“Port Shields down to 80%. Severe spotting experienced on the starboard side! Shield collapse is imminent, sir,” Longbottom reported like a metronome, speaking as if detached and completely unaffected by the news he was relaying.
The ship rocked. “We’re taking fire from the rest of the Battleship Squadron,” reported Tactical, “and one of the Heavy Cruisers is maneuvering to get around behind us for a shot at our engines. They’ll also see the shuttles as soon as they get over here.”
“Minor hull damage sustained; the duralloy girdle stopped a burn-through,” reported Damage Control in a mixture of relief and surprise.
“Jammer field just flickered off and on but is now steady,” reported Sensors, and my eyes shot up reflexively to the main screen.
The sight was not one to fill my heart with confidence. Spread around the Battleships and Cruisers, in a half-crescent formation, were the Harmony Destroyer Squadrons—and they were accelerating rapidly toward our position.
“You have to call in the rest of the fleet and get this ship moving or you’ve killed us all,” Laurent said in a low intense voice. “This is a Strike Cruiser; it’s meant to stick and move. We can’t slug it out like the Battleships you’re used to.”
“I have a plan. Trust in me, Captain,” I said and then dismissing him from my concerns I turned to tactical. “How are the shields on that Battleship doing?” I demanded.
“They’re starting to spot, and more of our laser strikes are getting through, but we won’t be able to punch through that hull armor anytime—” his words were interrupted as the ship lurched and the lighting flickered off before stabilizing.
“Shield collapse on the starboard side! Port shields down to 66%,” reported Longbottom.
“Hull penetration on deck four; emergency bulkheads activated to stop atmospheric leak,” reported Damage Control. “Secondary starboard power was cut so we’re rerouting through tertiary systems. Damage control teams sent to assess and repair the severed line.”
“Order the shuttles out from behind us—it’s time they made their attack run,” I ordered.
“That’s suicide, sir,” Laurent gasped.
The Tactical Officer’s head whipped around. “I agree with the Captain, Admiral. Even if their shields were down—which they’re not—there’s no way the shuttles can survive that kind of enemy counter-fire. They’ll be shot down within seconds of approaching the Battleship’s hull.”
I looked back and forth between Tactical and my Captain.
“My order stands,” I said emotionlessly. I knew that this was our chance, and if it didn’t happen right then, it wasn’t going to and we might as well pull out now. And that was something I simply could not do.
“Don’t you understand, man, your wife’s on one of those shuttles and they’ll just flatten like pancakes on the shields of that waller?” Laurent shouted at me.
“Guards,” I said, turning to the Lancers guarding the blast doors leading into the bridge, “another outburst like that and I want the Captain escorted off the Bridge!”
On the screen the shuttles came out from behind our ship and started their attack run.
“You’ve killed them all,” Laurent said, feeling blindly around behind himself and slumping into a chair.
“No worse odds than we faced against the main Droid fleet at Aqua Nova,” I said dismissively and turned away. I hoped the Captain pulled himself together soon since I was going to need him, but perhaps some men were just not made for dealing calmly with overwhelming odds.
“First shuttle destroyed, Admiral,” the Sensor Warrant said his shaken voice filling the shocked silence on the bridge.
The thought of Akantha being on that shuttle caused something to clench deep in my chest and I turned my head to the side until my neck cracked before taking a deep breath and righting my head again.
“Multiple laser strikes on our hull, from multiple Battleships,” Tactical said as the bridge rocked from side to side.
“Blighters,” swore the tech in charge of monitoring life support, “they just took out hydroponics—the one still fully dedicated to normal food.”
Men and women groaned or cursed all over the bridge.
“A hit!” shrieked Eastwood, standing up and dancing around with his microphone still in hand.
I stared at the First Officer in muted shock, wondering if he had just been the first bridge officer to finally snap.
“Enemy shields down!” cried the Tactical Officer in disbelief and dawning triumph. “Gunnery just took out their entire shield generator with a pair of plasma balls and a direct turbo-laser strike!!” My hands shot up to my head and I grabbed my hair in momentary excitement.
“New orders to the shuttles: they are to divert away from their current target and go for the second Battleship, here, on the edge of their formation,” I ordered briskly, indicating the vessel I had designated—a vessel which still had its shields up.
“What?” multiple people around the bridge—including Laurent and Tactical—said with disbelief.
“DuPont, full power to the engines, now!” I ordered.
“But, sir, we just took out their shields—the shuttles might actually have a chance,” Laurent said speaking quickly.
“The shuttles were a diversion; obey my orders at once. At once, Captain,” I snapped, jumping out of my chair with growing rage. “Did you think I was foolish enough to send our Lancers—and my own wife—against that Battleship in a shuttle? What kind of lunatic do you take me for, Cedric?! Now, relay the order immediately to the shuttles; the Lancers are to bail out of the shuttles on grav-boards at the first opportunity and follow along behind.” “Aye, sir,” Laurent said numbly, looking shell-shocked. Then a growing smile spread across his face as his eyes cleared, “Yes, sir!”
“Gunnery on the starboard side: counter-fire those enemy lasers, son! We’ve got Lancers on grav-boards making final approach,” ordered Eastwood before flipping a switch. “Port side: you are to fire as you bear upon the new enemy Destroyer.”
I clenched my fist in anticipation—maybe we could actually do this! They would remember it forever as the Admiral’s Ride, where a single Strike Cruiser took on a reinforced squadron of Battleships and brought them to their knees.
“Shields down to 40% on the port side. We have severe spotting, Admiral,” reported Longbottom. “Without the starboard generator back up and rebooted, I can’t balance the load like she’s designed for.”
“Do your best, Longbottom,” I said with feeling, “you’ve done an amazing job so far. Just get us through this battle more or less intact and I swear I’ll—”
The ship rolled unexpectedly, and I floated more than a foot out of my chair before suddenly the gravity generators kicked back in—sending me crashing back down with a double thud as first I hit the chair, and then the floor. In all the excitement of our lucky strike on the Battleship, I had apparently forgotten to strap in.
Groans—including one scream—erupted around the bridge and informed me that I wasn’t the only one.
“Report,” I moaned pulling myself back up into my chair. I was already strapping myself in before I’d consciously thought about what I was doing. I was physically shaken and running on autopilot.
“We just lost our primary engine,” DuPont reported with a cough.
“Shields fluttering at 28%; total shield collapse imminent,” Longbottom said, still sounding like he’d just graduated from the Academy.
“That Heavy Cruiser got a full broadside right up our stern,” Tactical reported.
“Starboard secondary engine is damaged. She’s overheating and only putting out 40% of peak push, Admiral,” DuPont reported.
“Can we outrun them?” I asked, praying for the right answer. Had I finally pushed my luck too far? “I know they’re Battleships, so they’re slow,” I added, praying for the answer I wanted to hear.
DuPont paused and then looked back and me. “Not with our current best speed, sir,” he replied shaking h
is head.
My face hardened, “Continue our attack run at the best speed you’re able, Helm. And somebody get damage control parties out to check on those engines—we need more speed!”
“Wait one,” said Damage Control Tech Arienne Blythe, in that same cool, laconic tone I’d come so much to rely upon. Then she looked over at me with concern, “I can’t raise the Chief Engineer, sir. In fact, no one’s answering down in Engineering.”
“Did we take a hit to Main Engineering?” I asked a bit too calmly.
“No, sir,” Technician Blythe shook her head. “I’ll contact one of the teams near the engines directly and send someone over to Main Engineering.”
I hesitated and then shook my head. “Get me Gants,” I said as the ship shuddered and shook around me. I would be good and blasted before I allowed outside forces to distract me once again.
“Got him, sir,” Lieutenant Steiner said after a second.
“What can I do you for, Admiral?” Gants asked, appearing on the screen built into the arm of my chair.
“I want you to suit up and take a party from the Armory down to Main Engineering,” I said flatly.
“Sir?” he asked cocking his head and furrowing his brows.
“Do whatever you have to do to keep control of the situation,” I said, giving him a penetrating look.
Understanding dawned on his face, followed by a growing concern. “We’re already suited up, sir. I’ll take half the group with me for our inspection and see what we can do to help out,” Gants said, giving me a thumbs-up sign before turning away.
I turned back to the rest of the bridge. “Where are we on that second Battleship?” I demanded, looking up just in time to see the first of our shuttles pile-drive right into the still very-functional shields of the second Battleship. I could see we had that matter right in hand, so I switched gears, “ah…Mr. DuPont, take us within jump range of their hull and, as soon as their shields start spotting badly enough, we’ll send over the Lancers.”
“On it, Admiral,” said DuPont.
I turned to the Flag Captain, “If you see the opening before I do, give the order and send over the Lancers. Better that some of them get through than none at all,” I said, feeling like a heartless Montagne for giving the order. But what else could I do? In all likelihood, unless something happened fast, the Lancers were going to have a better chance than we would of making it out the other side of this thing.
Laurent nodded and turned away.
Turning back to the screen, I searched frantically for my next move. My bag of tricks had just been emptied—or would be, as soon as the port side Lancers jumped—and I didn’t know how I was going to survive, let alone pull out a win.
With a squadron of Battleships moving in for the kill, and our engines down, it looked like I’d really screwed it up this time. Cruisers really were different than Battleships.
Chapter 36: To Spalding or not to Spalding
“I didn’t think you’d actually show,” Spalding said, looking over with alarm as the large Tracto-an Persus slid into the co-pilot’s seat on his lander. He surreptitiously maneuvered the data slate he’d been monitoring over to the other side of his body.
Persus glowered at him like he wanted to take a swing.
Spalding lifted the brow over his single, natural eye and met the warrior’s hard glare without flinching. He’d seen a lot worse during his time as a spacer—although he was moderately interested why the big slab of beef was giving him the hairy eyeball.
“The Hold Mistress sent me over here as soon as she heard I was recruiting a few warriors for your shuttle,” the Tracto-an scowled. “She said you were one of the ‘crown jewels of her holdings,’ and I was to ensure you came back alive from whatever crazy magic you plan.”
“Well…” Spalding blinked, completely taken aback. “I didn’t know the lass cared so much about an old broken down engineer,” he said emotion thickening his voice.
“Oh, she does—I can promise you that,” Persus said, leaning forward threateningly. “But if her ladyship dies out there because I am not by her side, you will wish you had never asked for my help.”
“Now let’s just get something straight right now,” Spalding growled and his slate beeped.
Persus’ eyes darted to the pad, and then back to Spalding’s.
“Wait one,” the old Engineer snatched up his slate with alarm. Taking in the scene, he moaned, “Oh, lad…” He shook his head brokenheartedly; everything inside him was yelling at the young fool on his screen to not do it.
Thumbing around on the pad, he linked to an earbud in his pocket and then crammed the bud into his hear canal. He listened for a minute and watched the screen before sighing. Well that as that; a road journeyed too far; the bolt tightened one twist too far, causing it to finally strip the threads away; an engine overheated beyond tolerance…
He started to reach for his pad and then clenched a fist. He opened and closed the same hand, realizing that it suddenly felt old and shaky—too shaky for an old man to still call himself a hard-working engineer.
Then, with a shuddering sigh, he closed his eyes as his shaky fingers unerringly found the button he had left on the corner of his screen. For a long second his finger hesitated, causing his eyes to open and him to glare down at it. Despite a lifetime of training, conditioning and what’s more loyalty to the Crown, that finger just wouldn’t move.
Shaking his head and knowing himself for a failure as a man, the old engineer removed his finger from over the skull-and-crossbones in the upper right corner of the screen. Moving with new purpose, he brought up a new menu and pulled up a different icon, stabbing it savagely with his finger. It was almost as if by hitting the screen hard enough, he could break it and in so destroying a perfectly good pad he could expunge the weakness within him.
When the pad failed to break—and instead sent the order he’d just given it—he tossed it on the floor and stomped on it several times.
“A problem?” Persus inquired mildly.
“No,” Spalding snapped, breathing hard. He took a deep, shuddering breath and reiterated, “Nothing wrong at all.”
Reaching down, he picked up the cracked and flickering screen that had survived even a droid foot stomping on it. Returning it to voice-activated mode, he placed a call.
“Hey, Chief, I can’t talk right now; I’m on the job,” said the voice of the young former engineer on the other side.
“Gants, me boy,” Spalding said, his voice sounding stilted in his own ears. He wondered if everyone could hear the shame as plainly as he felt it, “This won’t take but a minute.”
“Sorry, Commander; I’m on my way to Engineering and I—” Gants said.
“Perfect!” Spalding declared, and then quickly made his voice as sad as a group of church goers heading out to serenade the widows of the parish on Sunday. “That is to say, me boy, I need you to hurry down to Main Engineering right away.”
“I’m on a mission for the Admiral but, if I can, anything for you, Chief,” Gants said with his usual, happy determination.
“Gants, I’m afraid there’s been a terrible accident,” Spalding said and the sorrow in his voice wasn’t forced this time, “it seems a gas line broke in the main workshop and adjacent crawlspace; the better part of half the crew’s been knocked out—my own boy among them. If you could see your way to takin’ them to Medical and seein’ that they’re locked up in isolation until they can all be tested for bad air, I’d dearly appreciate it.” “I’ll see they get to Medical, Chief,” Gants said, sounding anything but understanding.
“Mind me, now: they need to be in strict isolation until after the battle, boy,” Spalding said his voice turning hard. “There’s no knowing what a dose of bad air can do to a lad—I mean, man…erm, men. Best we keep them locked up until they’ve had a chance to sleep it off, if you know what I mean. Liable to do any blasted thing, all hopped up on CO2 and argon and such, don’t you know.”
“I see,” Gants sai
d, his voice changing and hardening.
“It would break my old heart to see anything happen to my boy and his lads,” Spalding sighed, feeling like the most wretched piece of vacuum-treated dung that there ever was. “I hope you understand.”
There was an extended pause where the old engineer could just hear the younger man breathing. “Anything for you, Chief; you know that. All you have to do is ask,” Gants said, “but I’ve really got to go now.”
“Ah, well, don’t let an old fool keep you,” Spalding said, cutting the transmission. Reaching down to the pad, he logged out of the Imperial Intelligence’s anti-mutiny controls, then he copied, updated, and changed the system to accept all-new passwords. He took several deep breaths and looked back over at Persus. “Where were we?” he asked blankly.
Persus cocked his head. “I hope your son is okay,” the Tracto-an said solicitously.
“By all rights he ought to be dead; he fell in with a bad crowd and didn’t watch where he was going, and now look at him,” Commander Spalding of the MSP growled at him. “Malfunction in the computer system was the only thing that saved his life.” He finished jutting out his jaw, knowing that in a way it was even true—if one included a faulty, mechanical appendage into the mix.
“I thought he took some bad air?” Persus said, drawing back.
“He did,” the old Engineer said grumpily and then gave the Lancer a hard look, “and he was lucky that’s all he took. Now, are your boys ready to load up? This lander can all but fly itself but it’s of no use to anyone without its payload!”
Placing two fingers in his mouth, Persus whistled and moments later the clang of battle-armored feet charging into the lander could be heard.
“Now that’s more like it,” Spalding grumped.
Chapter 37: Surprise Attack!!!!
“The Phoenix just lost her main engines, Commodore,” reported Tactical.
Admiral Invincible (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 7) Page 29
