by Cameron, TR
Chapter Forty-Two
The Washington and her unexpected escort, the Belize, tore out of the wormhole into the battle sector. Cross let out an undignified whoop as they reverted to real-space at a much greater velocity than their engines could produce on their own.
The ship had vibrated during transit as if she was ready to fly apart, and Cross was happy to be out of the wormhole. A glance around the bridge showed matching relief on several faces.
“Combat view, full defenses, engines full when our speed drops to a reasonable rate.”
Cross stared at the battle display, which filled in as quickly as the sensors could populate it, and far too slowly for his peace of mind. Data from Dima’s message appeared seconds later, as the communication officer reviewed it and deemed it unnecessary to share the actual words.
“All right, all right. It looks like the Beijing has entered the game early and is shaking up the other side of the formation. Perfect. Message to Captain Labranche: We’ll take the closer one. The other one is yours.”
Ana Fitzpatrick nodded, and Cross turned back to the screen.
“Status?”
“All weapons and defenses ready to go, Commander.”
“Well, let’s do it then. Fire forward torpedoes as soon as we’re in range and broadsides when the opportunity presents itself. Our goal is to harass that ship until it runs or dies, while trying not to let it or anyone else kill us. So… you know… make that happen.”
The bridge crew gave him the laugh he needed, despite their nerves.
“Helm, loop a little to port so we get some separation from the Belize.”
“Aye, sir.”
The mad rush into the sector had clearly taken the command ships by surprise, judging by the delayed reactions to the new additions. When they responded, their strategy was the same he would have used, splitting up and running for the safety of nearby allies.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Cross said. “Message to Captain Petryaev: Block ‘em.”
The main display was now split. One half presented a real-time image from the front of the ship, showing them closing on the enemy vessel, which glinted in shades of metallic scarlet that hurt the eyes. The other gave the battle schematic overhead view, as if on a sand table, with ships color-coded for relative depth and status as friend or foe.
“Tactical, watch that ship two levels down. It’s angling for a shot at our belly.”
“Aye.”
There was chatter from bridge officer to bridge officer, which Cross relegated to the back part of his mind, tracking it but not concentrating on it. He trusted his people to keep the ship running and to deal with any ordinary problems that might appear while he worked on the overall strategy for their attack. He felt the vibrations as the forward torpedoes launched, and realized he needed to get his head a little further down out of the clouds.
“Battle display to plus-25.” The field-of-view shrank, showing the Washington and the one-quarter area of the sector surrounding her. “Message to Captain Labranche: Next launch we switch targets, then return to original target. Tactical, make that happen on our end.” Another vibration a minute later as the salvo of torpedoes leapt from their tubes, this time taking the longer path to the enemy vessel designated as the Belize’s foe. “That will give them something to think about, anyway.”
Cross focused on the enemy growing larger in his display. They would be within full weapons range in less than two minutes. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Dima’s forces blocking the direct path of the command ships, both of which changed heading and kicked up to high-speed. He ran through the geometry of it and grinned. “Oh, that was a mistake. New orders. We’ll use our target as a shield, so that the other one doesn’t see us coming. Prepare to defend against a full salvo from ours as we go by. When we’re clear of it, unload everything at the other ship and keep firing until it’s down or we’re past it.”
“Helm, I need all the speed you can give when we’re by this enemy. Do what you need to do to avoid incoming blasts and such, but when the far ship spots us, light them up.”
As they bore in on their target, it fired from an unexpected distance and added weapons to the barrage as they closed. The Washington’s countermeasures deployed, and fireworks filled the space between them. Point defense cannons accelerated devastating balls of metal at the incoming projectiles, and the helm officer wove the ship through the lances of coherent light that sought to destroy her. It was impossible to avoid them all, and the Washington shook and creaked, and in some places even cracked under the strain.
Cross dared a quick look at his tactical officer. Jacobs had his head down in his displays, his fingers flying as he worked the countermeasures. Lieutenant Marcas Walsh fired enough weapons to not give the game away while reserving the majority of the blasts for when they were past their attacker.
When the torpedo got through their defenses, it was a surprise to everyone except the tactical officer who had barely enough time to yell, “Brace.” The ship lurched as internal gravity fluctuated for a moment.
“We good?” He spoke louder than he wanted to and took a breath.
Kate responded, “Weapons green. Shields holding. Alien bastards will have to try harder than that.”
Cross turned to the display in time to watch the Washington speed along the length of the enemy vessel and loop over her top. The other command ship was shockingly close, a definite mistake on somebody’s part.
“Weapons free. Fire them all.”
The helm officer, weapons officer, and tactical officer had worked out multiple options before they ever entered the wormhole. Jacobs called out “Echo,” and Lee killed thrust from the main engine. He used positioning boosters to spin the ship along its X-axis. This allowed all the ship’s arms to fire in sequence, except for those that required a held position. Two broadsides, forward and rear torpedoes, and energy sloughing across its length combined to ravage its shields. The defenses were strong enough to reroute the first three sets of missiles on different headings, but the starboard broadside punched through, as did the lasers and plasma blasts that followed.
They flashed by too fast to see the impacts, but Lee brought them back around unbidden to review the results of their handiwork. The damage was barely short of catastrophic. While the ship was still moving, and probably hadn’t vented all of its atmosphere, it trailed a cloud of debris, and explosions and electrical discharges wreathed it as it sputtered away.
“Kill it,” yelled Cross, and Walsh sent another wave of torpedoes and energy flying toward the vessel. Just when he thought they had it, when he was savoring that impending moment of impact, the red ship flashed in between and absorbed the barrage, firing one of its own at the Washington.
“Evasive! Bloody hell and damnation,” Cross yelled, punctuating each word with a soft rap of his fist on the arm of his chair. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He’d been battle-blind before and knew the symptoms. Hooray for hindsight.
“Tactical, select nearest target, head toward it. Put some distance between us and the command ships please.” On the battle display, the alien forces were falling back while still mixing it up with the Alliance and Union forces. A quick count showed that they had knocked out about a fourth of the enemy’s number, at a cost of about half of theirs, and none of Dima’s.
“Comm, voice channel to the Beijing.”
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant Commander Cross?” Petryaev’s tone was as calm as if he was sailing through smooth space.
“The command ships seem to be pulling back, is it possible we broke them?”
“Anything is possible, but based upon what we’ve seen, it is fair to assume they have another trick or two awaiting us.”
“Yeah. I thought so too. Suggestions?”
Cross could almost hear Dima shrugging across the channel. “Don’t be tricked. Play it safe. Stay in groups. Take care not to overreach.”
He laughed. “You sound like one of my Academy instructors.”
“He must have been a very smart individual.”
Cross shook his head with a smile. “Indeed, he was. Stay safe. Cross out.”
The UAL battle net came to life before he could give another command. “All ships, this is Admiral Valentina Ferro of the Anchorage. The enemy is in retreat. Damaged vessels, withdraw to the rear of the sector and begin evacuation back to the rally point. The rest of you, form up into groups, clustered around the Medellin and the Cartagena. Let’s show these things what happens when we go on the offensive.”
“That,” Cross said to no one in particular, “is a really bad idea.”
Chapter Forty-Three
The battle display told the tale, and Cross could see why the Admiral had chosen to attack. One third of the remaining UAL ships headed for the rally point, too damaged to continue. The rest organized into two separate forces. The enemy appeared to be retreating at random, strung out at various distances as they raced for safety. It made perfect sense.
It made no sense.
Prior experience suggested retreat was unlikely, and uncoordinated movements less so. Even accepting for the moment that they had unsettled the alien leaders, one of the two command ships remained uninjured and the second still lived. The enemy had no reason to be acting headless.
Which meant it was a trap. And the admiral had ordered them into it.
Cross said, “Let’s hope they’re aware of what they’re doing, asking us to put our heads in the noose like this.”
Kate nodded in agreement. “What are the odds?”
“It depends on whether they are capable of learning or not. I would like to think, after the disaster at Starbase 14, they have gained a greater respect for our enemy’s intelligence.”
“It’s a nice thought.”
“It is. All we can do is follow orders and be prepared to improvise. Helm, keep an evasive pattern ready and a course plotted straight to the nearest wormhole out of this place. Tactical, a quiet word to your counterparts on the other ships sharing the possibility of a trap would not go amiss.” Lieutenant Jacobs dropped his gaze to his controls as he got to work doing so.
The command to advance came over the battle net and was reflected on the battle display. The Washington joined cluster Alpha, congregated around the Pulsar-class cruiser Medellin. Their mission was to arc to high port at top speed and then slash down across the enemy’s line of retreat. Cluster Bravo would do the opposite from high starboard, so they wouldn’t risk a crossfire. Ship-to-ship automatic communication would prevent them from colliding.
“Well, that sucks,” observed the helm officer.
“Understatement of the year, Lieutenant Lee. I don’t like giving over command of piloting the Washington to the computer any more than you do. Just keep your fingers close to the controls and be ready to take over.”
“Aye.”
Cross leaned forward in his seat and ran his hand through his hair. He peered at the display as if the intensity of his gaze would reveal the enemy’s secrets to him. “What are we missing, XO?”
Kate matched his pose, staring hard at the main screen. It showed a textbook case of a disorderly retreat, with each vessel seeming to do its own thing and following its own vector. The only commonality was that they were all moving away from the human forces at high speed.
She reached down and touched her own display, and a single target glowed on the main screen. “Sensors, is there anything wrong with this ship?”
Flores peered down at his displays for several seconds, then replied in the negative. “Seems to be unharmed. The computer has no record of it taking damage.”
“Then why is it so much slower than the others?” Kate’s question hung in the air.
The admiral’s voice commanded them to move. “Cluster alpha, commence attack run.”
The six ships curved and dove as one, coming in from above the retreating aliens. Beams of energy and torpedoes shot out, concentrating for a moment on each of the targets in their path before moving on to the next. Computers controlled the whole process, synchronizing their actions across the Union’s tactical network. The combined force destroyed the outermost ship before the others knew they were under attack.
The aliens were quick to respond, and missiles tracked back toward cluster Alpha, forcing them to redirect energy and attention on their own defense. Cluster Bravo attacked in that interval and took out another two alien ships before they were engaged. Cross watched it all and saw that lone ship falling further and further behind the others. The vibration in his armrest indicated an incoming communication. A glance down at Dima’s message confirmed his fears.
“Trap. Sacrifice play. Retreat.”
Cross took a deep breath, knowing he might very well be throwing his career away with his next actions. Time stretched as he thought about it, considered all he’d fought his way through to reach this point, only to risk it all.
To risk it all in order to do what he knew was right. Not a decision at all, but something he couldn’t not do.
“Jacobs, mark and link that ship.” He activated the battle net and used one of the override codes commanders carried for moments like this. “This is Lieutenant Commander Anderson Cross, of the Washington DC. Apache, Apache, Apache. Repeat. Apache, Apache, Apache. All ships break off and head to rally point at top speed. Apache bogey is marked on display.”
The announcement was shorthand for ambush and covered a variety of possible enemy actions. The response happened without thought. On every Union ship, the helm officer tapped in the triple-apache code, and the computers took over. The battle display showed all the Union ships in the sector break off their attacks and accelerate to highest speed on a path away from the marked target and toward an extraction point. The computers pushed the ships to their tolerance in velocity and maneuverability, then routed the shields to defend against detected enemies and the purported ambush ship.
For several moments, nothing happened on the enemy’s side, and the admiral’s voice piped in over the battle net, “Lieutenant Commander Cross, what the hell—”
The force of the alien ship’s explosion was greater than anything they could have expected from something that size. He guessed it was at least ten times as powerful as any they’d seen from an enemy ship, including the ones that had been destroyed with a single salvo. Worse, it spewed damage of multiple kinds throughout the sector. Communication systems were knocked out by a frequency overload that popped the protection circuits. Ships were thrown off course by a gravitic wave that spread out in all directions. Finally, small metal projectiles flew in an expanding sphere, peppering shields and on occasion breaking through and venting inhabited compartments to space.
Had any of them been closer, the explosion would have been catastrophic. Even with the warning, half of the escaping ships took significant physical damage.
“Status,” Cross snapped.
Jacobs responded, “Weapons green. Shields green. Several sections compromised. No casualties. Light injuries.”
He exhaled and leaned back in his chair. He only noticed the sweat covering his forehead when he ran his hand through his hair again.
On the main display, a communication arrived from the aliens. This one was smaller than the last, with different radiant hues reflecting from the scales that made up its skin. “I am Commander Indraat Vray of the Ruby Rain. You fought bravely, as we would expect of the implacable enemy promised in our prophecy. Understand this, though. Testing is complete. We know your strengths, futile as they are. We know your weaknesses, which are as abundant as the stars. When we meet again, you will meet your end. And a special message to the commander of the Washington, DC. You and your ship live today by my will. I could have removed you from the board after your foolish attack on the Jade Breeze, but I prefer to wait until we can battle with honor, rather than with tricks. Your deaths are delayed, but still certain.” The communication cut off, and the Xroeshyn forces disappeared from the sector in a wave of color.
“They
seem like very intelligent beings, if you get past the fact they want to kill us all for no apparent reason,” Cross mused.
“Aye,” said several of the bridge officers.
“Intelligent and determined,” pointed out Kate. “Besides, they have a reason. They’ve met you. Everyone who knows you wants to kill you.”
The crew laughed at her words. Cross gave her a nod. They were discovering the secrets of this command thing.
Several of the ships, including the Washington, looped around to escort the more damaged of their comrades to the rally point. Cross stared at the display of the emptying sector. In one part of his mind, he feared the next meeting with the aliens, for all the pain and death it would bring.
In another part, he relished the opportunity to test himself against them, and by so doing protect the people who were not so well-equipped to go toe-to-toe with them. He imagined that Captain Okoye would tell him this was the burden, and the privilege, of command. He looked forward to talking with the old man again.
With one last look at the main display screen, Cross gave the order. “Helm, take us to the rally point.” The engines spun up, the perimeter of the wormhole appeared, and the Washington blasted into it.
Chapter Forty-Four
News of the battle had reached him days before, but Kraada hadn’t acted on the reports from his niece. He preferred to debrief her in person before going up against Marshal Drovaa and whatever ideas the emperor might put together in his copious spare time. In the interim, he’d focused on his duties—leading services, reassuring the people, ensuring the loyalty of those under him for the day he would need to call upon it.
He feared that day was coming sooner, rather than later.
The doors opened, and Indraat Vray hurried to his side, dropping to a knee beside his chair. “Hierarch, I apologize—”
“Quiet, Niece. There’s nothing to apologize for. We followed the marshal’s strategy, and we reaped the rewards of that choice. How many did we lose?”
