by TR Cameron
Jannik looked up at the Russian. "Her?"
"Whoever it is you’re thinking of when you feel disloyal for wanting to leave this war, for wanting to leave your ship."
Cross watched, silent, and berated himself for not seeing it on his own.
"A long, long time," Jannik answered with a sigh, and sipped his replacement drink. "Even in my worst moments, I knew I’d eventually find my way there. Now, I have doubts."
"I am-" Cross began, remorse in his tone.
Jannik shut him down with the slam of a palm on the table. "As much as I’d like this to be about your many failings, my boy, I must confess it is not. I'm just tired, I guess."
"A natural feeling," Dima offered.
"Natural, but not helpful," answered the engineer.
"Well, there are two choices before you," Dima said. "Stay, or go. Certainly, whatever mandatory time you needed to serve is completed."
Jannik nodded, an unhappy grimace on his face. "As much as I might like to leave, I just can't do it. I can't leave this undone. The Washington needs me."
Cross shook his head. "You’ve served her well, Jannik, but at the end of the day, she needs all of you, or she needs someone else who can give their all."
Jannik looked up at him, blinking. "So, you've managed to develop some of the steel that Okoye was always trying to inspire. Good work, Commander."
He dropped his gaze to the table again. "I'm not certain, which tells me I still have work here to do."
Cross nodded but continued to stare hard at his friend. "The moment that changes, I want you to get yourself off my ship and make a beeline to that woman, do you hear me, Jannik?"
"Aye, Commander, I hear you."
Dima raised his glass, and the others joined him in a silent toast to life after the war, whatever form it might take.
AN HOUR LATER, the beverage had changed to tea, strong and bracing, and the conversation had switched to strategy.
"The last battle was a decoy," Cross said. "I know it."
"You’re most certainly correct," Dima answered, and Jannik concurred with a nod.
"It seemed like the logical thing to do was to immediately engage us at a new location. Instead, all signs are that they're waiting."
"If so, what might they be waiting for?"
Cross threw up his arms in frustration. "I have no idea. It doesn't make any sense at all."
"It makes sense to someone," Jannik countered. "We just lack the right frame of reference. What could cause them to want to wait for an engagement?"
"Repairs?" asked Cross.
"Certainly," said Dima. "Or repositioning."
"If the first battle was a feint, they would’ve already been in position for the second. I don't think that can be it."
Dima ceded the point with a nod. "There's no way to know for sure, but none of us have said the most frightening option."
Cross nodded. "Reinforcements. Please don't let it be reinforcements."
“Speaking of reinforcements," Jannik said "isn't it beyond time for Kate and her crew to be back?"
"You know it is," Cross replied. "It worries me."
"Just like our Kate to not to follow all the rules, though, don't you think?"
Dima added on to the engineer's comment, saying, "She does seem to have an independent streak, something that most good officers share."
"Yes, it's safe to say Cross has been a very poor influence on her," Jannik added, with a hint of his normal self underneath. "Thank goodness those Marines are around to provide a better example."
Cross coughed on his drink. "Now wait just a damn minute," he began, before being overridden by the combined laughter of the two older men. He sat back, a frown on his face and his arms folded, and completely failed to appear upset.
"She’ll be here, I know she will. If she doesn't return in time for whatever the aliens are up to, I'll never let her hear the end of it."
This time it was Jannik who raised his mug to the center of the table. "To Kate and the Pandora. May the dark roads we travel come together soon."
BACK ABOARD THE WASHINGTON, hours later, Cross tossed the pad he was fiddling with at Jacobs. "The waiting is killing me."
Jacobs nodded. "Why don't you catch a few?" he asked, gesturing at the ready room.
"Not a bad idea. Wake me in an hour and you can take a turn." His XO nodded, and Cross left the bridge. Before he could lie down, the communication officer's voice sounded from the speakers. "Admiral Flynn is requesting to speak to you, Commander."
"On screen in here," he answered, taking a seat before the display. The haggard face of Kate's mother appeared, with what was very clearly a science lab behind her.
"Any news, Cross?"
"None, Admiral."
"None here, either. I’ve used our sensor net, during the moments it’s been free, to scan for signs of her ship. Nothing."
"I'm sure she'll be back with us soon, Admiral."
The admiral laughed. "She's going to get a double-footed ass-kicking from me if she's not," she replied.
Cross burst out in his own laughter at the image. "I’d enjoy seeing that, Admiral."
"To hell with watching. You can join in."
He nodded in agreement. "The waiting is eating us all alive on the Washington," he confessed.
"You need to keep all of your people busy, including yourself, or your brain will make life difficult for you. That's why I'm running experiments and generally making the scientists on board this flagship miserable. Perhaps you should find someone to make miserable as well."
"Good idea, Admiral. Taking care of the crew, I mean. I think we're all miserable enough already."
"Stay in touch, Commander."
"You too, Admiral."
The line dropped, and Cross realized that he’d been remiss in considering the needs of some of his crew members. He breezed through the bridge with a wave at Jacobs and took a lift down to the bottom decks. He found his quarry playing cards.
"Murphy, St. John, may I have a word?"
The two set their hands down and gestured him to the empty chair at the table.
"I'm not sure that there's a role for you in the upcoming battle. It promises to be ship-to-ship. I was wondering if you’d consider disembarking."
Both Marines frowned at him. "Might I ask why?" said St. John.
"It seems as if you’d be safer aboard the base, or aboard the flagship, or aboard any ship that's not as damaged as the Washington."
The two exchanged glances, then Murphy picked up the conversation. "I believe you have a fundamental misunderstanding of what it is to be a Marine, Commander Cross. It’s understandable, since you haven’t had the opportunity to train with us or get out into the field with us."
"Simply put," St. John added, "the Washington is our home now. Its crew are our people. Maybe not as close as the brothers and sisters of the Marines-"
"or Red," Murphy interrupted.
St. John nodded, "or Red, but at least near cousins. We would no more think of abandoning them, than you would."
"Besides," Murphy said with a grin, "you just never know when having a gorgeous ground pounder with a giant weapon around might be useful."
"Why thank you, Sinner."
She gave him a wicked frown. "I wasn’t referring to you, Saint."
Cross couldn't help but smile. Upon reflection, he imagined that this was probably the exact outcome he was hoping for.
"Thank you, Gunnery Sergeants."
"No problem, Commander. Now either join us in the game, or get the hell out of here. Saint needs a beat down," Murphy growled. For a moment, Cross wanted to stay, but his tired brain convinced him to rest instead.
LESS THAN TWO HOURS LATER, the Washington erupted with klaxons that ripped him out of a deep sleep. The Xroeshyn had arrived.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
"Report," snapped Captain First Rank Dima Petryaev as the Beijing accelerated toward the enemy forces that had just appeared in the sector.
&n
bsp; "Computer counts one hundred and twenty-eight alien ships, Captain. They’re dividing into battle groups."
Dima had woken an hour before, the itch at the base of his brain that he’d long ago learned to trust a forewarning him that events were about to catapult into motion. Two cups of tea later, he was energized to battle the aliens.
"Wing Commander, launch our fighters. Communication, inform the squadron to engage pattern Omega." The AAN had several preset battle arrangements, and Omega balanced offensive boldness and caution in measures that appealed to him.
"What are we facing?"
"We have the usual assortment of enemies, plus some unidentified ones. Computer has identified sixteen ramming ships, four carriers that are launching fighters, and four ships of an unknown configuration, there at the back."
Dima focused on the rear of the sector, finding the tags for the command vessels and the mystery ships, which were almost twice as large.
"Keep an eye on those, sensors. Let me know when we have additional information."
"Aye, Captain," replied Junior Lieutenant Evelina Germanova.
"What are they up to?" Dima asked next.
"They appear to be focusing on the starbase, Captain." He confirmed that with a glance at the screen, which showed a line of enemy ships heading toward it, including a new arrival into the sector. A big new arrival.
"The floating fortress," Dima said. "They’re taking this battle quite seriously."
"They are indeed," replied his executive officer, Senior Lieutenant Zuan Tai. "Perhaps we should give them an indication that we take it seriously as well?"
"An excellent idea, Zuan."
On screen, a glittering array of tiny white pixels erupted from numerous enemy ships.
"Communication, channel to the admirals please."
"Go, Captain."
"Sector command, this is Captain First Rank Dima Petryaev of the Beijing. The enemy has deployed tunnel defeaters and appears to be moving on the starbase. We’ve identified four unknown ships in the back with the enemy commanders."
"Affirmative, Beijing. We concur with your assessment. All ships will be ordered to deploy tunnel preservers."
Dima killed the channel and turned to his tactical officer. "What are the numbers?"
"They outnumber us, roughly four of them for every three human ships."
He shook his head. "We always seem to be fighting at a disadvantage in this war."
"Fortunately, we have the skills and the willpower to persevere and emerge victorious, Captain," replied his exec.
"Fortunately," he said with a smile. "Let's begin."
He settled back in his chair and sat tall, stretching his neck to loosen it. "Wing Commander, all fighters to assist with starbase defense. They can focus on shooting down projectiles from the floating fortress."
"Aye, Captain."
He flicked the switch that would connect him to only his squadron. "Comrades, it’s time to teach these barbarians a lesson." He tapped a cluster of enemy ships, comprised of six cruisers and a duo of ramming ships. "These are our targets. We’ll attempt to use speed and distance to mitigate the power of the rammers."
His helm officer took the lead, knowing her captain's preferences. They raced at the enemy, then turned at an angle to keep them at max range. When all were in position, Dima gave the order to fire. Eight ships' worth of broadsides erupted as one, energy weapons reaching out to carve into the enemy cruisers and torpedoes taking multiple paths toward the enemy ships. Decades of coordinated attacks had taught the Alliance many useful skills, and the torpedo strategy was one of them. As the missiles drilled in, they struck a single alien ship in a staccato sequence that drained its shields, penetrated its hull, and rendered it into its component atoms.
The Xroeshyn turned to engage, but its energy blasts were easily absorbed by the human ships' shields, and its torpedoes were intercepted by coordinated countermeasures. The Alliance ships duplicated their maneuver, again establishing themselves at max range and again coordinating their attack on a single enemy cruiser. After they repeated the strategy successfully a third time, the alien ships broke away and the five remaining vessels made a line toward a cluster of damaged ships that had grouped together for mutual protection.
"Find us a new target," Dima said to his tactical officer.
Germanova interrupted his next command, "The mystery ships have launched torpedoes, Captain."
Dima's eyes widened as he looked up at the screen. Each ship had fired over one hundred projectiles, and they were all heading toward the Alliance flagship.
"Wing Commander, divert our fighters to take out those torpedoes." The man spoke into his headset urgently, and Dima watched his fighters, and those of the other carriers in the sector, abandon the starbase and rocket to the defense of the imperiled vessel.
It was a race, and he sat glued to the display, confident that his officers were keeping the Beijing out of danger while he assessed the larger situation. The fighters arrived in time to intercept a majority of the inbound torpedoes with their own weapons. He exhaled as the ones that got through failed to penetrate his admirals' ship.
"Beginning recovery and rearming rotation," reported the wing commander. Dima growled at how long that would take, especially with the damaged hangar, but didn’t countermand the order. Fighters without munitions weren’t worth much to anyone.
Explosions wreathed the starbase and jerked his attention back to that portion of the screen. While the fighters had been distracted, the floating fortress had launched a series of assaults and overpowered the base's shields. Energy blasts carved into its lower half, and nearby ships scrambled to interpose themselves.
"Beijing to St. Petersburg," Dima said after hitting the switch to connect him to the flagship
"Go, Beijing."
"Admiral, we’re near a breaking point, based on our analysis." He looked up, and his tactical officer, also on the channel, gave him a nod. "Recommend reinforcements immediately."
"They’re already on the way, Captain. We must hold out until they arrive."
"Affirmative," Dima replied, and killed the connection. "Let’s assist the base, then."
The Beijing and his squadron heeled onto a new course and began a defensive rotation around the damaged portion of the starbase. As each ship's shields were depleted, it would rotate out and another would take its place. In between, they used their energy weapons to destroy inbound torpedoes and their own missiles to test the defenses of the already-damaged floating fortress. Unfortunately, those were still impenetrable. He wasn’t sure what the answer to that behemoth was, but clearly humanity didn’t possess it, yet.
"Status?" he asked.
"Losses are mounting, Captain. However, new ships are entering the fray." Dima looked up, and saw those ships that had been in the repair facilities on the opposite side of the sector had finally reached the battle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Washington was welcomed to the battle with a blizzard of energy weapons smashing all over her. "Evasive," snapped Cross, and she dipped and dodged to avoid additional fire.
"The enemy appears to be after the base, Commander," said Matthews from tactical. "The majority of their vessels are taking shots at it, but they appear to be the appetizer. The main course is on its way in."
"Are you saying that the bloody floating fortress is a snack?" Cross asked.
Instead of answering, the tactical officer highlighted a set of six ships on the display that were clearly on approach to the starbase. Cross's eyes narrowed as he assessed the group, and identified four rammers in a defensive perimeter around two carriers. An array of smaller fighters darted to and fro near the cluster, harassing any ships that attempted to get in the way.
"That does look dangerous, especially with most of the defenses paying attention to the fortress. Let's see if we can do some damage."
The Washington sped in and launched its port broadside, then spun to bring its other weapons to bear. Its full o
ffensive capability raced out at one of the ramming ships, only to be completely absorbed by its shields or eliminated by its countermeasures.
"Dammit," Cross breathed. The lack of starboard armaments put a definite crimp in the Washington's ability to project force. "Try again, but aim at a carrier."
His officers obeyed, and the result wasn’t much better. Some of the torpedoes destroyed part of the Xroeshyn fighter screen, but the protective swarm wasn’t significantly reduced.
"All right, let's find something our own size to pick on."
As the Washington reoriented toward a pair of enemies that appeared to be damaged and slinking away from the starbase, Admiral Okoye's voice sounded across the channel. "Cross, given that your ship isn’t at full power, I'm grouping you into a double squadron." On the display, fifteen other ships changed color, glowing a soft blue that was mirrored by the icon for the Washington. "You're in command, Cross. Go do some good."
He blinked in surprise, and managed to murmur, "Aye, Admiral," just before the connection dropped.
He sat up in his chair and said, "Okay, then. Fitzpatrick, squadron communication on channel three, please. Helm, tactical, weapons, coordinate with your counterparts and make sure we have established communication and computer links." He looked up the screen.
"I'd say the biggest threat is that cluster attacking the starbase. Jacobs, opinion?"
His executive officer replied immediately, "Agreed."
"Set up a strafing run on the top blocker. Ships to move in pairs and maintain a continuous barrage. As we go by, circle around the starbase for protection from their counterpunch."
He watched in the real-time window as his squadron formed up and raced to the attack. The Washington was in the middle of the pack, adding what damage she could but mainly serving as an organizer.
"Enemy shields are weakening, Commander," Matthews reported. At that moment, the alien commanders must have realized the same thing, because the blockers rotated to shift an unweakened barrier into the primary defensive position.
