The Terminal War: A Space Opera Novel (A Carson Mach Adventure)

by A. C. Hadfield

  Clever tech by clever vestans—the very same that were currently in his cargo bay.

  Sanchez spun from the cannon controls. “Gonna be a busy day.”

  “Or a very short one,” Adira said.

  “It won’t come to it,” Lassea added. She peered back to the viewscreen and lowered her voice. “It can’t.”

  “It can,” a male vestan said from the laser controls.

  Mach gestured his head toward him. “What’s his story?”

  “We call him Nigel,” Tulula replied. “He’s a gunner from Orbital Hibock.”

  Nigel raised his skinny black hand and waved. Mach acknowledged him with a single nod and turned back to Tulula. “As long as he knows what he’s doing. I’d prefer you at the controls.”

  “I’m an engineer. He’s a gunner.”

  Despite vestans being humorless, Mach admired them for their simple logic. It was probably the reason they had managed to create advanced tech compared to other species. They wouldn’t waste hours in meeting rooms, debating the cosmetics, like the rest of the Commonwealth, or spend half their lives bitterly stewing over their enemy, like the horans.

  “I’ve fired vestan lasers over six hundred times,” Nigel said. “During my academy training—“

  “I don’t need your résumé,” Mach said. “If the guys vouch for you, that’s good with me.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I’ll be ready for the attack.”

  “If it comes,” Lassea said, likely more in hope than expectation.

  Mach also hoped the Axis would come to their senses, but knew deep down a war was inevitable now. The horans and lacterns wouldn’t have come this far for a simple show of strength. At the moment, the fleets were like two powerful boxers, eyeing each other up while staying out of range. Sooner or later, one would advance and throw the first punch.

  After that, there would be no going back.

  The twinkling lights of enemy ships, ominously moving into position, radiated in the far distance. Mach counted ninety in all, but more arrived every minute. They were forming into five Axis battle clusters around their capital ships.

  “The four-horned horan scorpion,” Babcock said. “I’ve seen them practice this strategy.”

  Squid Three chirped. No doubt in agreement with the assessment.

  “Does Tralis know about it?” Mach asked.

  “Doubtful. I’ll ping him and ask.”

  Mach waited and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. It would be impossible to sit in the asteroid belt and watch this play out from a safe distance. He decided to use the opportunity of talking tactics with Tralis to grab a role for the Intrepid.

  “Incoming call from Commander Tralis,” Tulula said. “Screen four.”

  Tralis’ frowning weathered face appeared. Mach remembered him as a likable fresh-faced junior pilot but hadn’t seen him in years, and it was fair to say age hadn’t treated him kindly.

  “Captain Mach,” Tralis said, “long time no see. I was just about to call your ship.”

  “You haven’t changed a bit,” Mach replied. “Morgan told me to stay out of the way. What can we do for you?”

  “Does Babcock have any intelligence on the Axis’ early movements?”

  “It replicates a native horan scorpion,” Babcock said and moved over to the comms system. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

  A small black square appeared in the corner of screen four. Babcock slipped a stylus from the side of his smart-screen and sketched on the console’s black glass pad. “These four lines replicate the four horns on the front of the scorpion’s head. When it attacks prey, it charges head-on and attempts to cause puncture wounds.”

  “Looks pretty straightforward,” Tralis said. “The vestans are providing outer cover to sense the lactern’s stealthy frigates. They’ve got the best scanning equipment. We can take each horn individually.”

  Babcock shook his head. “That’s what they want and expect us to do. The fifth group sweeps over the top, acting as the scorpion’s stinging tail, and hits our occupied forces.”

  “What do you suggest?” Tralis asked.

  “Flanking the whole formation. If we keep moving, they won’t get a chance to execute the move.”

  “We’ve got enough—“

  “Commander,” an urgent voice said, “you need to see this.”

  Tralis looked to his left.

  “Holy shit,” Sanchez said.

  Multiple energy readings appeared on the tracker in unison. Mach glanced at the screen displaying the Axis ships. Around a hundred lights flashed around their clusters, doubling the size of their force to over two hundred ships.

  To Tralis’ credit, he kept his cool and didn’t show a single sign of panic. He turned back to his comms-cam. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a plan for this, Babcock?”

  “My strategy remains the same,” Babcock replied. “Think about it as orbiting a planet with heavy ground defenses. We’ll never have to face the full force at the same time. Only what we allow in range. Anything else is suicide.”

  “Any plans for a tactical retreat?” Mach asked.

  Tralis gave a grim shake of his head. “Not an option. They’ll pick us off. It has to end here.”

  “How’s this for an idea,” Sanchez said. “If they’re here for the Saviors, why don’t we send them out in a drone and blow the fuck out of it?”

  Everyone turned and stared at the big hunter. He held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying… it’s an option.”

  Sanchez was closer than he realized to what was already under consideration if things didn’t go the CW’s way. Mach doubted the Axis would stop even if they knew they couldn’t get their hands on the Saviors. At this stage, they heavily outnumbered the Commonwealth fleet and never turned away from a battle with a numerical advantage. There was still the collection of archeology and data on the planet’s surface too. It was too much of an opportunity for the Axis Combine to turn down.

  “I’ll brief my captains to carry out a left-flanking move if they attack,” Tralis said. “Stay in the belt. I don’t want all of this to be for nothing.”

  “I can do better than that,” Mach replied. “We’ll use our cannons against any uncloaking frigate. Looks like you need all the help you can get.”

  “If your shields drop below fifty percent, I want you behind my ship. Understand?”

  Mach offered a casual salute. “Perfectly, Commander.”

  The screen cut to black.

  Just as Babcock predicted, over the next ten minutes, the Axis split into five groups. Four took on horn-shaped formations. The fifth group raised a klick above them. If they decided to attack immediately, the battle would commence in two minutes.

  “Commonwealth fleet,” a croaky voice said over the open galactic channel. “This is your first and only chance to surrender. Disengage all weapons and hand over the vestan Saviors.”

  No immediate reply came.

  “Commonwealth fleet,” it said again, sounding like one of the old propaganda messages transmitted across the Sphere during the Century War. “After destroying your fleet, we’ll kill all of your children. Give us your final answer.”

  “Charming,” Beringer said, breaking his long silence. “They certainly know how to win friends and influence people.”

  Mach half-smiled. The poor old archeologist only wanted to go and find an artifact. He ended up with a lot more than he bargained for, but had performed well despite the shit well and truly hitting the fusion coolers. If they came through the battle, Mach vowed to make Beringer’s quest his next mission.

  “Axis fleet,” Tralis replied on the channel. “This is Commander Tralis of the CWDF. We refuse your terms. Leave the area or face the consequences.”

  Lassea gasped. “Oh my God. It’s going to happen, isn’t it?”

  The bridge hushed to a tense whisper as they waited for the answer.

  The Axis did not respond.

  Hairs on the back of Mach’s neck prickled. Adrenalin pumped th
rough his veins. Completing his missions gave him satisfaction, and he knew he was never cut out for a long career in the fleet. But nothing beat the thrill of fighting for the cause of billions, rather than money.

  “They’re moving,” Lassea said.

  All four Axis horns advanced toward the Commonwealth ships. Slowly at first, then increasing velocity. Almost instantly, the CW defensive cube thrust left, following Babcock’s advice, moving away from the asteroid belt, and the Intrepid, drawing the horan’s attack wide.

  Reports of weapons systems engaging flowed across the status screen. Mounted cannons and lasers on the CW capital ships and destroyers swiveled to aim, countering their flanking move.

  “Strap yourselves in,” Mach said. “This is gonna get messy.”

  Two lactern torpedo cruisers uncloaked suddenly less than a klick away from a line of vestan frigates. The lactern vessels simultaneously fired their nukes at the vestan defensive line, taking out two of the frigates.

  The shield line created by the combining vestan ships held against the first broadside, despite the early losses. The second set of nukes, however, punctured through and erupted inside the defensive bulwark’s guts, blowing out twisted chunks of metal across space.

  Laser batteries on the closest vestan frigates swung to face the Axis cruisers and fired, turning the weak cruisers into nothing more than cosmic dust.

  The crew of the Intrepid became still for a moment, and then the sounds of war erupted over the comms channels, with captains and the commander’s officers barking orders and requesting return fire and maneuvers.

  “Take us through the asteroid belt,” Mach said to Lassea. “We need to get closer to the action.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a wide-eyed look of disbelief.

  “Trust me,” Mach said. “We are not losing this on my watch.”

  Lassea gulped and did as she was told.

  Adira, Sanchez, and the young vestan brought the weapons online, anticipating Mach’s orders. Good, he thought. If they were to survive this, everyone would need every bit of intuition they could muster.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Explosive flashes brightened the huge gray rocks around the Intrepid. For the moment, Mach’s view of the battle was obscured. He had to rely on the scanner, although Lassea was doing an excellent job navigating through the tightly packed asteroid belt with the ship’s inertia thrusters positioned all around the hull.

  “We’re reaching the edge of the belt,” Lassea warned.

  “We need partial cover,” Mach replied and pointed toward the viewscreen. “Get between those two rocks; they’ll give us something to hide behind.”

  Lassea applied a gentle starboard thrust. The ship scraped against the side of an asteroid, and the superstructure screamed. Beringer held the arms of his chair in a white-knuckled grip. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

  The Commonwealth ships appeared back on screen. All forty remaining vestan frigates had combined in a line to create a ghostly green protective shield around the fleet, like a glowing orb or a small translucent planet, the core of which hovered inside. Two torpedoes from another uncloaking lactern frigate burst against the sphere’s far end, both strikes unable to pierce the protective barrier.

  It was only a matter of time before the shield took too many hits and collapsed. Vestans were good with tech, but not hard-core battle. They’d never faced the suicidal runs of a horan vanguard.

  Most of their designs were to defeat ships from the Commonwealth in smaller numbers.

  The left-flanking move had averted a full-on conflict for now and the deployment of the scorpion tail strike. The Axis horns were rapidly repositioning themselves to launch their attack from a new angle, far too efficiently for Mach’s liking. In the meantime, the Axis commanders were still sending the cloaked lactern cruisers for short-range attacks.

  Mach turned to Babcock. “Can’t we do anything about those damned cruisers?”

  “Haven’t got the tech. How many do you think they’ve sent?”

  “No idea,” Mach said. “Doubt they’ve got more than twenty.”

  “That’s all the Axis need,” Sanchez said. “If they take down the combined shield, it’s job done. We can’t beat the rest in open warfare. The bastards have got their shit sorted for a change.”

  “We?” Mach said and gave the big hunter a thin smile. “Since when have you aligned with the fleet?”

  “Since I decided to put a value on my balls.”

  Two more cruisers flashed into view, less than a quarter of a klick from the shield. Their torpedoes zipped through the darkness, leaving a wake of vanishing red vapor and exploded near the center of it. A ripple raced across the shield’s surface as it distributed the energy.

  Allied weaponry immediately responded. Eight light blue particle-guided fusion bolts spat from destroyers and crippled the lactern ships. This wouldn’t bother the Axis, though; the cruisers were suicide bombers. They’d uncloak, deliver their payload, and pray to whatever God they worshiped as their now-useless ships were blasted by whatever had remained of their torpedoes.

  The row of vestan frigates finished off the powerless vessels with hundreds of laser blasts. A couple didn’t stop firing even though it was clear both enemy ships had been turned into giant cheese graters. Mach imagined crazy versions of Nigel behind the controls and wondered if his new crewmember would act the same. Having a touch of the mad-dog inside wasn’t a bad thing during a fight.

  “We could try the Saviors?” Beringer said. “They might have ideas… about the cloaked ships, I mean.”

  Tulula snapped her head in the old archeologist’s direction and growled. Nigel flinched at the laser controls but kept his focus on the targeting screen. Mach wasn’t sure what part of the suggestion offended them, but it wasn’t the time to be wary of vestan sensibilities. He’d already had about as much as he could stomach from the Guardians and their rules.

  “Babs, Tulula, get your asses down there,” Mach said. “See if the corpses can help.”

  Squid Three chirped and spread its tentacles.

  “You’re coming too,” Babcock said to his little AI droid. He stood and made for the door. Tulula remained in her chair.

  “Problem?” Mach asked.

  “They’re sacred. We’re not supposed to see them, never mind talk to them. It’s all I can even do right now not to reach out to them with my mind. I’d corrupt them.”

  Mach took a deep breath to stop himself saying something he’d regret. Tulula would find out in her own time exactly how sacred her supposed Saviors were. They were lucky to be here and not destroyed by their own terrible experiments.

  “You’re the best person for the job,” Mach said, playing to her vestan logic. “Babs might need translations or help with cultural nuances. It’s probably their only chance for survival if things continue as they are.”

  Tulula bowed her head and followed Babcock out the door. Squid Three hovered by the side of her head and rested a tentacle on her shoulder.

  Another pair of cruisers uncloaked in the distance, interestingly enough, on a similar trajectory to the previous ones. They fired off two sets of torpedoes again before being destroyed. The shield’s green tinge faded.

  “They can’t just sit there and take like for like damage,” Sanchez said. “Doesn’t take a genius to work out who’ll end up winning.”

  “Agreed,” Mach said and switched to the Commonwealth command voice channel. “Commander Tralis, what’s your plan?”

  “Exactly the same as before. We keep moving and engage no more than two horns. Anything more and we’ll be swamped.”

  “Why not send out fighter drones to search for cruisers?”

  Tralis’ tone hardened. “Are you telling me how to do my job?”

  Mach shook his head. “No… I’m just… Forget it.”

  “You’ve got my permission to fire, but I don’t need to remind you of your priority. Keep your ship in the belt.”

&
nbsp; “Don’t worry, Commander. You can rely on us.” Mach tapped his smart-screen to end the transmission. He moved over to the holocontrols and sat next to Lassea. “Some things never change.”

  “Like what?” Lassea asked, and narrowed her eyes when Mach reached for the sub-controls. He liked that she’d got protective over the dashboard when she piloted the Intrepid.

  “The CW fighting defensive battles,” Sanchez answered for Mach. “They’d rather sit on their butts and let it play out, which is exactly what the horans and lacterns expect.”

  “So we give the buggers something to think about,” Mach said. He remotely fired up the fighter drone and started the docking bay door-opening procedure. A holoscreen flashed in front of him, displaying a view from the cockpit. “Tralis told us to keep our ship in the belt. He said nothing about drones.”

  On the main viewscreen, the Axis was back in their initial launch positions, formed up in anticipation of where the CW fleet was heading.

  The southern and northern horns advanced, faster than before. This time they sent their disposable vanguard—ships captured from around the galaxy who were given a simple choice: pilot their vessels into the side of the enemy and detonate a bomb just before impact, or be executed along with any member from their family, village or town of origin. Not exactly a great deal different to the lactern ‘art’ of warfare.

  Crude, but effective—if you didn’t care about the casualties.

  Beringer moved closer to the viewscreen and zoomed in.

  A ragtag group of twenty ships powered away from the front of the two horns, all different shapes, colors and sizes, some looking ready for the scrapyard. Mach hardly recognized a single one but had always hated the sight of horans using this tactic. He knew inside each vessel frightened aliens would be sacrificing themselves for a cause they didn’t believe in, to save their family or community.

  Two central capital ships fired speculative missiles at the vestan shield sphere. One struck a member of the vanguard on the way through, a small dirty gray orb with stubby fins, and blew it into thousands of pieces.