Blood on the Stars Collection 1

by Jay Allan

  “Let’s kick in our turbos…but be careful. Stay under ten kilometers per second. We’ve got to be able to come around on these guys quickly.” His makeshift squadron could take out the bombers, but they’d never get them all in one pass. And if they whipped by at too high a velocity, they’d never make it back in time to prevent the survivors from launching against the battleships.

  Jamison pulled back on his throttle, feeling the force of acceleration press against him. He reminded himself to direct his tiny wing with a light hand. These were squadron leaders and deadly aces he was leading, not rookies. They knew the mission, and they knew what was at stake.

  He watched on the scanner as the distance closed, and then he released the throttle, reducing his thrust to zero. His hand moved halfway back to the control, a vestigial impulse to launch the missiles he didn’t have. A few seconds later he saw small trails on his screen as Intrepid’s birds launched their weapons.

  The bombers were on a direct line toward Dauntless, and their attempts at evasive maneuvers were clumsy, ineffective. One by one he saw missiles find their targets. By the time it was over, Intrepid’s birds had launched twelve missiles, and scored nine kills. That was almost half of the enemy strike force. But it left ten bombers rapidly approaching.

  Jamison checked the ranges. The incoming strike craft were accelerating, doing everything they could to get into launch range before the interceptors could open up with their lasers. Jamison angled his fighter and fired. He was too far out, he knew, but they were rapidly running out of time, and he had to take any chance he could. He could see on the display that several of the others had followed his lead, firing their lasers from extreme range. They all missed too…no, not all. Timmons scored a hit. The power of his lasers was greatly reduced from the distance, and the bomber wasn’t destroyed. But Jamison could see that the ship’s thrust had declined considerably. So, now there were nine fully-functional bombers and one damaged one.

  He picked out another target, a bomber at the front of the approaching formation. He gripped the throttle tightly, resisting the urge to accelerate. He was already moving at too high a velocity to manage a quick turnaround—the last thing he needed was more speed.

  He stared at his screen, his eyes fixed on the bomber he’d chosen. He was still at long range, but he fired again anyway. His shots came closer this time, and he kept at it, one blast after another. For once, fuel and power weren’t precious commodities. The fight was taking place close to Dauntless, and whatever happened, it wouldn’t last long. He could fire at will, without concern for draining his resources.

  He fired again. Then he adjusted his vector slightly and took another series of shots. A hit! He watched as the tiny icon blinked out of existence. Another one down.

  He looked back at the wide area display. His comrades had taken out four ships overall. No, five…Timmons had finished off his crippled opponent. By then his makeshift squadron had zipped past their targets. He reached down, fired his positioning jets, spinning his ship around. He shot again, blasting from behind at the surviving enemy bombers, even as he decelerated hard. A miss. Then an icon blinked out, another bomber, the handiwork of one of his comrades. Then another.

  Three left.

  The mission had been a success by any measure, but three bombers were still a danger to Dauntless. Jamison knew there was a limit to how many times Fritz and her engineers could patch the wounded ship back together. And if the enemy battleship got close enough to unload…

  He pulled back hard on the throttle, squeezing every bit of thrust he could from his engines. The g forces hit him hard, and he struggled to stay alert, even to stay conscious. He had no choice…and he could see several of his pilots were doing the same thing.

  The heavy thrust quickly overcame his previous vector and velocity, but he was still far behind the bombers, and he kept his iron grip on the throttle. He wanted to scream at the pain, but he couldn’t suck enough air in his tortured lungs to do it. He was lightheaded, and he could feel the darkness trying to take him, but he resisted with everything he had.

  His head was pressed back against his chair, but he could still see—barely—the screen. He was closing now, his velocity building rapidly. He would get one chance…then he would zip past his target again. But there was no choice. If he didn’t maintain the acceleration, he’d never get there in time.

  He waited as the bomber got bigger on the screen, the range counting down. He had a long-range shot even now, but he held off. He’d have to cut the acceleration to fire, at least if he wanted any chance of hitting.

  Then, a few seconds later, he released the throttle, feeling the tremendous force vanish instantly, replaced by the relief of freefall. He shook his head, struggling to restore his clarity, even as his finger moved to the firing button.

  He stared at the screen, blinking several times, trying to will away the effects of the heavy g forces. His vision improved, slowly, but there were still spots floating in front of his eyes. He tried to ignore it, to focus on the shot. Had adjusted his aim…then again. And he fired.

  A hit!

  He watched the icon blink off his screen, and almost immediately after, Timmons took out another one. That left a single bomber, heading right at Dauntless. He watched as the tiny ship launched its torpedo…and then in horror as it kicked in its own thrust at full power, heading directly toward the battleship.

  Oh my God…he’s going to ram…

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Bridge

  CFS Dauntless

  Varus System

  308 AC

  “Primaries charged, Captain.”

  “Fire.”

  Barron watched as his big guns shot again. Somehow, Fritz had done it. He didn’t want to think of how much of an overload she’d pushed through Dauntless’s tortured wiring and power systems…or of the variety of cataclysms that might have caused if things had gone differently. But once again, his sorcerer of an engineer had performed the impossible.

  The bridge erupted into wild cheers. The shots had hit, both of them. Solid impacts amidships. And an instant later, Intrepid’s fire repeated the effort.

  Barron waited for the damage assessments, but even before they came in, he could see from the raw data that the enemy ship was hurt. She was bleeding air, and spewing frozen fluids into the frigid blackness of space. Her thrust had dropped, not fifty percent, not seventy percent…but completely. That wasn’t absolute proof that her engines were offline, but, in the situation, it was close.

  “Fritzie, I love you. Now do it again, one more time and we’re there!” He’d slapped his hand down on the comm unit, connecting to his engineer’s line.

  “I’ll try, sir…but I’m frying kilometers of new line that we laid. This is going to set us back days on getting some real repairs done.”

  “Now is all I’m worried about, Fritzie. We’ll think about what comes next when we get through this.”

  He closed the line, and turned toward the display. He’d intended to review the updated damage reports from the enemy ship, but then his eyes focused on a small dot. A single torpedo, heading straight for Dauntless. And behind it, a lone bomber. Accelerating.

  He’s already launched his torpedo…why is he still accel…

  “Engine room,” he shouted as he flipped the comm unit back on, “I need thrust now, forward…whatever you can give…”

  But it was too late. The torpedo slammed home. Dauntless shook hard, and Barron knew immediately the hit had drawn his ship’s blood. And the bomber was heading in on the same course as its warhead.

  “Get me thrust…”

  “Engines are offline, Captain. We lost the primaries too.” Travis’s hands were moving over her board so quickly, they were almost a blur. She rattled off another series of damage reports from the torpedo impact. Internal explosions, fires…casualties.

  But Baron wasn’t listening. His eyes were glued to the approaching fighter. He watched as it came closer…and then he saw as on
e of his defensive turrets scored a hit.

  He felt relief…for an instant. His people had gotten the incoming ship. But then he realized the shot had come late. The bomber was destroyed, but in its death struggle, it showered Dauntless with debris, hundreds of chunks of metal and other components, slamming into the hull of his ship at tremendous velocity.

  He heard alarms in the distance, and the bridge lights flickered again. His display erupted with reports. Power outages, systems down, crew members trapped in cut off sections…and then every screen on the bridge went dark.

  He knew one thing, and he didn’t need workstations or the comm to confirm it. His ship was in trouble.

  * * *

  “My God…did that bomber ram Dauntless?” Eaton stared at her screen, a look of cold horror on her face.

  “It appears Dauntless’s defensive batteries were able to destroy the bomber before it impacted…but she was showered with debris from the blast.” Nordstrom paused, reading the reports as they came in. “We’re still getting power readouts, Captain, but it looks like her weapons and engines are offline.”

  Eaton felt the urge to comm Barron, to rush to her companion’s aid. But that wasn’t her job, not now. Dauntless’s damage left her solely responsible for dealing with the enemy battleship, and that was just what she was going to do.

  “Maintain fire, Commander. That ship is ours to deal with now.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Eaton stared at the display. The Union battleship was hurt, she was sure of that. But she didn’t know how badly. The lights flickered as her primaries fired again. Another hit. The enemy’s engines were still shut down, but its heading was directly toward Dauntless, and it was about to enter secondary range.

  If they open up on Dauntless in the condition she’s in now…

  “One more shot with the primaries, Commander. Then I want all secondary batteries ready to open fire.” As powerful as her main guns were, Eaton knew right now she could probably do more damage to the wounded vessel with a full broadside.

  “Yes, Captain.” A few seconds later: “Captain, I have Commander Jamison on the comm.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Captain…I can’t get through to Dauntless. I’m going to lead the fighters on a strafing run on that battleship.”

  “You’ve done enough, Commander.”

  “If we’d done enough, Dauntless’s comm wouldn’t be down. She wouldn’t be bleeding air.”

  Eaton hadn’t initially heard the guilt in the pilot’s voice, but now it was coming through loud and clear. “Commander, your force did an outstanding job. It’s not your fault Dauntless was hit.” But even as she spoke, she knew it was pointless. She didn’t know Dauntless’s strike force commander well, but she thought she understood the man, mostly because he seemed very much like her. And she knew no one’s words would salve her guilt if she’d been in his shoes, regardless of how unfair it was.

  “I’m the one who let that fighter through…but we’re going to do what we can to help take that ship down before it does any more damage.”

  Eaton realized he wasn’t asking for permission. He was just letting her know. She had the authority to order him to return, to land on Intrepid, but she suspected he’d only disobey…and that most of those pilots out there, the best of two Confederation battleships, would follow him. Mastering the art of command was sometimes about knowing when not to give an order.

  “Good luck, Commander.” She’d seen pilots throw their lives away in fits of guilt and anger. Jamison didn’t seem like that type, but she’d watched it happen before, more than once with officers where it hadn’t been expected. “Be careful, Commander,” she added. “We need every one of you.”

  “Copy that, Captain.” Jamison cut the line.

  “Captain, Cambria and Astara request permission to advance and engage.” Barron had ordered the two escorts to remain back out of range. They had no place in a duel between giant battleships. But now Dauntless was out of the fight, and the enemy vessel was battered, its diminished fire focusing on Barron’s crippled ship. Anything that finished off that vessel before Dauntless was destroyed was worthwhile.

  “Permission granted, Commander.”

  Eaton turned toward the display, just as the lights dimmed again. Intrepid’s primaries scored another solid hit. She watched the damage reports coming in with growing excitement. Internal explosions, massive hull breaches. She dared to imagine the enemy vessel was near the end, when it dashed her hopes and opened up with half a dozen of its own primaries, the powerful x-ray lasers slamming into Dauntless’s stricken hull.

  “All secondaries at one hundred ten percent power. Fire!”

  She heard the distant buzz of a dozen of Intrepid’s triple turrets opening fire, almost as one. She was taking a risk pushing an overload through her guns. Intrepid was badly battered, and even a millimeter of damaged power line could blow one of the turrets, killing the crew instantly and wrecking systems all around it. But she didn’t know how much more Dauntless could take. She didn’t even know what was happening on Barron’s ship. She was just sure she had to do everything she could to protect her comrade and his crew.

  “Maintain fire. Increase power to one hundred fifteen percent. Keep pounding at that ship.”

  * * *

  Jamison was biting back on the rage. He wasn’t prone to such intense anger, but on some level, he knew if he didn’t focus his hostility on the enemy it would bounce back on himself. He knew his small team of pilots had done an extraordinary job, better than they’d dared to hope when they’d hurriedly launched less than an hour before. But the consequences of letting that single fighter past seemed so devastating, it was all he could do to keep himself from replaying those final moments, looking for any mistake, any chance he’d lost to destroy that bomber.

  “Intrepid and Dauntless blasted the hell out of that ship, and now we’re going to help finish the job. There are hull breaches all over that monster…and I want every one of you to send a laser blast through one of them.”

  “We’re with you, Commander.” It was Timmons again. Jamison was starting to realize he liked the brash, aggressive pilot.

  Jamison adjusted his thrust, bringing his ship on a direct line for the enemy battleship. He was close now, and his screen was lit up with readings.

  Damn…that thing is in bad shape.

  There were plumes of energy flaring out through great rips in the hull, and its sides were scarred where whole turrets and sections had been vaporized. Its engines weren’t offline…they were mangled remnants, blasted apart by at least two direct hits and the internal explosions that had followed. But somehow there were half a dozen laser turrets undamaged, and they were continuing to fire, even as the rest of the ship seemed to be well into its death struggle. And every time those guns opened up, Dauntless took more hits.

  “We’ve got to put this thing down now,” Jamison said grimly. “Pick your spots, and for God’s sake, make it count.”

  He angled his own fighter in, pulling back on the throttle, adjusting his course, heading directly at the battleship looming ahead. He was close, and he was going to get a lot closer. He understood the distances involved in space combat, even at ranges normally considered point blank. But that wasn’t going to do it this time. He was going in, to knife-fighting range.

  He stared straight at his screen, watching as the enemy ship grew, the projection changing from a general oval shape to an actual representation of the vessel. His gaze darted down to the range figures. Three hundred kilometers.

  He kicked in his thrusters again, decelerating, bringing his fighter almost to a stop less than one hundred kilometers from the battleship. His move would normally be suicidal…the defensive turrets that were marginally effective at normal ranges could blow away a ship so close and slow-moving. But he was gambling the vessel’s point defense systems were down. It was a simple bet. If he won, he’d get a devastating shot in, one that could do some real damage, even with
his fighter’s small lasers. And if he was wrong—if he lost—he would die.

  Fifty kilometers.

  He’d never heard of any fighter getting so close to a capital ship, other than a friendly one it was landing on. It went against all doctrine, all training. It wasn’t even supposed to be possible. But here he was. And he was going closer.

  His comm unit was buzzing, but he ignored it. His pilots were trying to reach him, afraid, no doubt that he was planning to repeat the enemy pilot’s suicide run. He couldn’t argue, the idea had briefly passed through his mind. But he wasn’t suicidal, just coldly angry. He had to do this, for himself, for Captain Barron. And nothing was going to stop him.

  Twenty kilometers.

  He could see the enemy ship now. Not on his scanners, not some electronic reconstruction on his screen, but the actual ship itself, just outside his cockpit’s window.

  He backed off on the thrust, slowing his ship further, creeping forward, as the kilometers slowly ticked away. He saw a series of explosions—actually saw them—as another of Intrepid’s salvos smashed into the stricken vessel. And still he went closer.

  The ship was growing now in front of him, and as the seconds passed he could see the gaping wounds, the geysers of fluids pouring out and flash-freezing as soon as they hit space. He could see the flickering light of internal explosions and fires, boring their way through melting sections of hull before dying as they hit the vacuum of space.

  He felt a wave of satisfaction as he watched the enemy ship slowly dying. He’d never been particularly vengeful, but now he imagined the crew of the battleship, consumed by the fires, blown out of giant rents in the hull…to see if cold or the vacuum killed them first.

  His eyes focused on a section of hull directly ahead of him. It was the closest one to the last group of operable guns, the lasers that were still firing at Dauntless. Jamison knew the captain of that ship understood he was going to die. He was targeting Dauntless in the hope of taking one of the Confederation vessels with him. And Kyle Jamison would be damned if he was going to give him the chance.