Badger

by Kindal Debenham

  “Yes sir. Launching missiles.” The destroyer fired all three missiles as Feist came around for another run. Jacob tapped the console to open another channel to Commander Kenning as the projectiles came in.

  “Commander Kenning, concentrate your run on the lower portion of the cruiser. We want to pull their attention low while the missiles come in.” He looked over at Al-shira. “Commander Al-shira, likewise. We want to give the others the chance to sucker punch this guy.”

  She smiled. “I think I can manage. Helm, open up a little distance and then target their bridge. Let’s give their captain something to think about.”

  As Wolfhound fell back, Feist swooped under the cruiser, plasma lances firing. The beams cut through the armor on the cruiser’s underside, leaving the cerrafiber plates there a tangled, gaping mess. Wolfhound’s guns opened fire a moment later, bombarding the battered enemy ship’s armor further, even as the Richard fired on the ship from the other side. Yet before the shells from the cruiser arrived, the missiles from Setter slammed home. Jacob barely restrained a whoop of joy when the blasts broke the back of the enemy ship, snapping its slender hull like a twig.

  A thrill of victory coursed through Jacob, and then there was a sudden flash on his tactical screen. He looked down and stared in horror at the sensor readings coming from the main battle line. All four Celostian dreadnaughts were struggling forward into a hailstorm of railgun and missile fire while their escorts frantically tried to fend off swarms of Oduran light craft. The entire Celostian line resembled a punch drunk boxer trying desperately to stay standing.

  Yet those ships looked far better than Badger. The flagship had placed itself directly behind the main battle line where the stronger hulls and armor of the dreadnaughts could give it shelter. Nivrosky’s planning had not kept the ship safe from the enemy vanguard, however. Faced by twice their number, the Celostian ships in the van had been nearly overwhelmed. While the remnant struggled to engage a portion of the Oduran ships, the rest of the Oduran vanguard had swept down on the flagship with terrible strength.

  The flat wafer of the Celostian flagship had taken several dozen hits, and fires burned in several parts of the hull where atmosphere had ignited. Badger continued to shoot forward along the course it had set, but the DE sails were out, and if they did not come online soon the rest of the line would leave the ship behind. The Oduran craft swung out after their firing passes, bleeding off their momentum. It would not be long before they came back around to finish the brutally wounded flagship off.

  Lieutenant Samuels at the communication station jerked and looked up. He looked over to Jacob, his face pale. “Signal from the Seat. Admiral Lien is now in command. The High Admiral is unreachable.” Silence spread across the bridge in the wake of the news. Jacob shook his head and set aside his fears for Alan Nivrosky’s life. He forced himself to ask the next question.

  “Do we have new orders, Lieutenant?”

  The Communications officer shook his head in mute terror, and Jacob felt a dread settle into him. Memories of the simulation room crept up on him, bringing a twist of doom. Without the flagship, confusion would spread through the ranks. If Admiral Lien did not rally the Celostian ships soon, things could deteriorate into a rout, and the fact that she was too distracted to notice the advantage his ships represented didn’t bode well. There had to be something he could do to reverse the momentum of the fight.

  Then his gaze fell on the enemy flagship, and he felt filled with determination. He activated his communications for the squadron and spoke in what he hoped was a steady voice.

  “Captain Hull to Squadron 43. Form up on Wolfhound and prepare for another attack run. We are going to hit the enemy dreadnaught at the rear of the Oduran formation. They’ve hit our flagship; now it’s time to hit back. Please confirm my orders and set courses appropriately. Captain Hull out.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Commander Kenning responded almost immediately. “Captain Hull, you’re taking us into engagement range with a dreadnaught. We’ll be destroyed as soon as we open fire.”

  Al-shira touched a control on her own station and answered before Jacob could. “Not if we do it right, Commander. Wolfhound’s course is set.” She met Jacob’s eyes across the bridge and nodded. He returned the nod and hoped she could see the gratitude he couldn’t speak.

  Flint was the next to speak. His voice carried none of the challenge Kenning’s had, and Jacob felt relief fill him. “Setter is with you. I assume you think that one is the enemy flagship?”

  Jacob nodded before he could stop himself. “We think that ship has the Reverend on it, Commander Flint. If we can hit their flagship hard enough, we might be able to break up their battle line. Units from the front might actually try to pull back to stop us.”

  Leon spoke next. “Which might give the rest of the fleet a fighting chance. It might even save my…the flagship.”

  The words sounded cold. Jacob sat back as he realized what the loss of the flagship would have meant for Leon personally. A bolt of shame writhed through his guts. If the High Admiral had not made it to an escape pod in time...

  Jacob had opened his mouth again, unsure of what to say, when Leon’s voice returned. The words were firm and disciplined again. “Beagle copies, Captain Hull. Assign us our targets.”

  “This is insane!” Commander Kenning’s voice was on the edge of laughter. “If we close with that ship there won’t be enough pieces for the rest of the fleet to figure out what happened to us.”

  “And if we don’t, Commander Kenning, then there won’t be a fleet to pick up after us when the battle is over.” Jacob winced when another cruiser exploded, this time one that had been guarding a dreadnaught’s flank. “We have no other option.” He paused, wanting to berate his reluctant commander, but he forced himself to focus on the tactics instead of his disappointment. “There are enemy ships acting as escorts for the target. Wolfhound and Beagle will hit the two frigates closest to the rear on our way past. Setter, target the frigate on the port side, and then take out the flagship’s DE sails. Feist, destroy the frigate to starboard and once we’re past the escorts, try to rip out the dreadnaught’s starboard weapons with your lances. Once those are down we can put more holes in the bastard. Do not acquire targets until the last possible moment; we need to take these ships by surprise. Captain Hull, out.”

  As one, all four destroyers climbed up into the wake of the Oduran flagship. Jacob felt as if he could hear the DE sails on Wolfhound straining as they accelerated, but he knew it was an illusion. The pressure that pushed him back in his seat, and the tension that dominated the bridge were real, however, and he felt it thicken as the ships drew near their target.

  The rest of the chasing element had not followed suit. Richard turned back to join the main battle line; Captain Carson obviously hoped his battered cruiser might make a difference for the rest of the main force. The frigates and corvettes had chosen a different route, splitting off to chase after the ships assaulting the Badger. Jacob hoped their greater acceleration might mean they would come to the crippled flagship’s rescue.

  More reports were coming in of casualties and losses as the battle continued to rage. It was hard not to hear the fear and uncertainty in the voices of the people using the communications network. Seat’s communications had gone down under the beating, taking Admiral Lien out of contact. The next in command, Admiral Billings of the Sword, had been killed by a direct hit on the dreadnaught’s bridge. A signal went out from Rifle when Admiral Ochoa took command, and Jacob wondered how long her ship would last under the unrelenting Oduran assault.

  The escorts had virtually no warning. They had been sitting placidly at the rear of the battle, and Jacob imagined they had directed their attention at the struggle between the main battle lines. That decision would prove their undoing, as none of those ships had even begun evasive maneuvers when they fell into engagement range.

  Wolfhound’s gun decks opened fire first, followed shortly by the guns
on Beagle and Feist. As the shells sped toward their targets, Setter launched projectiles, sending two torpedoes toward its chosen target and three missiles toward dreadnaught. Feist, by comparison, was wavering back and forth between courses, as if Commander Kenning couldn’t decide which would offer the better—and perhaps safer—attack.

  Kenning still had not made up his mind by the time the shells hit. Heavy railgun shots tore into one of the frigates, and a half a heartbeat later the ship next to it was hit by the shots thrown out by Beagle’s high-speed railguns. Explosions tore both craft apart. The flanking craft fared little better; neither managed to do more than accelerate before the projectiles Setter and Feist had launched tore through their defenses and set them adrift as burning wrecks.

  Those blows paled beside the carnage that followed. Setter’s missiles wove through frantic beams of plasma and ignored the last minute decoy flares that shot out from the dreadnaught’s underside. Two of the three missiles made it through; they were more than enough to turn the DE sails of the dreadnaught into a tangled ruin. Crippled, the dreadnaught continued to drift forward, unable to maneuver.

  Jacob let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and watched the dreadnaught attempt to fire on its more agile opponents. Beagle and Wolfhound had shot past the dreadnaught for the relative safety ahead of the enemy flagship. Despite the enemy’s formidable armament, their guns were placed to fire to the sides or at targets directly above or below the behemoth, not ahead of her. Setter stayed safely to the dreadnaught’s stern, protected by the carnage of Flint’s first missile volley, as well as the dreadnaught’s similar weakness to attacks from behind. His squadron had a chance to survive.

  Then Jacob cursed when he realized where Feist was now positioned. Kenning had chosen to twist and dive away from the dreadnaught at a sharp angle, likely hoping he could accomplish his objective and then avoid any further engagement with the enemy flagship. The rearmost gun mounts had been mauled by Feist’s lances, but as the flagship slowed, its other banks of railguns along the starboard side twisted around to come to bear on Feist’s retreating form. A storm of railgun shells sped after the destroyer, closing rapidly in spite of the Feist’s speed.

  As Wolfhound and Beagle turned to face the dreadnaught’s bow, Jacob tore his gaze away to look at the rest of the battle. What he saw horrified him. Rifle was little more than a wreck, which meant Admiral Ochoa was now either dead or unable to command. Admiral Warner on the Star should have taken command after him, but Star was on fire and drifting clear of the battle line. The movements of the Celostian ships were confused, and the Odurans continued to hammer more cruisers apart as he watched.

  Jacob shook himself and jerked his gaze back to his own struggle. “Al-shira, bring us around to strafe the starboard batteries. Take out their railguns. We have to get them off the Feist!”

  As Jacob’s own ship twisted around to dive at the dreadnaught, both Beagle and Wolfhound opened fire again. This time their gunners targeted the railgun mounts of the dreadnaught’s main batteries. Defense turrets picked off half the shots, and the thick armor of the dreadnaught shrugged off all but a few more, but at least a handful of railgun mounts exploded under their fire.

  The fire directed at Feist lessened, but it was too little too late. Railgun shells pierced the defenses despite all Laurie could do and riddled the destroyer’s DE sails with explosions. By the time Feist had staggered free of the bombardment, her sail rigs were little more than twisted wreckage. Feist’s entire aft was ablaze with secondary explosions, and it continued along the course Kenning had set for it. Jacob could only hope the destroyer would manage to continue away from the rest of the engagement, because it would have no chance to maneuver or avoid any other shots directed toward it.

  Then again, neither would the Oduran flagship anytime soon. Without their DE sails, the enemy flagship was unable to keep up with the main battle line. The other Oduran dreadnaughts started to slow in order to continue defending the crippled ship, but that wasn’t going to help the flagship escape. Jacob spared a glance for the rest of the fleet, and discovered he hadn’t just slowed their line. First frigates and corvettes, then cruisers and destroyers began to pull back and head for their beleaguered flagship. Some of the dreadnaughts even started to turn back toward the flagship, sending their formation into disarray.

  The Celostian ships did not waste the opportunity their foes had given them, and opened fire on the Odurans. Railgun fire tore through the lighter units of the like a scythe through wheat. DE sails were blown apart, bridges were cratered and chaos spread across the Oduran lines. What had once been an organized effort to relieve the flagship was starting to become a rout as the Navy took its revenge.

  The Odurans paused, caught between the orders Gates had to be sending to save him and their own sense of self-preservation. Their hesitation must have been terrifying for the crew of the flagship. As if sensing their vulnerability, the gun crews unleashed another frantic barrage at Jacob’s remaining ships as the crippled dreadnaught continued to drift forward, unable to maneuver. Missiles belched from the launchers along the dreadnaught’s sides, which were quickly targeted and neutralized by flechettes from the squadron.

  An explosion rocked the Wolfhound when a shell made it through the point defense, then another. Jacob gripped the armrests of his chair as the bridge rocked under the bombardment. “All ships, continue firing! We need to cripple the guns at the very least, keep them from tearing Feist apart!”

  Beagle responded almost immediately. Jacob’s eyes grew wide as red splotches began to mark heat damage on the gun banks. Isaac was pushing his railguns too hard, and they were running the risk of melting completely, but Jacob could hardly argue with the result. More shots tore at the gun banks of the dreadnaught, and more of the enemy warship’s guns fell silent. Wolfhound’s shots reached the dreadnaught a moment later, pounding at the armor on the enemy’s stern. Explosions tore at the armor, ruining more of the plates protecting the flagship’s hull. Setter sent missiles and torpedoes screaming in as well, putting holes in the dreadnaught’s thick armor and wiping away railguns, missile launchers, and point defense turrets.

  Another hit shook Wolfhound, and Jacob looked down to find damage spreading across the ventral decks. He glanced at Al-shira. She caught his eyes and nodded. “We can keep it up sir, but I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to get lucky.”

  He nodded and returned his attention to the displays. Beagle’s guns were near meltdown, and Setter was starting to take more than her fair share of fire as the Odurans focused on the source of the squadron’s missiles. Some cold, calculating part of Jacob’s mind catalogued the damage and was satisfied at the proof of the benefits of his armor modifications.

  The rest reeled a moment later when a report scrawled across his display. An agonized groan tore from his throat as he shifted his display to where the Feist was drifting. Or rather, to where it had been drifting. Unable to target the other destroyers around them easily, the crew of the dreadnaught had decided to use at least some of them to kill the destroyer below them. Railgun fire from the dreadnaughts gun decks had targeted at Feist in a nearly unending stream of shells. Jacob watched, helpless, as hit after hit rocked the destroyer, until finally, he heard Commander Kenning’s voice over the squadron frequency. “This is the Feist! We are abandoning ship! Repeat, we are abandoning ship!”

  Lifeboats sprayed from the destroyer, but railguns continued to pour in. Streams of plasma picked some off, and the remaining armor stopped a few more, but the rest plowed through Feist’s hull. In horror, Jacob realized Laurie had to still be at her controls, protecting the ship, and there would be no way she could get off the Feist in time.

  His realization was proven horribly true a moment later when Feist’s reactor sprayed a fountain of plasma up through the dorsal decks of the destroyer. All visible signs of power, from running lights to plasma turrets, died immediately. More railgun shots broke the destroyer’s back, and the ent
ire ship was quickly reduced to a shattered corpse—along with whoever had remained aboard her.

  Jacob, half-blinded by tears, brought his fist down on the armrest. The bridge, in spite of the hits that still shook the ship, was deathly silent. Jacob blinked his eyes to clear them and then spoke. “Commander, change course to cross over their topside. I want to hit their bridge if we can.”

  “Yes, sir.” Al-shira’s quiet response returned some noise to the bridge, but it was only a quiet murmur compared to the sounds that had preceded Feist’s death. The Beagle’s railguns had fallen silent as well, unable to continue firing after Isaac had run them to the limit. Jacob could picture his friend, helpless and grieving as he waited for the guns to cool, and a fresh stab of pain went through him. He locked his eyes on the image of the flagship as it drew closer, and punched the button to transmit.

  “Squadron, Wolfhound will approach the dreadnaught and strafe her bridge. I want Beagle to join Setter behind the enemy ship until her guns are ready to fire. Setter, stay by Beagle and prepare another missile salvo for the enemy flagship.”

  The other ship captains complied, settling their ships into position with ease while Wolfhound made a broad turn to dive at the dreadnaught again. The Odurans continued to fire on the others with their rear batteries, but the two destroyers were making themselves difficult targets. Meanwhile, the rest of the turrets were slowly turning to point in Wolfhound’s direction. Jacob had a thin hope he would be able to hit the bridge of the ship hard enough to cause some damage, but he would only get one pass; a second one would get his ship destroyed. The problem was that a single pass had little chance of breaking through their armor, let alone destroying their ship.

  Then an idea occurred to him, and he turned to Al-shira. “Naomi—Commander Al-shira—we’re in range of the other dreadnaughts’ missile launchers, right?”