The Reign: Destiny - The Life Of Travis Rand

by Lance Berry

  There was a sharp beep on Buttlefield’s console. She listened to her own micro-com set in her ear and stared at Travis in amazement. “Those ships have signaled that they’re moving in. Eight more have signaled as well.”

  Travis forced a smile from settling onto his face as he turned to the main viewer. On it, the dreadnought that had filled the screen began to move away, and Travis could see several explosions appearing on the side furthest away from them. A confirming beep rose from Arroyo’s helm. “They’re assailing the dreadnoughts. The two of them are moving away …one’s taking critical–“

  And all at once, the dreadnought on the screen exploded, several of the smaller shards battering against the Horizon’s hull as the cloud of flame and smoke quickly dissipated. Travis nodded and tabbed in more commands to Arroyo’s console as she watched him in unabashed awe. He then reclaimed his seat at the helm, trying not to pay any attention as Doctor Williams and a trauma team of four med techs finally entered the bridge, a folded anti-grav stretcher carried by one of them.

  Ben took a brief glance at the situation: junior officers all in place, a blown auxiliary console, and Mara and David Christenson on the floor. He rushed his team over to their fallen captain and began procedures to see if he could be revived.

  Travis pointed to Arroyo’s console as Buttlefield said, still amazed, “The ships are waiting for your next order.”

  He glanced at Arroyo, who looked at the tactical course he had plotted into her board and then stared at him in stupefaction. He nodded back, trying to seem certain about it. “Rand to all ships,” he said, surprised to himself how steady his voice sounded, “We’re pulling out. All DFCs double-time it back to the Orion and Skender. Cruisers, form up on mark six-three-seven by four-one-two, but don’t keep it tight. Loosen it up, especially at the rear, to make the enemy think we’re retreating in a panic.” This actually wasn’t too far from the truth, but he had to make it sound to the officers listening to him that this was part of a greater plan. It was part of a plan, of course, but Travis still wasn’t sure how great of a plan it might be. As he worked the helm to move the Horizon away from the failed battle site, he said to the ODC, “This is going to take precision timing, from now until the last second. We’re going to hit Jupiter and use the pull of its gravity to slingshot us toward Earth. When we reach the gas giant, that’s the time to form up tight. Stay with the Horizon, do everything –everything–we do, or it’s all over.” He gestured for Arroyo to send the course plot to Buttlefield, who would then send it in an encrypted message to the rest of the fleet.

  On the bridge of the Tycho Brahe, Captain Deina Hashimi leaned close to her own communications officer as he deciphered the encrypted signal, unlocking the course the fleet was to follow once they reached Jupiter. The comm officer’s eyes widened and he looked up at his captain. “This guy’s out of his mind, right?”

  The beige-skinned, beautiful Afghani woman stood upright, a light whistle escaping her lips. “Either that or he’s a genius. Just in case, I think I’ll order a ship-wide prayer before we form up.”

  Travis’ fingers moved across his console with a certainty he had never quite known before. As the Horizon arced up and away from battle and the central viewer fixed on Jupiter, a stillness settled within him…with the exception of David Christenson’s death, Travis knew that somehow, this moment in time felt right. As if this exact instant was the moment toward which his life had been leading. All at once, as Jupiter loomed large before them, he felt that this desperate gamble would work and that they–the fleet, the crew, all of them–would make it to the other side of the gauntlet safely. He heard the beep from Arroyo’s console and he looked over at her. She nodded her assurance. “The enemy fleet is following, just as you thought.”

  Travis turned forward, trying not to think what would happen if the enemy caught up to them before he pulled off his maneuver. Calvorians never followed exactly the same battle strategy twice, but they were creatures of habit in several ways. For instance, they did not like leaving the destruction of an enemy incomplete. With the Earth fleet turning tail, the Calvorians would be enraged that the humans did not seem to have the stomach to finish the fight, and would want to do them in even more, for the sake of battlefield honor. Travis had expected them to follow, had wanted them to–because the Calvorians’ habit could very well prove to be their downfall, if he could pull off what he had in mind.

  He brought the Horizon hard to port and the ship shuddered violently as it pulled into orbit and was snared by the massive planet’s gravity field, the most powerful in the solar system, next to the sun itself. The outer hull, already badly damaged, creaked and groaned in protest, but Travis adjusted the pitch of the ship to smooth it out just enough that it began to sail truer on course–its speed pushed to new levels by the additional rotation of the planet itself.

  “Status of the fleet?” Travis asked Arroyo, who immediately checked her console. “They’re all with us,” she answered, “and the enemy fleet’s following behind, starting to pull into orbit after us.”

  “Well, let’s show ‘em what dogged determination gets a curious cat,” Travis said. “Bridge to engineering.”

  “This is engineering,” Jamie’s voice called out loudly over the ODC. “Bridge, what the hell’s going on up there? These ships aren’t designed for atmospheric entry!”

  “We’re not going into the atmosphere Jamie, we’re just using it,” Travis told her. “And when we come out, we’ll need everything you’ve got for engines and shields.”

  A pause from the ODC. Travis imagined Jamie was doing calculations in her head, her genius intellect racing to figure out what he was doing so close to the planet’s atmosphere, and what his course of action would be when they came out of it. “This had better work,” she said finally, and the ODC shut off.

  Travis looked back at Buttlefield, who waved him off. “I already patched you in,” she said. He nodded. “Rand to all ships. Begin dumping all spare hull plating from ship’s storage now!” He turned and nodded to Donahue, who quickly reconfigured his tactical console to match certain commands on ops. He raced to order in commands to his board, and thousands of tons of spare hull plating and other pieces kept in storage to aid in free space repair of damaged sections on a Cruiser were ejected into space. The pieces swiftly fell behind the Horizon, bouncing off the hulls of its sister ships as they executed the same action, and the space left in the wake of the fleet’s passing was littered with hundreds of thousands of tons of metal.

  The enemy fleet kept in close pursuit however, making minor course corrections and maneuvering just enough to dodge in between the flotsam as they continued purposefully onward, as if to further demonstrate their desire to catch the Terrans and inevitably do away with them.

  Travis nodded to himself, satisfied…he had them right where he needed them. “Rand to fleet: slingshot and arc up seventy degrees–now!”

  Even as he said it, Travis pushed the Horizon forward another eighty thousand kilometers per hour, adjusted the attitude pitch and angled the ship so that it would climb at a sharp curve seventy degrees upward as it reached escape velocity. Jupiter’s curving axis spun by madly on the central view screen, all but becoming a blur as Travis ordered more power from the engines, using them and the combined force of the planet’s rotational pull to push the ship to just under the speed of light. He made his final adjustment to the helm and all at once Jupiter disappeared completely as the ship shot free and upward, away from the planet’s gravity–the stars ahead becoming a blur, just on the edge of not being visible at all as the ship cut short of just going to light speed.

  “Is the fleet still with us?” Travis cried out over the straining scream of the hull and the overpowering vibration of the ship. “They are,” Arroyo yelled back, “and the enemy fleet is just now starting to begin their arc upward!”

  To the enemy vessels following, it appeared as if they were about to catch up to the humans, when suddenly the entire Heavy Cruise
r fleet arced upward at faster than standard escape velocity and jumped to light speed. Yet somehow, they weren’t quite at light speed, it only appeared that way…their sensors could still track their path, and so the Calvorian vessels began to slowly close ranks as they arced upward in pursuit. But as they were about to jump out of the gravity pull, the human fleet reappeared directly above them at a sharp incoming angle! They moved in so fast, there was no time to fire, no time to allocate additional power to shields–only time to move out of the way as fast as possible in order to avoid a collision that would destroy both fleets!

  On the bridge of the Horizon, Travis finally allowed himself a smile as he achieved exactly the effect he was hoping for from the enemy: blind panic. As he had begun to formulate his plan, Travis finally realized the value of his lessons at Sanderson on pre-Earth/Calvorian War history. During the days when humans still fought at sea, submarines under attack would sometimes eject whatever spare objects were available through their launch tubes in an attempt to make a ship bombing them from above think they had destroyed them. Lulled into a false sense of security, the ship above would then be unprepared for the torpedo launched from beneath them, and which would inevitably lead to their destruction. Travis and the ships tagging with him had carried out a variation on that maneuver, dumping the spare parts for their ships as a distraction; making the Calvorians think they were dumping excess weight to allow them to achieve greater speed for escape velocity. The truth was, ejecting such matter lessened the Cruisers’ weights in only the most negligible amount. The real tactic was that the Calvorian fleet broke ranks, moving apart from one another to make their way through and around the debris field so that they could continue their single-minded pursuit. The Heavy Cruisers had actually jumped to light speed once they were a significant distance away, leaving behind a sensor ghost for the Calvorians to track. Thinking they had time to follow, Travis knew the enemy would only close ranks once clearing the debris, in order to pursue in exactly the same manner. But the Earth fleet turned one hundred-eighty degrees on its axis and reapproached at thirty degrees off the same vector, so that on the return trip they would be diving into the heart of the enemy so fast the Calvorians would have no choice but to scatter–leaving their ranks wide open and completely vulnerable.

  Travis nodded in satisfaction as enemy ships dove aside heedlessly, several of them colliding, their hulls smashing and crunching against one another. Some collisions led to severely crippled and helpless ships, some to complete engine overloads and explosions. Moreover, as Travis had hoped, this was a true domino effect–the disaster was fleet-wide, from stem to stern. Now it was time to turn the tide.

  “Horizon to all ships. They’ve been softened up, now let’s lay ‘em out! All squadrons, to the rear and middle– attack!”

  Renewed in purpose, the Heavy Cruisers soared into the midst of the enemy’s rear and center flank, firing with every last weapon they had. The effect was monumental, as the Calvorian light cruisers and standard battlecruisers were overwhelmed in moments, nearly each one fired upon by pairs or trios of Cruisers in concert. As the Horizon, the Aruba and Calypso swept around, heading instead for the lead dreadnoughts, Travis realized that David Christenson’s tactic was sound, it was the order in which he chose to attack that had been flawed: don’t waste time allocating the fleet to take out the dreadnoughts, the most powerful weapons which might easily hold their own. Instead, take out the ships which the UEF Cruisers were equal or superior to, and leave the juggernauts for when the main job was done.

  “What’s our shield status?” Travis yelled over his shoulder at Donahue, who had switched the auxiliary console back over to make it a tactical console once again. “Chief Hughes is as good as her word, sir,” Donahue shouted back. “Shields are back up to eighty percent.”

  “Then let’s use them,” Travis said, and ordered his wing ships to form up. The Horizon and its two twins swung in tight on the lead dreadnought, boxing it in much the same way as the two earlier dreadnoughts had done to the Earth flagship. Now they held position, combining their forward lasers in one bold strike at the dreadnought’s engines. The impossibly huge vessel returned fire angrily, raging against its enemies…but finally its aft shields buckled and the engines blew apart, taking the rear of the ship with it. The flagship and its brethren moved aside as the dreadnought fell away from them, suddenly caught in Jupiter’s unrelenting gravity. It fell further toward the planet, beginning to heat up but buckling and crunching inwards before it could go red hot. It fell into the gas giant’s clouds and disappeared from sight.

  There was no time for rejoicing, as five dreadnoughts began closing in on the Horizon and its wing, firing continually in an attempt to finish off the leader and bring chaos to the Earth forces once more.

  Seemingly from nowhere, the Skender, Tycho Brahe and a host of twelve more ships appeared at their side, unleashing a blinding torrent of energy rammers and antimatter torpedoes. Two of the dreadnoughts fell, destroyed by the onslaught–and the third fled, pulled away as fast as it could, the Avenger and two other ships in pursuit.

  “Message coming in from Captain Hashimi,” Buttlefield announced. Travis waved her on, signaling to put the call through. “Lieutenant- Commander Rand,” the Afghani captain’s voice rang out over the bridge. “If we get out of this alive, I just may have to buy you a drink.”

  Travis smiled; he had seen pictures of Captain Hashimi. “I look forward to making the toast, Captain. Let’s get the work done first, though.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. See you on the other side.”

  As the com shut off, Travis allowed himself a brief look over at the blown auxiliary console. The techs lifted the anti-grav stretcher with David Christenson’s body on it. Ben was holding Mara close, her head leaning against his shoulder as she sobbed openly. There was no rebreather mask placed over the captain’s face, no IV tourniquet wrapped on his arm…and now there was no doubt whatsoever that he was dead. As the procession reached the lift, the bridge shuddered slightly, and Ben held Mara up as she stumbled. He stole a brief glance back at Travis, and nodded slowly. With that, the doctor led Mara into the lift, the doors whisking shut behind them.

  Travis turned back toward the helm, feeling a great sadness threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t afford that now, not with the fleet doing so well; astoundingly, all ships–all captains in the fleet–were looking to him to command them now. He was the one that had managed to rally the fleet, to retrieve a new potential victory from what seemed like absolute defeat. He had to work, to be mindful, for them now…there was no other choice.

  With a conscious shrug, he forced the pain away and centered himself, focusing on the task at hand. “What’s the status of our ships?” he asked Donahue.

  The freckle-faced officer checked his tactical console. “Doing very well. Your tactic managed to set the Calvorians totally off-balance. We’ve managed to take out a third of their fleet.” There was a sharp beep from Donahue’s console and he did a double-take as he checked his readings. He spun around to face Travis fully. “Travis–sir! The dreadnoughts are retreating!”

  “What?” Travis said in astonishment, almost rising from his chair before he forced himself back down. He needed to stay at his helm, just in case. “Show me!”

  Donahue tabbed a panel, changing the angle on the viewscreen. Sure enough, against all expectations, the remaining dreadnoughts were arcing away, heading to out-system, several of the light cruisers following close behind. Buttlefield half-turned in her chair, a look of pure amazement on her face. “Reports are coming in from all over the fleet. The enemy ships are turning tail as fast as they can, all heading back on coordinates to their own space!”

  “We won…” Arroyo said softly, and suddenly she burst into tears. Whether they were of joy, relief or possibly both, Travis didn’t know, but he certainly felt like joining in. He cautiously set the autopilot to hold the ship’s position, then stood and walked to her side, allowing her to lean her he
ad against his stomach as he rubbed her hair gently. He stared out at the viewscreen, where dozens of warp entrances were beginning to open up, the enemy ships soaring into them to make good their escape. Buttlefield informed him that the other Cruiser captains were asking if they should pursue, but Travis denied the request. He wanted to wait a little bit, see if the Calvorians were trying to use a variation on his trick against them, and come roaring back out of hyperspace for a new attack. So they waited a while, the fleet…anxious, ready.

  The attack never came.

  Chapter 36

  Congratulations poured in from all over the fleet. Everyone wanted to know exactly who this young lieutenant-commander was that had saved them. Com-chatter was incessant at first, and all lines to the Horizon were flooded. But then Travis made a brisk announcement about the loss of David Christenson, and the lines fell silent.

  With that out of the way, Travis contacted UEF Command for further instructions. They congratulated him as well, and instructed him to return the fleet to Earth upon hearing of the loss of Captain Christenson. He set the ship on its course, then turned the bridge over to a surprised Lieutenant-Commander Arroyo.

  The sickbay was on deck nine, and all the way down, Travis wondered what David’s loss would mean for the Horizon. Mara would become captain, of course, that much was certain. The thought crossed his mind that he would receive some sort of commendation or medal, perhaps even a promotion, although he didn’t really care. His most recent mentor and friend, David Christenson, was dead…and like Mara, Travis now felt as if his world were about to collapse. He fought back tears, and it was truly an effort…but he knew the commander needed support now. He had to be strong, for his friend’s wife.