get close enough to open a wormhole in the heart of that formation, for how long could they weather the enemy response? Will they have sufficient time?”
“Working,” said Tactical.
“Admiral,” said COMOP. “Fearless Actual agrees in principle with your plan. She’s asking for specifics.”
“Ask the Admiral to stand by,” Betombe said. “We’re working on it.”
Tactical looked up. “Admiral, if the dreadnaught is able to maintain its own defensive sphere at full capacity, and assuming the dreadships’ current defensive fire is at saturation levels, there will be twice as much time as they need.”
“Thank you, Tactical.”
“They will still go down,” Laselle breathed. “They won’t be able to complete a turn in that time. They’ll become the Shaeld’s one and only target.”
“Not if they have flak support,” said Betombe. “And not if they can power on straight through the same wormhole they open.”
“Once interdiction resumes, that will put those ships out of the battle. They’ll be too distant to return in time.”
“It’s a sacrifice we’ll just have to accept.”
Laselle looked pale. “If you think this will work, Admiral.”
“I do.” Betombe smiled at her.
“Admiral Kalabi is still waiting, Sir,” said COMOP.
“Advise the Admiral that a run directly at the dreadship formation is a possible option,” said Betombe. “One battle group, comprising a single Grex-class with suitable escorts providing flak cover. They will approach the limit of the Grex’s generators, open a wormhole in the midst of the Shaeld vessels, then escape through that wormhole while the hostiles scatter. All rift platforms must be ready to capitalise on any dip in outbound enemy flak. Clear?”
“Clear,” said COMOP. “Sending now.”
“Coming up on the battle perimeter,” Tactical said. “Targets?”
“At your discretion, Tactical.”
“Locking on nearest dreadship; firing rails and auto-cannon.”
Love Tap released his fury on the intruder, and it replied with equal vigour. The clacking and thumping of the C-MADS turrets reached a deafening crescendo.
“Admiral Kalabi designates the Dauntless, Sir,” COMOP shouted. “They’re preparing for their attack run.”
“Maintain full salvos, Tactical,” Betombe ordered. “Give them as much to worry about as you possibly can while Dauntless positions.”
“Aye aye.”
“Interdiction will cease in ten seconds,” said COMOP. A pause. “Five seconds. Three, two, one… now.”
Helm raised a hand, gave a thumbs up to confirm the GNG controls had reactivated. The system’s gate had released its lock-down, the disruptive field which would have stalled any generator attempting to invoke a wormhole within its sphere of influence.
On the battle map, Betombe watched Dauntless and his escorts begin their run on the dreadships. As he had anticipated, the majority of the defensive fire from the Shaeld formation was diverted to target Dauntless. The enemy would probably have no clue what the dreadnaught was about to do, but his move was clearly aggressive.
“Tell those rift platforms to be ready to open fire,” Betombe shouted.
COMOP’s hands flew across the holos.
A yellow ring icon around Dauntless revealed he had powered up his GNGs, and Betombe bit his lip while the destroyers escorting the great ship were peeled away — one by one — by the barrage of fire opposing them.
It had to work; they had no other option.
“Sir,” said Tactical. “Shaeld forces from the other planets in the system have noticed the interdiction lifting. They’ve jumped to the far side of Ramm Stallahad.”
“Condition?”
“They’re hanging back for now. Possibly waiting for orders from the ships here.”
“Understood.”
“Dauntless is opening his wormhole,” said Helm.
Betombe’s eyes widened when the battle map exploded with motion.
The dreadships, so ponderous on all the other occasions he had witnessed their movements, split apart like Kaishale spiders fleeing from a nest invasion. They fled the shimmering portal opened by Dauntless, fled the risk of severe damage it presented, then drifted apart with more dignity as they cleared the danger zone.
Rift platforms ripped through those dreadships on the outside of the formation, tearing chunks out of their superstructures and scattering the parts across space-time.
“Six clean hits,” Tactical said. “We’re down to seventeen combat-effective dreadships on this side of the planet.”
“What’s that?” Laselle asked.
She pointed into the battle map. Betombe squinted at the tiny icon which blinked at the end of her finger.
“Wormhole?” He said. “Identify.”
“Unknown,” said COMOP. “I’m getting silence on every band. But it tracks to the Deep; assumed hostile.”
“Status on Dauntless? Can we resume interdiction yet?”
“It wouldn’t help,” said Laselle. “It’s an incoming wormhole.”
“Bring us about, Helm. Tactical; reorient main batteries on that wormhole,” said Betombe.
“Aye Sir.”
“Too late,” Laselle whispered.
Betombe could only watch as the wormhole flared brightly. It disgorged something the likes of which he — or indeed anyone in the Imperial Navy — had never before seen.
“Dauntless has jumped
away, all remaining escorts too,” said Helm.
“COMOP, instruct the gate to resume interdiction.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“Tactical,” said Betombe. “Can we get any kind of firing solution on that stranger before it reaches the dreadships?”
“Negative, Sir,” said Tactical. “It’s too distant and too fast. I doubt anyone else can hit it from their positions, but I’m broadcasting it as a priority.”
“Gallant is moving to intercept,” said COMOP. “But I’m told they’re taking a lot of punishment fire as a result.”
Betombe watched the strange, angular newcomer on the battle map, expanding the view as far as the sensor resolution would allow. The ship was not built for war, that much he could see plainly, but as to its intended purpose he had not the faintest idea.
“Gallant has failed to resolve any firing solutions,” said COMOP. “They’ve taken significant damage amidships. They’re pulling out of the fight.”
“Thank them for trying,” said Betombe.
“Bandit has reached the dreadships,” said Tactical. “They’re reforming their cluster.”
“How many more did rift take down?”
“Sir, looks like a further three dreadships were disabled after the initial round of hits. They wised up to our tactic pretty quickly. Enemy strength stands at fourteen, plus the bandit.”
“I doubt we’ll get another shot at that,” said Betombe.
“We won’t,” said Tactical. “I think they’re preparing to go atmospheric.”
Betombe returned his gaze to the main battle map and saw that Tactical was correct. The dreadships, protecting the newcomer within a ring of mountainous bulk, had all now oriented their aft ends towards the planet’s surface.
They began their descent.
“Dreadships from the far side of the planet are now closing,” said Tactical. “Likelihood is they plan to provide orbital cover.”
“What do we do?” Laselle asked, close to his side.
“We follow them down,” said Betombe. “We fight them in the Deep-damned air if we have to.”
“We’ll be vulnerable from above.”
“The First and Third fleets can remain.”
“Yes, Sir. COMOP; send to Fearless Actual: we intend to pursue the invading force. Advise them of the incoming, if they’ve not already seen it.”
“Understood.”
“Commander Laselle,” said Betombe. “Prepare the ship for atmospheric insertion.”
“Sir,” Laselle said. She prodded her holo, activated the ship-wide comm. “All hands, all hands; now hear this. Prepare for atmospheric insertion. This is not a drill. Combat will occur within the atmosphere of the planet. Gunning stations should switch to air-burst ordnance and non-radiological warheads immediately. Be ready for gravity switch-over. Batten down the hatches, people; this is going to be rough.”
She closed the channel.
“Not done this for a while,” Betombe said.
• • •
“Interdiction just ended,” said Santani.
“Hmm?” Klade said. He continued to tap at his holo, as if he had only barely registered the captain’s words.
Santani shifted forwards in her chair and pushed the battle map away from her with the palm of her hand. The view zoomed out slightly, shrinking the incoming hostiles she had been watching obsessively and revealing a group of Imperial corvettes which had jumped in to intercept them.
“We’re getting support!”
Klade looked up this time. “Should I stop?”
Santani glanced from the battle map to him, then back again. She bit the inside of her cheek and worried the soft flesh.
“No,” she said. “If our saviours succeed, we can just stop what we’re doing. But if they fail, we’ll want to be moving already.”
“Understood,” said Klade. “Thank goodness that interruption didn’t break my concentration.”
“Sorry,” said Santani.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I think I’ve cracked it.”
“Fantastic. Send the thrust profile to Hepira Control; they can operate the other ships remotely if they need to.”
“You do realise this is likely to destroy the shipyards, and every vessel being constructed here?”
“Calculated risk,” said Santani. “You did calculate the risk, yes?”
“You really don’t want to know.”
“I’ll take your word for that.”
“Hepira Control says they’re ready,” said Klade.
“Give them the go.”
Santani moved to watch Klade as he repositioned himself at the helm station. He tore the plastic cover away from the controls and activated the holo.
“Inserting profile,” he said. “Bringing the engines online now.”
Hammer thrummed with pleasure, the deck plates vibrating just within the limits of human detection. Santani found herself sharing in the ship’s joy.
“This ship feels male,” she murmured.
“Can’t be,” said Klade. “Her captain is female.”
“I know, but even so…”
Klade frowned, ignoring her reply. He tapped new instructions into the holo, countermanding some of his own orders.
“Problem?” Santani asked.
“Just a variation in output,” he said. “These drives haven’t been tested.”
“Will it still work?”
“I’ve corrected. Besides, we’re just one ship amongst many.”
He looked across, appeared to register the worry which she knew she wore on her face.
“It will still work,” he assured her.
“I’m seeing movement,” Santani said. “Very small, but it’s there.”
“Hepira is signalling that they’re willing to increase output.”
“Follow their lead.”
“Matching their adjustment now,” said Klade.
A shuddering vibration passed through the command deck, the bulkheads and consoles creaking under the strain which compressed the ship’s great frame. The engines pushed, the mass of Hepira pushed back, and only one of them could win.
“One metre out of position,” said Santani. “It’s working.”
“Great,” Klade said. “Just thousands more of those and we’re done.”
Santani ignored his sarcasm. “Acceleration is now high enough to be measurable… and it’s increasing.”
“Structural integrity looks good. I’m not seeing any issues so far.”
“I can’t believe it’s actually working,” said Santani.
“Thanks, Captain.”
“Sorry, you know what I mean. Well done you.”
“How are those hostiles looking?” Klade asked.
Santani returned her attention to the battle map. She had to move the view around before she located the incoming ships.
“Slowed,” she said. “They’re closer now. They’ve lost numbers though.”
“Any of ours still with them?”
“Not really,” Santani said. “It looks like there are two damaged friendlies trying to run them down, but the gap is widening.”
“Great,” said Klade. “Well if they aren’t getting reinforced I’m guessing interdiction has resumed.”
“Does that matter to us?” Santani asked.
“Yeah. If it lifts again we could push Hepira through a wormhole. There’s got to be at least one ship berthed here that’s got its GNGs wired in already.”
“Something to think about if the gate is knocked out of action,” said Santani. “It would certainly be a safer bet than trying to weather this storm at the edge of Fort Herses’ defence radius.”
“To be honest,” Klade said, “now that I think about it, pushing the shipyard and its contents through a wormhole might not be the best idea. Imagine what the slightest bit of turbulence would do.”
“We’d have to make it a very, very short trip.” Santani said. She nodded thoughtfully. “I think it can be done. I’ll start modellin
g it, just in case.”
“Hepira Control won’t like that plan either.”
“They might not get much choice in the matter.”
“True.” Klade checked the holos, tapped in a new correction sent by Hepira Control. “We’re doing well. Acceleration is building up; it’s slow, but it’s there.”
“Let’s just hope it’s enough.”
— 18 —
The Fall of Riishi
Disputer followed Atwood and the Night’s Shadow from the Riishi prime gate’s wormhole, and veered off to one side immediately. Behind the carriers the rest of the task force began to emerge from the event horizon.
Helia Thande waited while her command crew established their position and situation. The main battle map had already started to populate its data points, and a number of nearby contacts glowed a deep red.
“Identify those craft,” she ordered.
“Transponders read as Viskr,” said COMOP. “They’re trying to handshake. I assume those are the ships we’re supposed to meet up with.”
“Assume nothing. We can’t even trust our own ships these days. Tactical: prime our defences, just in case.”
“Location confirmed, Captain,” said Helm. “We’re at the edge of the system. Local stellar locks are fine.”
“Pulsar locks?”
“You don’t want to know, Captain.”
“Seriously? Even with a wormhole generated by two prime gates?”
“I’m afraid so, Ma’am. The discrepancies are getting worse and worse.”
“Never mind,” Thande said. “That’s something for Tech and Systems to worry about. We’re here, that’s all that matters. I take it you can get us to the system interior without hitting anything?”
“I believe so, yes. It’s only a short jump.”
“Good. Commander, have our pilots report to their flight decks. I want to be able to scramble fighters at a moment’s notice.”
“Charlie and Echo shifts are bedded down,” said the XO. “Do you want them out of their bunks?”
“No, not yet; we have three other shifts. The Shadow and the Atwood will have three each as well. We’ll rouse the others if we need to.”
Books One to Three Omnibus (Armada Wars) Page 90
