Winged Hussars (The Revelations Cycle Book 3)

by Mark Wandrey

  “Firing!” TacCom barked.

  “Rolling ship!” helm called. The battlecruiser was caught between a wave of 10 ship-killers from Biter and a barrage of six 250-megawatt particle cannons from War Admiral. Missiles impacted and particle beams splashed energy into the battlecruiser’s rear shields.

  “Her aft shields are down,” TacCom confirmed.

  “Order Mercy to put some missiles up her ass!” Alexis ordered, punching a fist on her command chair arm.

  “New ships in our threat box,” TacCom informed her. The Tri-V updated with four new ships. “Two frigates and two transports. It’s the Zuul raiding party. A wave of red arrows appeared racing toward her squadron. “The frigates already launched missiles!” The Zuul love missile frigates. They were less versatile, and didn’t defend as well, but they could put out a shit storm of missiles.

  The battlecruiser hit War Admiral with another spread of particle beams, further weakening another section of shields. Alexis looked at the tactical board in growing fear. All but one of Mercy’s missile spread were swatted from the air. The single successful missile exploded its squash-bomb slightly off target. It didn’t take out the battlecruiser’s engineering spaces as planned, it only disabled one of the bigger ship’s torches.

  The missiles from the newly arrived Zuul frigates flashed across the entire squadron, except for Manx, which was still shielded by War Admiral. Half her ship’s shields were threatening to fail as the warheads exploded. Both Biter and Mercy were also hit.

  I’m going to lose this, Alexis thought in despair. Then one of the Zuul frigates was torn apart in a ball of expanding gas and fire.

  “I have Whirlaway coming in at high speed!” SitCon yelled in excitement. Katrina’s cruiser tore into the Zuul ships from behind, her frigates were still docked to her hull, their shields reinforcing her own and raining missiles as she came.

  “Am I in time to save your ass, little sister?” Katrina transmitted.

  “Just in time,” Alexis said, breathing deeply to control her emotions. “Kindly concentrate fire on the Bakulu battlecruiser.”

  “Gladly.”

  Both of the Crown-class cruisers turned their particle cannon on the now-bracketed battlecruiser. Shields already weakened from the early bombardment, it experienced multiple shield failures. Beams penetrated, hulling her in several places.

  Whirlaway was traveling too fast to stop, having raced from the emergence point when it realized what was happening at the stargate. As it passed, the frigates detached, came about, and burned their fusion torches hot and hard to slow. The three Legend-class frigates, Wallace, Joyeuse, and Lobera added their fire to the energy weapons of their mother ship. The hull of the Bakulu battlecruiser was peppered with squash-bombs and, with most of her shields gone, the bombs tore great holes in her armor and blew out an entire section of hull.

  “The enemy battlecruiser is signaling surrender,” Alexis’ communications officer announced with a grin.

  “All ships, stand down attack on the battlecruiser,” Alexis ordered. “Offer quarter to the surviving Zuul frigate and her transports.” The fight was over.

  Hours later, after Whirlaway had finally braked and come back to join her sister ship, Alexis and Katrina met in the captain’s wardroom on War Admiral.

  “You disobeyed my orders,” Alexis said. Katrina had arrived all grins, having felt she saved the day. Alexis’ obvious anger was not what she expected. As overall commander, Alexis had kept quiet in front of the rest of the ships’ crews and captains.

  “What was I supposed to do, stay at the emergence point and listen to all the fun over the radio?”

  “All the fun. Is that all this is to you?” Alexis snapped, smacking her desk and almost floating away from it in the zero gravity. “It’s not a fucking game!”

  “I saved your ass,” Katrina growled.

  “You came for your share of the glory. You said it was fun.” Katrina looked nonplused. “And what if another squadron of raiders came through while you were here?”

  “I left sensors.”

  “There were already sensors there when the Zuul and Bakulu came through,” Alexis reminded her. “You violated your fleet commander’s orders, and I’m noting it in my log. Right next to how smart it was to arrive with your frigates docked. That was a brilliant move.” Katrina didn’t know how to respond and appeared confused. She never understood how she could be praised for a good idea at the same time as she was being scolded for a bad one. For her it was hot or cold, there was no in between.

  “Between myself and the computer we discerned a 90% chance that you’d be overwhelmed,” Katrina said, her jaw set.

  “Next time unplug your pinplants and follow orders.”

  “Yes, sir,” Katrina said, with as much scorn as possible. “Am I dismissed, sir?”

  “Return to your ship, and go back to the emergence point. I’m detaching Lobera from your squadron to supplement mine while Manx finishes repairs.”

  Katrina nodded and turned to leave. “You’re welcome,” she said as she pushed off the desk toward the wardroom exit. Alexis watched her go without another word.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 30

  EMS Pegasus

  En Route to the Grkata System

  Hyperspace

  The command staff arrived at the appointed hour, looking much more rested than before. Of them, only engineer Long had been unable to get any meaningful downtime. It was difficult to tell what state the Jeha was in, though the lazy movements of the antennae and general listless behavior was a giveaway. He’d spent most of the intervening six hours working to get Reactor One back online. After Alexis grabbed four hours sleep and a shower on the gravity deck, she’d been informed by Paka that Reactor One was finally online. It was good news, indeed. Flying through hyperspace with barely enough power to stay there was something no spacer was ever comfortable with.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said to them. All the departments were present: Helm (Chug), Tactical (Edwards and Glick), Comms (Hoot), Damage Control (Guylan), Engineering (Long), Sensors (Flipper), Medical (Dr. Ramirez), Personnel (Paka), Science (Kleena), and the marines (Sergeant T’jto). They all acknowledged the captain. She was behind her wooden desk, an artifact from Earth. The rest were either strapped into chairs, clinging to a convenient grasping point, or floating. She collected her thoughts and began.

  First, Alexis explained what brought them to where they were, including her theory that Pegasus, and perhaps all the Four Horsemen, were being attacked. She backed it up with the chain of events culminating in the Bakulu assault approaching the Karma stargate. Most of them had heard it already, but she went over it anyway for those who hadn’t been in on the earlier discussion.

  “As we were leaving,” she added, “I got notice from Home that Commander Kowalczy took out Task Force Two, per our contractual obligation. I’d intended for Pegasus to take the task force out once we’d gotten Home and completed repairs and resupply, but their delaying tactics worked, and we didn’t get back in time. Commander Kowalczy’s task forced was ambushed. He was able to keep from being overwhelmed and is holding out in the Grkata system.”

  “Do you think that contract is part of whatever is going on?” Sergeant T’jto asked.

  “Yes, Sergeant T’jto, I do.” The MinSha looked on, her antennae quivering with interest.

  “It’s a trap,” Kleena said.

  “Yes,” Alexis replied.

  “But we’re going in anyway,” T’jto stated.

  “Yes,” Alexis repeated.

  “Why?” This time it was Dr. Ramirez, the senior non-combat staff member. Of course, he had to put them back together after a fight, so he was just as important.

  “Because the Winged Hussars don’t leave people behind to die because we’re afraid it might be a trap.”

  “What if they’re counting on that?” the doctor pressed.

  “They may be,” Alexis said, “but they don’t know all the tricks Pegasus has
up her sleeve.”

  “It’s likely they know we have hyperspace shunts now,” Edwards reminded her.

  “And it’s likely they’ll know another of our secrets before this is over with,” Alexis added. She took a breath and looked around the wardroom, taking time to make eye contact with each of them. “If that were you or your loved ones on those ships, what would you hope for? Would you hope against hope for a rescue, even knowing it was a trap, and everyone’s lives were in danger?” There were grumbles of assent and nods of agreement. “Whoever is doing this is betting we’re going to stop at Home and pick up Task Force Three, and the reserves, and come in loaded for Jivool. We’re not going to oblige them, though. Here’s what I intend to do.”

  The captain activated her wardroom’s Tri-V, and the presentation she’d prepared after her brief nap came up. Rather like an ancient PowerPoint presentation, she went through screen after screen of the plan. As the last screen played, the room went silent with thought.

  “I’m asking a lot from everyone,” Alexis said as the Tri-V went dark, “especially the marines.” She looked at her MinSha marine commander. “Can I count on your people? A lot of them are inexperienced.”

  “They are,” T’jto agreed, then nodded her head, “but we have some red diamonds in the rough. It takes pressure to make a diamond. They’ll do their jobs. We’ll make you proud.”

  “I expected nothing less. You have the plan; let’s begin preparations.” Everyone started to leave. “Oh, one more thing,” Alexis said, holding up a hand. She reached into her desk and pulled out a case. She tossed it to T’jto, the box soaring gracefully in the microgravity. The MinSha caught it deftly. “When Lieutenant Skad was killed at the beginning of this cruise, Sergeant T’jto, you stepped up and led the marines with distinction. Even after your numbers were devastated by the misfortunes of war, you never backed down and helped us recruit a top-notch team on Karma.” T’jto opened the box and found two silver bars. “Congratulations, Lieutenant! I’ve amended your pay record to go back to the beginning of the cruise, as well.”

  “Here, here!” Paka called, and courteous applause went around the room.

  The newly-minted Lieutenant T’jto looked down at the emblems of her new rank in surprise, her antennae standing straight up. After a moment, she spoke.

  “Many in my clan were displeased when they heard I was working for Humans.” She looked at the captain. “There is bad blood between our races, as everyone knows. But I see much more in Humans than your darker side. We, too, have our demons. I think we have a future together, if only we can learn from each other.” She deftly removed the bars one at a time, pulled off the backings, and affixed the adhesive emblems, one on each on her forward-most arms. “Thank you, Captain, I’ll serve with honor.” The MinSha gave her a salute, which the captain returned.

  “I know you will,” Alexis said.

  * * *

  So much had happened, Rick couldn’t believe he’d been a Hussar for less than a week. Floating in the marine mess hall on Deck 30, eating a hamburger, he read from a slate affixed to the table. The captain had spun up the ship shortly after they’d transitioned to hyperspace, so the gravity decks were operational. Most of the crew spent several hours in one of the four decks, either relaxing, exercising, or just eating. Only a few races could exist for extended periods without any gravity at all, and Humans weren’t one of them. But Rick liked eating in zero gravity, so he spent his time exercising on a gravity deck, choosing to forgo mess call. Besides, the marines preferred to eat together.

  The slate contained details on the ship, EMS Pegasus. It was boring information, such as the layouts of each deck and section. However, it was stuff marines needed to know if they were to be useful in defending their ship against boarders. He wished he’d known it before the fight in engineering; it would have made him much more useful. The decision to have him hold the hatch with Lynn was obviously a wise one.

  When Lieutenant T’jto came back from the senior staff meeting, she’d announced they were heading toward more combat. Rick wasn’t surprised; it felt like he’d been fighting every minute since he’d joined. She also gave them file chips with information on several races’ ships on them. Among the design specs were ones made by the Bakulu, Izlian, Jeha, Maki, and HecSha.

  While training with Mickey Finn, he’d studied the Bakulu and Maki ships; the others were new to him. He was particularly interested in the Izlian because they were considered an exotic race. Unlike most races in the Union, they weren’t a standard carbon-based species that ate, breathed, and bled. They looked like jellyfish, except they floated in air that was toxic to Humans, and they communicated with radiation pulses. Their ships were highly sought after and brought a premium price on the galactic market. The race itself was seldom seen outside their worlds, which tended to be a special variety of gas giant.

  When he wasn’t studying the new information, Rick helped engineering and damage control finish repairs. He logged several more hours in his new CASPer helping Long and his engineers. They’d shut down Reactor Two to inspect the pair of failed containment buffers. While Rick and Lynn, both in suits, maneuvered multi-ton composite lead/carbon fiber shielding, they got a lesson on how the containment buffers were incredibly strong electromagnets that also acted as tanks to hold the F11. That part was called a jacket.

  Rick wasn’t much of a science guy, though he thought he’d once known someone who might have loved this stuff. The fact that the huge donut-shaped buffers each had thousands of credits of F11 flowing through them was interesting, as well as the fact that if enough of them failed, the reactor would blow the ship to hell and gone. He was keenly interested in helping if it kept the last point from happening.

  Lieutenant T’jto had informed the marines the company was about to go into battle to rescue some other Hussars’ ships trapped by an ambush. Rick hadn’t been part of the company long enough to feel like a member of the family, so he didn’t feel the need to fight for them, but that’s what he was paid for. He got his monthly retainer no matter what, and the combat bonuses were substantial. The fight against the boarding Zuul had already earned him more than he’d made in all his months as a trainee with Mickey Finn.

  On the second day following the spectacular departure from Karma, he was summoned to Deck 16. It was Rick’s first trip to the CIC, and he was both interested and worried about why a lowly private was being called to Officer’s Country.

  Since they weren’t under battle conditions, he was able to take the lift, which was a novelty. The 10-foot cube moved smoothly on frictionless bearings, stopping on several decks as he moved toward the nose. Other crew got on and off as it traveled. A couple Humans exchanged greetings as he went, as did several alien crew members. Rick was glad the company was informal about ranks; in other organizations, as a private, he would have spent the trip on the lift constantly saluting.

  He’d been enjoying the ride so much, he suddenly realized he’d missed his deck. Cursing, he got off at the next stop, a missile magazine, cut across the ship, and boarded the lift going down. He paid attention this time as they moved toward his destination. One level after a pair of chatty elSha exited, someone called out as the gate was closing.

  “Hold, please?” He looked up to see a furry Cochkala floating toward him with a familiar zero-gravity food carrier over its narrow shoulders like a backpack. He quickly found the hold button and pressed it long enough for the badger-like alien to flip around and brake against the lift’s opposite wall, bending its long body gracefully to stop. Rick had to admire the long tail which probably made zero-gravity acrobatics almost second nature. “Thanks,” the new arrival said, “Deck 18, please?”

  “Sure,” Rick said and pushed the button. The Cochkala used its prehensile tail to snag a handhold as the cage slid closed, and the lift began moving aft. Deck 18 he thought, then remembered.

  “Drone Control?” he asked.

  “Yes,” the other answered. Like a lot of aliens, Cochkala didn
’t need traditional uniforms. They had fur all over their bodies. This one wore a skimpy vest and belt, both emblazoned with the winged helmet logo of the Hussars. The color meant service group, Rick thought, which made sense for someone hauling food around. He decided to try to get some info.

  “So, the Ghost eats?” The alien’s black- and brown-striped furred head turned to regard him. Tiny ears twitched and intelligent black eyes stared.

  “You know about the Ghost?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ve been in there before.”

  “Not many marines have,” the alien said. “She likes her privacy.” So, the Ghost is a female, Rick thought as the lift rolled onward. They were almost to Deck 16.

  “What does she like to eat?”

  “I don’t know that she likes anything,” the cook said. “We just pick whatever is available when she summons and bring it to her.” The lift came to a stop at his destination, ending his questions.

  Usually the lift opened from an air tight door into a hall, or right into another compartment. Here it was more like the hangar deck in that a second air tight door was immediately next to the lift. Unlike many, this one had a security interlock. Now familiar with how they worked on Pegasus, Rick touched his pinlink and thought about gaining access. The computer was waiting for him, and the door slid open.

  It was the first time he’d ever seen the CIC of a warship. It really wasn’t what he expected. There were a dozen work stations with variable-angle acceleration couches. Everything was arrayed in a semi-circle, and the room was shaped like a pie with a piece missing. At the point of the missing piece was the command chair. Even in zero gravity, someone was in it. Rick was surprised to see it was a Human dwarf. Only two of the other stations were occupied, one by a Buma who looked half-asleep, the other by an elSha clinging to an instrument panel with a dozen displays.

  “Welcome, Private Culper,” the man in the command seat said. “I’m Lieutenant Edwards, TacCom, or tactical commander.” Rick saluted, and the small man returned it.