The force of the boost slammed him back into his couch, his vision instantly turning gray as the acceleration monitor winked a series of updates, the engines burning hotter than they had ever done before, at a pace that would have made the designers blanch. Through blurry, out-of-focus eyes, he saw the tracks on the sensor monitor, watched as the approaching attack squadron slid behind him, unable or unwilling to push their ships hard enough to keep pace with his never-ending surge. Polaris’ flight swooped past them, unleashing their missiles on the enemy, the Commonwealth formation paying a price for attempting to attack an unarmed vessel.
Before he quite realized it, the alarm rang, and the thrust abruptly died, the shuttle spinning end over end, decelerating now at a more survivable rate as it slowed to dock with Polaris, completing the final course and speed adjustments to bring them alongside.
“We’re through the jamming field,” Schmidt said, struggling to speak under the acceleration. She frowned, then added, “One of the Commonwealth squadron leaders wants to talk to you. Bill Brandt.”
Tapping a control, Kani said, “Bill, I’m not sure we should be speaking...”
“Is what Commodore Curtis said about Joe Kowalski true?”
“McKinnon had him killed. Largely because she didn’t think she could control him. Apparently he had the crazy idea that he’d been elected to represent the point of view of the crew, rather than the senior staff.”
There was a brief pause, and Brandt said, “Hook us in to your tactical network. We’re fighting for the wrong side. I think a lot of others might feel the same way when they realize just what happened. They tried to tell us that Joe was a traitor, that he’d sold us out to the rebellion like you did. I’ll guessing that’s about as big a load of crap.”
“Just about.” Looking at the monitor, he said, “Take vector seven-niner. You should be able to get a nice run on one of the Federation squadrons. I’m not going to ask you to shoot down your own people, but I think the Federation is fair enough game.”
“Will do. Good luck. Out.”
“Not unexpected,” Schmidt said. “Let’s hope enough others on those ships feel the same way. As far as I can see, we make contact with Polaris in thirty seconds, and with the enemy in about six minutes. I’ll barely have time to make it back to Trotsky.”
Turning to her, eyes wide, he asked, “You aren’t sitting this one out on Polaris?”
“Trotsky’s my ship. My place is on her bridge.”
“You’re almost as crazy as I am,” he replied, bringing up the docking computer. “Hang on, people. We’re only going to get a single shot at this.” His hand reached for the thruster controls, playing one against the other as he guided his ship in for a controlled docking. The ship moved in and out of the cross-hairs, Polaris herself hurled around the sky as it began its random walk, his shuttle a gnat attempting to land on the back of a dancing whale. He waited for a few seconds of inactivity, then slammed on the thrusters, the clamps locking into position on their first attempt.
“We’re in, people! Everyone getting off at this stop, get moving now,” he said. “Can you handle it, Commander?”
“You have other plans?”
“If you don’t need me here, then I think I’ve got something else in mind.”
Nodding, she replied, “You run off and play, Win. I’ve got this.”
Tossing his restraints away, he stumbled through the cabin, emerging in the Starcruiser’s long lateral corridor, the airlock slamming shut just as he made it to the deck as the shuttle departed for its second destination.
“Going back to her ship, huh,” Curtis said.
“How’d you guess?”
“That’s exactly what I would have done if I were her. I presume you’re heading for the hangar deck? I’ll call ahead and tell them to get one of the reserve fighters onto standby for immediate launch. Least I can do in the circumstances.” Clasping his hand, he added, “You’re a hell of a fighter, Win. If anything goes wrong, it’s been an honor serving with you.”
“The honor is all mine, sir. Good hunting!”
“And to you.”
Curtis raced off down the corridor, heading for the bridge, Saxon right behind him, and Kani looked after him for a moment, puzzled by his words. Shaking his head, he turned and sprinted towards the hangar deck, eating up the distance as rapidly as he could, the comparatively heavy gravity of the ship weighing him down after his time down on the surface.
As he ran, he ducked around damage control teams dispersing themselves all across the ship, preparing themselves for the impacts that they were about to face. He’d had a good look at the tactical situation during the wild ride from the surface, and none of it looked especially promising. Polaris and Regulus would be facing the brunt of the attack, standing off against five enemy ships of their size. Castro and Trotsky would be able to help to some degree, but their armament was so heavily focused on the defensive that they simply wouldn’t be able to make much of a difference.
Everything would be down to the fighters, and just as Schmidt’s place was on the bridge of her ship, no matter how great a risk she was going to run to get there, his place was at the vanguard of the attack. He’d been commanding Polaris’ fighter wing since they’d rescued her from her asteroid hideout, and if this was going to be the ship’s final battle, he had to be there for the end, or he knew that he’d never forgive himself, would never be able to sleep soundly again.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but must have been less than a minute, he ducked through the doors into the cavernous hangar deck, a single fighter waiting for him, poised in front of the launch tube. One of the deck gang tossed him a flight jacket and helmet, and he snatched them out of the air, quickly sliding them on before climbing into his cockpit, a smile on his face as the canopy descended.
“Requesting launch clearance,” he said, as the locks engaged, waving at the crew chief as he ran the hastiest systems status check of his life.
“Clearance on request, Win,” Rojek said. “Good hunting!”
“Thanks, Felix. Initiating launch, Now.”
He slammed a control, and the kick of the magnetic catapult tossed him clear of the ship once again, his engines firing to drive him into the battle already in progress ahead.
“Here we go again,” he muttered to himself, though he knew he would have it no other way.
Chapter 21
Mike looked up at the viewscreen, watching as Castro’s crew labored to prepare the ship for battle. The enemy formation was only a handful of minutes away, and their fighters were already dueling in the skies ahead of them, the sensor crews hard-pressed to keep track of the increasingly complicated melee. As far as he could tell, for the moment, they were canceling each other out. Which was not good news; if they were going to need every advantage they could get.
The Federation and Commonwealth forces had meshed together quickly, but were still obviously operating as two separate entities. They’d had no time, no opportunity to train together, and Mike could see gaps appearing in their defensive formation, potential holes in their firing solution that he might exploit. He glanced across at Ortiz, who had displaced the Tactical Officer, and he nodded in reply. He’d seen the hole, was already planning a firing solution to take maximum advantage of the opportunity it offered.
Five capital ships against four. Even on paper, this didn’t look good. When two of them were auxiliary ships, it started to look even worse. As he waited for the battle to begin, he idly wondered just when the Commonwealth had decided to betray them, whether it had been brought about by the unexpected collapse of the Federation or whether it had been a darker, longer-term plot. It was almost possible that the Federation had only feigned defeat, perhaps accelerating the inevitable in a desperate attempt to control it.
The gravitational threshold was close on this vector. He could still turn, make a hard burn a
way, gather his fighters and withdraw. The enemy forces wouldn’t stop him. They’d be more than content to let him go, take the time to consolidate their position while he licked his wounds on the frontier. Or he could run further, make for the Halo Worlds and permanent exile, admit that he was defeated.
He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. Too many of his friends had already died for the rebellion. He’d lost his ship, his Canopus. People all across the galaxy were counting on them to pull off a miracle. He just couldn’t work out how he was going to do it. Behind him, Polaris and Regulus were moving closer together, evidently planning to coordinate their firing pattern. They’d be the most powerful single unit in the battle, but if the enemy was able to concentrate their firepower, that wouldn’t make any difference.
That was it. That was the answer. His ships might not be able to do much damage to the enemy ships, but if they could crack their formation in twain, that might give his father’s squadron a chance to do some real damage to the smaller fleet element. A smile on his face, he reached down to the trajectory computer on his right, entering commands into the system, bringing a new course into life on the viewscreen. He turned to Ortiz, who looked up at the projected flight path in disbelief.
“You are the craziest...”
“It’ll work,” he replied. “Contact Trotsky and order them to proceed as instructed. And someone hail Liberty and find out what she’s doing. She’s just been sitting out on the fringes of the system since the fighting began.”
“I’ve been trying constantly, sir,” the communications technician replied. “She’s been ignoring all communications, and has made no movement at all. I’m not even sure if she’s at battle stations.” Frowning, he looked up, and added, “It could have been captured, sir.”
“Or the Caledonians were in on this little conspiracy from the start,” Petrova gloomily added. “We’ll be heading past them in about two minutes, though, and so will the Federation forces.” She looked up at the monitor, and added, “My guess is they’re waiting to see who’s going to win, rather than making a permanent enemy of the victor.”
“Depressingly, I think you might be right,” Mike replied, looking ruefully at the ship as Castro altered course, veering to the left while Trotsky turned to the left. Liberty would have made a huge difference to his planning. But then, so would Hoxha, lost on a fool’s errand to Mars in a bid to convince the conspirators he hadn’t uncovered their plan. A move that had helped them not at all.
Still, in the long-term, it might yet rebound to their benefit. If they lost the battle here, one ship would remain to continue the fight, to perhaps find some way to snatch victory from defeat. And there was another possibility, as well. The revolt had happened. Every world aside from Earth itself had tossed aside the Federation, and there were rumors flying around that the Commonwealth was far from stable.
Any military coup would need a substantial military if it was going to win. All they had to do was smash the enemy formation to put it out of the fight, and the revolt would succeed. They just wouldn’t live to see it. He looked across at Petrova, working at one of the communications panels, and sighed. It just didn’t seem fair. After twenty years, he’d finally begun to rebuild his life, and now it was all being snatched away from him, once again.
“One minute to contact,” Ortiz said. “Not too late to alter course, Mike. We’re going to struggle to support each other on this vector.”
“Call in any fighter support you can reach,” he ordered. “Anything to even the odds a little. We’ve got to make this pass at all costs.”
Looking up at the display, Mike could understand the concern of his old friend. He’d placed Castro and Trotsky on collision courses with two of the enemy ships, poised to smash the formation in two, and the helmsmen were doing everything they could to push the attack home. If they were successful, then two weak ships would be traded for two strong, and his father’s force would have a far greater chance of winning the battle.
He didn’t expect to succeed, and he anticipated that his ships would be torn to pieces in the attempt. More likely was that the enemy commander would be forced to break formation, dive on either side in order to get out of the way, critically disrupting the already compromised defensive firing pattern. That would give Polaris and Regulus a chance to concentrate their fire, and individually, ship for ship, they were more than a match for the enemy.
“I’ve got two squadrons riding shotgun,” Ortiz said. “One for each of us, running full defensive. I assume I’m going to be doing everything I can to stop their barrage?”
“All we have to do is make it through this pass,” Mike replied. “Nothing else matters.”
“Into the valley of the shadow of death,” Ortiz muttered in response, earning himself a sharp glare from Mike. “Sorry.”
“Not inappropriate, though,” Petrova said. “Though I think you’re a better commander than Lord Cardigan.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Mike replied with a smile. “Twenty seconds to contact, people. All damage control teams to standby. Reserve power to the helm. Status of the enemy formation?”
“Holding position and course at the moment, sir,” the sensor technician replied. “They’re just sitting and waiting. I guess they think we’re bluffing.”
“More fool them,” he said. “Helm, we go right into them. If they give us half a chance, ram the bastard. I doubt they’ll let you get that far, but if you can, take it.” He looked around at the assembled technicians, and said, “Castro’s a good ship, but she’s outmatched in this fight. If we can destroy an enemy ship in exchange for our lives, it’s a good trade.”
“Aye, sir,” the pale-faced helmsman replied, focusing on his station. Mike looked at him for a moment, trying to get the measure of the man, and nodding in satisfaction. He’d do his duty to the end, even if it meant his own death. They all would. Time and again, the rebel fleet had faced death, and they’d all expected to be fighting just this sort of pitched battle in Earth orbit by now. All of them were ready to sacrifice their lives. His responsibility was to ensure that their blood was well spent.
The familiar pounding from the overhead turrets began, hurling particle bolts through space to hammer into the approaching salvos from the enemy mass driver cannons. All around, the fighters danced in between gaps in the formation, draining their reactors as they spat short-range bolts of death in a desperate bid to protect their homeship, one after another paying the ultimate price for their bravery.
On the viewscreen, a desperate story began to unfold, the two ships now independently diving towards their respective goals, neither able to properly protect the other, exposing both to an endless stream of fire. At least they were splitting their fire approximately equally, giving the two ships a chance to make it through the hell-storm. Mike had feared that they might adopt his strategy and focus all of their attention on a single ship.
Amazingly, they still had a chance.
“Impact in seventy seconds,” the helmsman reported, desperately attempting to maintain control, to mask the emotions that must be running through him at that moment. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, but he was acting as though he was a veteran of twice his age. Mike glanced across at the sensor controls, wondering for a second whether it might worth ordering an evacuation. He quickly determined that it would be a futile gesture. Without Castro’s turrets to protect them, death would follow in short order. There could be no escape.
“Getting awfully close, boss,” Ortiz said, looking up at his controls. “All our defensive turrets are on overload now. If we push this much longer, we’re going to have a burnout.”
“Change to enemy target aspect!” the helmsman triumphantly yelled. “Xerxes has altered course, trying to get away, and they’re forcing Theseus to follow suit! We’ve done it, Commodore!”
“Keep at it,” Mike said, a smile spreading across his face as he loo
ked up at the enemy firing pattern, huge gaps suddenly appearing as their formation fissioned. “Don’t let up. Keep aiming for Xerxes, but I think you can veer off at the last second now.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” he said.
Relief swept the bridge, but Mike and Ortiz locked glances, knowing that the battle was far from over, that the offensive barrage was still getting dangerously close to the hull, pressing harder and harder as the overwhelming onslaught surpassed their ability to counter it. A loud report echoed from the hull, a stray shot piercing the starboard flank. Sirens sounded as the engineers raced to repair the damage, the ship drifting to the side as atmosphere exploded from the leak.
“Compensate, helm,” he ordered. “Compensate.”
“Trying, sir, but I’ve lost two thrusters on that side.”
“They’ve got us, sir,” Ortiz said with a resigned sigh. “It was a nice try.”
“Change to target aspect,” the sensor technician reported. “It’s Liberty! She’s opening up on Xerxes, full barrage on an unprotected flank!”
Mike’s eyes lit up as he saw the full force of a mass driver bombardment rip into the side of the Commonwealth ship, gouging huge holes in its hull as it spun away, out of control. Instantly, the enemy firing pattern was broken in two, forced to swing around to deal with the unexpected threat, and the surviving fighters took the opportunity to release the last of their missiles, adding to the carnage. With a brief flash, Xerxes experienced the fate that it had meant for Castro, the reactor erupting and rendering the ship nothing must twisted, blackened metal, endlessly spinning through space.
“My God,” Ortiz said. “Trotsky.”
There had been no help for their sister ship, and the combined force of three enemy vessels finally broke through her defensive pattern, hammering into her side with repeated thunderbolts, tearing the helpless vessel into pieces. A handful of shuttles raced away, speeding to the rear, some talented pilot using the dying ship as a shield. As rapidly as it had come, the hope that the destruction of Xerxes had engendered dispersed, replaced by mournful stares at the horror unfolding on the viewscreen.
Starcruiser Polaris: He Never Died Page 14
