Four made it through. Out of over a hundred capital ship missiles, costing millions of Commonwealth dollars apiece, four penetrated every active defense the supercarrier could throw at them.
They made it through every defense… and missed.
The carrier lurched as the missiles, fooled by ECM and the radiation clouds of their dead sisters, detonated well clear of her hull, waves of energy hammering into the warship’s meters-thick ferro-carbon ceramic armor. The lights flickered, dimmed, and came back up.
The tactical feed didn’t. A moment later, a fuzzy, mixed image appeared in Kyle’s brain.
“Wong?” he snapped. “Where’s our feed?”
“You’re getting all you’re getting,” the Engineer replied bluntly. “Those blasts just melted every sensor array on our hull.”
“We need those sensors to target the guns,” Anderson said grimly. “Q-Com relay from the drones won’t cut it – the bandwidth is enough for keeping an eye on people, but not for attack telemetry. Our drones are moving fast – we’ve got significant relativity impacts. The computers can adjust… but not fast enough to hit an evading target at two million kilometers.”
“Damn,” Kyle said mildly. “Prepare for random fire then,” he told Anderson. “We may not hit them, but by the gods let’s keep their eyes on…”
“Wait!” Anderson snapped. “Augustine just flipped and went to emergency decal. Anthony flipped as well – they’re inbound. What the Void?!”
Captain Kyle Roberts glanced at the tactical display and ran the angles in his mind. A cold, savage smile grew on his face.
“It seems Commodore Tecumseh is almost paranoid enough,” he said aloud. “He just spotted Stanford.”
20:28 January 21, 2736 ESMDT
SFG-001 Actual – Falcon-C type command starfighter
It was almost a relief when the Commonwealth starships finally reacted to the starfighter group.
The expanding radiation cloud from Avalon’s burst of emergency acceleration had covered and concealed Michael’s people on their approach, but he’d known it couldn’t last forever. Even if his gunner was estimating the antimatter left behind would keep annihilating itself for another twenty to thirty minutes, the further they got from the initial point, the more and more likely it was that almost two hundred antimatter drives would be picked up.
As they’d grown closer and closer, Michael had started to suspect that the two battleships he was targeting had to have seen him, and the whole thing was a trap, waiting to lure the starfighters in and annihilate them at a range where the starships could hit them and they couldn’t return the favor.
Instead, they were almost on top of Triumphant, and only half a million kilometers from Saint Augustine, flying straight between the two starships at almost five percent of the speed of light. This was insane.
“All fighters,” he snapped. “Random-walk to avoid fire, full missile salvo on Augustine. Close with Triumphant and finish the son of a bitch!”
Fitting actions to words, he twisted his starfighter into a spiral, narrowly dodging the first beam of the day as Triumphant finally realized the danger. Saint Augustine was trying to put distance between her and the starfighters, but with eight hundred Starfire missiles barrelling down on her, all she was doing was buying time.
Spiraling in towards Triumphant, Michael left the missiles to his gunner and spun up the positron lance. The six thousand ton starfighter vibrated gently as the zero point cell feeding the weapon fired up, pulsing power back into the fighter’s grid and positrons into the capacitor banks for the weapon.
Now!
One hundred and ninety-two Falcon starfighters spun in space, dancing a pirouette of survival around the deadly beams of antimatter – and then fired their own lances.
Many missed. Some only contacted for fractions of a second. A handful struck and held, the beams burning clean through the battleship as they converted her own mass into devastatingly powerful explosives.
It took Michael Stanford’s starfighters a mere eight seconds to cross their range envelope of Triumphant. When they left it, there was nothing left of the fifteen million ton battleship but radiation and debris.
Kematian was avenged.
#
Michael had fractions of a second to process Triumphant’s destruction. Even as their missiles struck home and his starfighters flashed by, Saint Augustine was firing on them. Her anti-fighter lances were targeting the swarm of missiles blasting in on her, but the battleship’s main guns could not target missiles.
They were simply inefficient at targeting starfighters. Michael winced as he saw ships simply disappear as the massive, megaton-a-second, lances struck home on starfighters barely able to withstand laser hits.
Then the missiles struck home. Starfires were fighter-launched weapons, a tenth the size and even less of the capability of capital ship missiles. The secondary lances and laser arrays took a vicious harvest, and hundreds of missiles detonated, filling the space around Saint Augustine in radiation and debris.
But hundreds remained. At this range, their initial velocity provided most of their kinetic energy – and their antimatter warheads the vast majority of their impact.
The final explosion was over half a teraton… and once that terrible and tremendous star faded, it left nothing behind of the Saint Augustine.
“Captain Roberts, this is Vice Commodore Stanford,” he said calmly, raising Avalon on the Q-Com. “We are adjusting course to rendezvous.” He checked their relative velocity and winced. “It’s… going to take a bit.”
“We copy, CAG,” Roberts replied. “We are vectoring to enable rendezvous. I make thirty-seven minutes to matched velocity.”
Michael checked. It would still take time to bring the two groups of ships together safely once they’d matched velocities, but that would get them close enough to help defend the carrier.
“We lost six starfighters,” he said quietly. “I have three pods on my scope, my Wing Commanders have already detailed retrieval teams.”
“Understood, Vice Commodore.”
“What about that last battleship, Captain?” Michael finally asked. The Saint Anthony was still heading for Avalon, though the vector the carrier was taking to rendezvous with the starfighters was helping keep her away. Unless the Terran ship actually turned away, though, she’d be able to bring Avalon to range before the starfighters would be in a position to assist.
“I’ll let you know,” Roberts replied. “It appears I have a call to make.”
20:32 January 21, 2736 ESMDT
DSC-078 Avalon, Bridge
Dropping the channel to Stanford, Kyle took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief. Wong had been overly optimistic in his assessment. Not only were all of their sensors gone, but all of the missile launcher hatches were welded shut, along with half of the emitters for the main guns.
All easy enough to repair out of shipboard resources – Avalon could fix an astonishingly large amount of damage to herself given time – but not in the time they had. With no more starfighters aboard, and Stanford on a vector off to the gods’ back acre, Saint Anthony was going to add a carrier to its kill sheet very quickly.
He smoothed his features, winked at the screen where Solace and the Secondary Control crew were watching, and activated the recorder in his chair.
“Commodore Tecumseh,” he greeted the other man calmly. “I have completed my mission in Barsoom, but I see your vessel is on a course towards mine. Understand that I did not choose to engage Saint Augustine, but your Captain Antioch left me no choice.
“If you continue on this course, Commodore, remember that I retain a full Wing of Falcon starfighters aboard. Starfighters that have just thoroughly demonstrated their ability against a Saint-class battleship.
“I came here to avenge Kematian’s dead. That is done. I have already shed more blood than I desired. Do not make me add yours to the total.
“For the honor of both our navy’s and the safety of both our crews, I
offer you this one last chance. Break off, Commodore Tecumseh. Break off, and I will leave the Barsoom system with no further conflict. You have my word as an officer of the Castle Federation Space Navy, and as a fellow starship captain.”
He ended the message and hit transmit.
“Kalers,” he opened a channel to his Acting Deck Chief. “I want you to start running power to the launch tubes and moving ships into them.”
“Sir, we don’t have any ships left.”
“Stick shuttles in them,” Kyle ordered. “No crews, just make it damn clear to, say, a close-range Q-probe that we are preparing to launch ships. They won’t be able to tell what we’re loading unless the probe is inside the damn hangar.”
The Deck Chief looked at him like he was crazy, then shrugged.
“This is why you’re the Captain, Captain,” she said, then cut the channel.
“Do you think he’ll buy it?” Solace asked very softly on an implant-only channel no one else could hear.
“Thirty-seventy,” he admitted. “And only that high because the Commodore didn’t want to fight in the first place.”
They waited. The distance between the two ships was well over a light minute again, even if there was no way Avalon could avoid engagement.
“Sir, Q-probes report Saint Anthony is breaking off her attack run,” Anderson reported loudly.
Kyle had to check for himself. His Tactical Officer was right – the battleship had reversed her course, once again settling for a vector that would keep her between Avalon and the planet with its massive, expensive, terraforming machines.
He breathed a huge, obvious, sigh of relief – and then watched the bridge crew around him disintegrate into wild cheering.
“Message inbound from Tecumseh, sir!” Carter announced.
The now-familiar Amerindian features of the Terran Commodore appeared on the screen.
“I suspect, Captain Roberts, that a single Wing of your starfighters is no match for a fully prepared battleship,” Tecumseh said bluntly. “But you are correct in that Captain Richardson was a stain upon the honor of the Commonwealth. A stain I could not have removed without your aid.
“I will have my vengeance for Captain Antioch, Roberts, have no illusions about that,” the Commodore continued. “But today… today the Commonwealth owes you a debt of honor. Leave this system, Captain Roberts. Today and today only, I will grant you that respect.”
Kyle smiled. He’d done it. Somehow, against all odds, he’d done it.
Chapter 42
Alizon System
16:00 January 28, 2736 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
DSC-078 Avalon, Bridge
Kyle made certain to be on the bridge when Avalon returned to the Alizon system. The Q-Com messages assuring him that the system was safe and that Battle Group Seventeen had arrived in his absence to secure the world were no substitute for seeing the sensor returns with his own eyes.
The three heavy capital ships orbiting above the liberated world were a welcome sight, a reassurance that despite having been lied to and led astray, the world he’d abandoned was safe.
“Scans confirm we have Battle Group Seventeen on our scopes,” Commander Anderson reported. “I am reading IFFs for Gravitas, Cameroon and Zheng He. Q-Com arrival alert has been transmitted.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Kyle told him, watching the three ships. In the back of his head, he tracked the automated interactions between his ship and the rest of the battle group. Data propagated around the ships as they began to feed their sensor data to Avalon, and notes flowed through his mind on each ship.
Including the fact that Battle Group Seventeen now had a new commanding officer – Rear Admiral Miriam Alstairs, formerly Cameroon’s Captain.
“Sir, incoming Q-Com transmission from the Rear Admiral,” Kyle was informed.
“I’ll take it in my office,” he replied.
He took a moment to settle his mind after entering his office – he might have destroyed two battleships in exchange for the loss of six starfighters and eleven lives – two of the flight crew whose pods had successfully ejected had still died of injuries before rescue – but he’d also been duped into disobeying his orders and leaving Alizon effectively undefended.
“Captain Roberts,” Miriam Alstairs greeted him once he opened the channel. “It’s good to see you return – and once again victorious where many would have failed. Of course, this time, also in disobedience to your orders.”
Kyle bowed his head.
“I was too… credulous, Admiral,” he said quietly. “That Admiral Tobin cut us off from communication should have been a warning sign.”
“It should have,” Alstairs agreed. “And many will doubt the wisdom of continuing on after learning of Dimitri’s treachery. Victory will cover some of those sins, Captain, but not all.”
“I understand, ma’am.”
“That said, I want you to realize that I am not moving the flag to Cameroon to punish you or show a lack of confidence,” she continued. “Quite the opposite. You are aware, I presume, that Admiral Tobin flew his flag from Avalon so as to keep an eye on his most inexperienced Captain?
“I don’t think that will be necessary for me.”
“I understand, ma’am,” Kyle repeated. “Thank you for explaining.”
“Oh, I’m not done with you yet, Captain,” Alstairs said with a grin that could only be called mischievous. “The Joint Chiefs have informed that it would be weeks before they could get a new Commanding Officer for Cameroon out here, so I have a question for you.
“I’ve reviewed the assessments of Senior Fleet Commander Solace by her previous Captains. I suspect at least one is, well, bullshit. Traditionally you would not provide a review for three months, but I’m afraid I must ask your assessment of your Executive Officer.”
“Ma’am, I am tempted to lie to you because I would vastly prefer to keep Commander Solace as my XO,” he replied. “I suspect that in itself is enough, isn’t it?”
“It is,” she confirmed. The newly minted Rear Admiral sighed.
“I have Military Police standing by to remove Vice Admiral Tobin and your other prisoners from Avalon,” Alstairs told him. “We have been provided basing facilities by the Alizoni, including a decent sized prison. I’m sure you want them off your ship as much as I do.”
“Agreed, Admiral,” Kyle admitted. “Tobin’s actions I can understand and accept, even as they condemn him. The mutiny, though…”
“I’ve seen the unedited report,” the Rear Admiral said. “I won’t lie – that someone in the Castle Federation would stoop so low terrifies me, Kyle. Watch your back.”
“I will, ma’am.”
“Then I will see you when you make orbit. Travel safely, Captain Roberts.”
20:00 January 28, 2736 ESMDT
DSC-078 Avalon, Captain’s Office
“Enter,” Kyle instructed as the chime on his door sounded.
A moment later, Senior Fleet Commander – soon to be Captain – Mira Solace stepped in. She looked… hesitant. It wasn’t an attitude he was used to seeing on her.
“I just received the notification from JD-Personnel, Captain,” she said quietly. “I’m being promoted and transferred to command Cameroon.”
The words came out in a rush, and Kyle gave her his brightest smile. He was disappointed to lose her, but she deserved the command – deserved it more than he had when he was given Avalon.
“Congratulations,” he told her. “I’ve served aboard Last Stands. They’re good ships, and I’ve only heard the best from Cameroon. And you’ll get Battle Group Seventeen’s tradition of the most junior Captain carrying the flag.”
“It’s a tradition now, is it?” she asked.
“Anything done twice in the military, Commander,” Kyle reminded her.
“Sir – Kyle… I have an odd request,” Solace said slowly.
“At this point, Mira, I’ve lost track of what I owe you,” he told her. “We made a damn good team, a
nd I’m sorry to see you go. You deserve it.”
“My promotion and transfer officially take effect at noon tomorrow,” she replied. “I… would like to be formally removed from my duties aboard Avalon immediately. It’s… a personal matter.”
Kyle considered. Solace was being oddly non-committal, looking down at her hands on the desk. It was an odd request, though hardly a difficult one. For sixteen hours or so, Solace would be ‘between assignments on foreign post’ and technically receive approximately ten percent less salary.
“You’re not on shift before the transfer,” he pointed out. “I can’t see an issue, Mira.” With a thought and a command in the system, the change was registered.
“You are officially no longer the Executive Officer of Avalon,” he agreed. “Recorded and time stamped.”
“Thank you, Kyle,” Mira told him, and her eyes came up to meet his gaze. Something in them made him suddenly very aware he was still sleeping in his office and that the fold-out bed was in the corner.
“May I ask why?” he managed to choke out, but she was already on her feet and coming around the desk.
“Because as long as you were in my chain of command, Kyle, I couldn’t do this.”
The next thing he knew, she was kissing him. And since he wasn’t in her chain of command anymore, he failed to come up with any objection before he stopped caring.
Niagara System – Commonwealth Space
08:00 January 29, 2736 ESMDT
BB-285 Saint Michael – Marshal Walkingstick’s Office
Fleet Admiral James Calvin Walkingstick, Marshal of the Rimward Marches, liberator of New Dundee, and sworn servant of the Congress of the Terran Commonwealth, watched Commodore James Tecumseh enter his office with more patience than he suspected the officer expected.
“Have a seat, James,” he ordered. “I’m not going to pretend this will be an easy meeting.”
Stellar Fox (Castle Federation Book 2) Page 31
