by Jay Allan
She felt the impatience rising up within her as the lift moved—too slowly—toward the launch bay. Finally, the doors opened on the sprawling deck. It was mostly empty. Hurley’s squadrons had just completed their launch. But her eyes scanned the area quickly and locked on their target. There it was, her fighter, tucked in right next to the launch track.
“Let’s go. We’re gonna have to skip preflight. Just get her powered up and ready to…”
“What the hell are you pukes doing on my launch deck?” The roaring voice was unmistakable. Sam McGraw was Midway’s senior NCO, the chief of the ship’s launch bays and a certified terror to any officer without the stones to face him down.
“We’re launching, Chief,” Mariko said without a trace of doubt in her voice.
“To hell you are,” came the almost deafening reply. “This deck is closed right now, and none of you puppies are cleared for duty.”
“We are taking off, Chief, and I don’t have the time to argue with you right now.” The scene was almost comic, the meter and a half tall Fujin staring up at the 110 kilogram monster towering at least 35 centimeters over her. But the pilot held her own, not giving a millimeter, and her voice was as hard as a plasti-steel girder.
“C’mon, Chief,” she added, her tone a bit softer. “We all know what is happening. None of these fighters are coming back. This is the fleet’s final battle. Do we really need to leave a perfectly good fighter sitting unused?” She paused. “We all need to die our own way.”
McGraw stared down at her for half a minute that seemed like an eternity. Then, something amazing happened, an event so improbable that she doubted anyone else on Midway’s crew would have believed it. Chief Sam McGraw, the hardest screw ever to walk a launch bay’s deck, gave in. “Go,” he said, the slightest hint of admiration in his tone. “I’ll open the doors for you.”
“Thank you, Chief.”
“Never mind that. Just move your asses. You’ve got three minutes or that door’s staying closed.”
She nodded quickly. “Alright, let’s go.” She flashed a quick glance at her shipmates, and she took off for the fighter at a dead run.
* * *
“We’ve got one of the damaged laser batteries functional, sir.” Stanovich was staring at his screens, monitoring the emergency repair efforts underway throughout Petersburg. His voice was weak, tentative.
Udinov knew that was the residual effects of the tanks. His crew had only been out of the protective shells for ten minutes, and he knew from the pounding in his own fuzzy head, it took longer than that to completely shake the disorientation. He’d taken a stim injection strong enough to stampede a herd of elephants, but he was still foggy, his thoughts moving slowly.
“That’s outstanding, Commander. Give the crews my congratulations.” Udinov allowed himself a guarded smile. Things were looking bleak, but in the overall context, 30% more firepower was a good thing.
He glanced at the display. The wall of icons approaching the line of human ships was imposing. More than that, he knew it was his death he was looking at. Not just his, but that of every man and woman on Petersburg…on every ship in the fleet.
He also saw a cluster of smaller icons, swarming toward the edge of the enemy formation. Admiral Hurley’s fighters, he thought. “All ships accelerate at 3g, course 343.011.116.” His eyes were focused on the tiny symbols as they streaked across the screen. “We will go in behind the fighters, support their attack.”
He knew his battered RIC task force had limited firepower, especially against an enemy force like the one now heading toward it. Still, following up Hurley’s bombing run he might get the chance to finish off a couple enemy battleships, and that seemed like the most he could do to hurt the enemy. And he was determined to sell his peoples’ lives dearly.
“Get me Admiral Compton.” He’d had enough of playing the rogue. He wanted Compton’s blessing for what was likely to be his final maneuver.
“Admiral Compton on your line, sir.”
Udinov adjusted his headset. “Admiral, I request permission to move forward with my task force in close support of the Admiral Hurley’s bombing run. I believe we can be of the most value there.”
“Permission granted, Admiral Udinov. My admiration and best wishes go with your people.”
“Thank you, sir.” The Russian admiral paused. “And please accept my apologies, Admiral, for my earlier actions. I can only hope you can one day forgive me.”
“It is forgiven, Vladimir. And forgotten…washed away by the blood your people shed in the last battle.” There was a long pause and then Compton added, “It’s a man’s final actions that define him the most, wouldn’t you say?”
Udinov swallowed hard and replied, “Yes, sir. I would say that.”
“Then go with my respect, Admiral Udinov, and take the fight to the enemy.”
“Yes, sir. I can promise you I will do that…”
* * *
“Very well, Admiral Udinov. Your forces are most welcome. I am concentrating my assault on the flank of the enemy battleline. I had intended to try to take out the two Leviathans on the end, but with your added firepower, I propose we attack three instead of two.” Hurley had been surprised at first, but she quickly adapted to the news that she had a whole task force backing her strike.
“I couldn’t agree more, Admiral. Let’s blast them to atoms.” Udinov’s voice was strong, predatory.
Whatever had happened before, Hurley realized, Vladimir Udinov was ready to give his all to this fight. “Good luck to you, Admiral,” she said solemnly. “And to those who serve with you.”
“And to you, Admiral,” his voice blared through the com. “And to your brave squadrons. Udinov out.”
Hurley leaned back in her chair, looking down at the screen. Her eye caught a tiny dot, an icon representing a single fighter. It was behind the rest of the strike force, accelerating to try to catch up. She knew who it was the second she saw it, but she toggled the ID function just to be sure.
She tapped the earpiece of her headset, changing the com channel. “Commander Fujin, what the hell are you doing?”
There was a small delay, less than a second, as the signal traversed the space between her fighter and Fujin’s craft and the response worked its way back. “We’re joining the strike force, Admiral. The fleet needs every bit of firepower it can muster.”
“And you came to that conclusion through your many years of command experience?” Hurley was annoyed, but not as much as she might have been in other circumstances. Everyone knew this was no normal battle, that it was almost certainly their last.
“I apologize for disobeying orders, Admiral, but we are perfectly capable of flying this mission.”
“Now you’re a doctor? I thought you were a pilot…and one who knew how to follow orders. Clearly I was mistaken.”
There was a pause, longer than the normal transmission time. Finally, Fujin’s voice came back on the line. “Admiral, my people don’t want to die in a hospital bed.” Another pause then: “Please.”
Hurley nodded to herself. She didn’t take kindly to her orders being disobeyed, not normally.
But if there ever was a time and place…
“Very well, Commander. You may launch your attack. But I’m afraid you’ll be alone. By the time you catch us, we’ll have executed our strike.”
“Hopefully you will leave something for us, Admiral.”
Hurley was impressed at the strength and defiance in Fujin’s voice. “Good luck to you and your crew, Commander. Hurley out.”
She leaned back and couldn’t help but let a smile cross her lips. What a team I have in this strike force. If only they weren’t all going to die in the next few hours…
“Okay, John,” she said, putting thoughts of Fujin aside and staring at her pilot. “What do you say we lead the strike in?” Her ship was normally positioned in the middle of the formation. Admiral Garret had been horrified at the prospect of her flying around in something as fragile as
a Lightning fighter-bomber at all. He’d have had a stroke if he’d been able to hear her now. Or not, she thought. There were a lot of mysteries in the universe, but Greta Hurley was sure that Augustus Garret would die well if he met a hopeless battle—and he would expect any of his officers to do the same. Just as she was sure Terrance Compton was going to do.
“I’d love to lead them in. Those Leviathans are totally fresh…we’re going to have to plant a lot of plasma torpedoes on the mark to take them out.”
Hurley nodded, though the pilot wasn’t looking back at her. “Take us in, Commander Wilder. Let’s show these machines what a motivated human strike force can do.”
* * *
“Let’s go, Anton.” Udinov’s eyes were locked on his screen. He’d just watched Hurley’s fighters plow through the enemy’s defenses. They’d plunged into the massive barrage of interceptor missiles and then into range of the laser defenses of their targets—losing over forty of their comrades before beginning their final attack runs. The RIC admiral had been unable to look away as icon after icon disappeared from the scanning plot and still they pushed on, completely ignoring their losses.
Finally, he’d seen them form up into three columns, moving directly toward the chosen targets. The massive ships bristled with weapons, and fighters continued to disappear as they drove straight into the firestorm. But they held, not a single vessel wavering from its course. They blew past normal firing range, bearing down on their targets at 3,000 kilometers per second, closing. Fifty thousand kilometers. Thirty. Not a single bomber fired.
Twenty thousand…and in the lead was Greta Hurley herself, her bomber damaged and streaming atmosphere and fluids as it pushed forward. Fifteen thousand. Ten thousand. Only when she had passed ten thousand kilometers did her ship launch its torpedo…and then its thrusters fired full, barely altering its vector in time clear the massive vessel.
One after another, her bombers followed her in, blasting recklessly toward the enemy ships and unloading their payloads at knife-fighting range. They were so close, hardly a shot missed, and the First Imperium battleships shook as superhot balls of plasma ripped into their hulls and through their decks.
One of the behemoths was destroyed almost immediately as the containment of its antimatter fuel failed. The massive spaceship disappeared in an explosion of almost unimaginable intensity. But the other two were still there. Savaged by dozens of hits each, streaming gases and fluids through gaping holes in their battered hulls, they maintained their place on the flank of the enemy battleline.
Udinov took a deep breath. “Commander…take us between them. The entire task force is to advance.”
“Yes, sir,” came the reply, steadfast, determined.
“All ships, it’s time to unload with everything we’ve got. All batteries on full power. Close range munitions packs ready to launch.”
“All vessels report weapons stations ready, Admiral.”
Udinov tapped his com unit, activating the main task force channel. “Attention all RIC units, this is Admiral Udinov. The fleet’s fighter-bombers have just completed a costly and heroic attack. They have destroyed one of the enemy’s Leviathans and severely damaged two others. It is our turn now. We are going to destroy those two ships, and then we are going to come about and engage the enemy line from the flank. Whatever might have happened before is of no account. We are part of this fleet, and we are in this fight with all our comrades. If we can destroy the two Leviathans quickly enough, we will have a positional advantage over the rest of the First Imperium fleet. I will not lie to you, fellow spacers…we will not survive this battle. None of us will. But, by God, we will make these infernal machines pay a price they will not soon forget. Follow me, follow Petersburg, and together we will show the First Imperium what an RIC force can do.”
He cut the line and glanced down at his display. He watched for a few seconds then he turned toward Stanovich. “Commander…all units are to open fire.”
* * *
“There goes the second ship.” Mariko was watching on the display as the vessels of the RIC task force drove their attacks home, closing to point blank range, firing all the way. Petersburg’s main batteries had fired a concentrated blast at the nearest Leviathan, and an instant later the target was vaporized by a matter-anti-matter explosion of indescribable ferocity. But the second First Imperium battleship was still there. It had taken all the punishment Udinov’s ships could dish out, but it was still firing back, its powerful particle accelerator beams ripping into the RIC vessels.
Mariko watched as Udinov’s task force began to redeploy, Petersburg and the two largest cruisers coming about to engage the next battleship in the enemy’s line while the light cruisers and destroyers swarmed the wounded Leviathan. As she was watching, first one, then a second RIC destroyer disappeared from the screen, obliterated by the still active guns of the dying enemy ship.
“What do you say we go help them finish off that sucker?” Her normally high-pitched voice was hoarse, angry.
“We’re with you, Commander.” Hiroki’s voice was rawer even than Mariko’s, his ferocity apparent with every syllable. “Let’s send them to hell.”
“OK, boys, make sure you’re strapped in tight…”
She pushed the throttle, and the force of 8g slammed into everyone onboard. They were already close to their target, but Mariko intended to get a hell of a lot closer before she fired the double-powered torpedo in her ship’s bomb bay.
She flipped the com unit, and struggled to force air into her lungs and speak. “RIC ships, your fighter support is on the way in,” she rasped.
“Forty thousand kilometers,” Hiroki said.
Mariko released the throttle, and the relief of freefall replaced the crushing gee forces. “Don’t you fire that thing until we’re inside 10K, Hiroki.”
“Thirty thousand.”
Mariko watched as her monitor continually refreshed the image of the target, adding details as the range decreased. The schematic had a series of red spots, areas were the enemy ship was leaking atmosphere and fluids. And there was a very large red circle almost dead center on the top, a huge gash in the hull—and a way to drop the torpedo right into the ship’s interior.
“You see what I see, Hiroki?”
“I’ve got it, Commander. That’s a kill shot if I’ve ever seen one.” A short pause. “If we can get close enough.”
“I’ll get you close enough. You just make sure you don’t miss.”
“I won’t miss. Down to fifteen thousand.”
“I’ve got to pull out at seven thousand,” Mariko snapped back.
“Ten thousand.” Another pause…one second, perhaps two. “Torpedo away.”
Mariko slammed the throttle hard, blasting the engines at full power, altering the ship’s trajectory. The course change over the next two seconds was minimal, but it was just enough for the fighter to zip past the enemy ship instead of slamming into it. Her eyes dropped to the small nav screen on her workstation. “Four hundred meters,” she whispered under her breath. She’d come four hundred meters from slamming into the enemy ship. Mariko was a hotshot pilot, possessed of all the craziness attributed to that stereotype, but she’d never cut anything so close before. Never.
She let go of the throttle, cutting the thrust, and she leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. She could feel the sweat inside her survival suit, pouring down her neck and back. Her hands were shaking, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. For a few seconds, she even forgot about the target. But only for a few seconds.
“Damage assessment,” she snapped.
“Scanning data coming in now, Commander…” Hiroki paused, his head hunched over his workstation. “I’m reading no power generation at all. My guess is antimatter containment is still running on reserve batteries, but the ship itself is dead.”
She felt a wave of satisfaction. “Alright, let’s get back to Midway and rearm. There are still plenty of targets out here.”
&
nbsp; It was bravado more than reason. She saw the overall plot, and the despite the success of the fighter strike, the enemy still had seventeen Leviathans, and they were closing rapidly with the fleet. Her fighter could head back to Midway, but she didn’t think there was much chance the flagship would still be around by the time they got there.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Research Notes of Dr. Hieronymus Cutter
I still cannot believe our good fortune, and I wonder how long it can last. The intelligence on the Colossus called us the “Old Ones,” believing we are members of the long-lost race that created it so many ages ago, the mysterious beings who forged the First Imperium itself. It appears willing to obey our commands, to serve us without question. Yet I find myself hesitant to explore just how absolute that subservience may be. The intelligence advises that the ship is functional and it proposed reactivating its systems. I have ordered it not to do so, for I cannot be sure it will continue to follow my commands. Without the ship’s matter/antimatter reactor operational, we control the power source that has activated the intelligence, and presumably, we can disconnect it at any time…though I wonder if that is an over-simplification, if the massive computer has drawn enough power to recharge reserve batteries or something of the like.
Still, I am reluctant to move too quickly. I had hoped with all the optimism I could muster that my virus would work, that we would be able to establish at least some level of control over the intelligence. But it had never even occurred to me that we would be accepted as its true masters, as the descendants of those who created it. Is this my virus working in an unexpected way? Or is there something else at play here, something I hadn’t considered? Is there a relationship between humanity and that long-vanished race? Is there a reason other than my virus that the intelligence has come to the conclusion it has?
