by Jay Allan
“Yes, sir.”
Compton sat back and listened to Harmon relaying his orders. He appeared confident, almost unconcerned, but it was 100% bullshit. He was nervous as hell, heartbroken at being cut off from human space, scared about what would happen in the next few hours. But he was Fleet Admiral Terrance Compton, and his people needed the legend now, not the man. If they were going to survive, he had to have their absolute best, and he wouldn’t get that from despondent spacers resigned to death. He needed for them to have hope, to believe they had a chance. Because he had come up with a way to give them that chance.
“All vessels confirm receipt of nav data, sir.”
“Very well,” Compton replied. He stared at the tactical display. “Get me Captain Kato.”
Harmon leaned over his station for a few seconds. Then he turned back toward Compton. “On your line, sir.”
“Are your people ready, Captain?” There was a noticeable delay. Kato was on Akagi, about a light second from Midway.
“Yes, Admiral. We are ready.” There was deep resignation in Kato’s voice, and Compton felt his stomach clench. Kato was a talented commander and an honorable man. Just the kind who’d sacrifice himself if he thought he was saving the fleet.
“Aki, this is not a suicide mission. You are to engage the enemy until the designated moment…and then your people are to board the shuttles and abandon ship. And let me be absolutely clear…you personally are included in my definition of ‘your people.’ Is that understood?”
Kato’s ship was badly damaged, and she had no chance to keep up with the fleet. Compton had ordered Akagi—and the other fifteen vessels too shot up to maintain full thrust—to form a line protecting the flank of the main force. They were to hold off the enemy as long as possible. But Compton had been clear. The ships were on their last mission, but the skeleton crews remaining onboard were not. He had ordered them to flee, and to link up with the rest of the fleet. The plans were clear, but Compton was still afraid of unauthorized heroics. It was easier for his spacers to throw their lives away when they believed they were as good as dead anyway. But he was still determined to get them out of this alive.
“Understood, sir.”
“Remember that, Aki. Don’t you dare get yourself killed. I need all the good people I can get now. Just do your best, and then bug out before it’s too late.
“Yes, Admiral.”
Compton flipped off the com. He hoped he’d gotten his message through. Aki Kato was one of the best officers in the fleet—and more importantly, he wasn’t one of Compton’s own. The fleet was an international force, and he knew if he managed to get them out of this he would have to deal with rivalries and old resentments. And he was doing nothing to help prevent that by having his own people in virtually every major command slot.
He wasn’t making decisions based on national preferences, at least not consciously. But he couldn’t help but trust his own people more than he did those from the other powers. Besides, the navy he and Garret had built was vastly superior to any of the others, and the officers who had developed under their tutelage and leadership were head and shoulders above their rivals. Compton had Alliance officers in key positions because they were the most skilled and reliable. But he knew it created bad feeling as well. A capable PRC officer he could trust was a precious commodity, one he could ill afford to lose.
He flipped on the com unit again, calling up Greta Hurley’s fighter. She and her crews were waiting in the landing bays of a dozen ships, armed and ready to go.
“You all set, Greta?” he asked softly.
“Yes, Admiral. The strike force is ready to launch.” Her voice was cold, hard. Compton wasn’t sure he’d convinced her they had a chance, but he was certain she would do whatever was necessary to carry out his instructions.
“Very well. You may launch when ready. And Greta, remember…this is not a suicide mission.” He was getting tired of reminding everyone of that fact. “I expect you to be at the designated rendezvous point spot on time. Understood?”
“Yes, Admiral. Understood.”
“Fortune go with you, Admiral Hurley.”
“And with you, sir.”
She cut the line, and a few seconds later, Compton felt Midway shake softly—the first of the fighters launching. He looked down at his display, watching the small blue dots assemble in formation. If everything went according to plan, those ships would launch their attack and then link up with the fleet. They’d have to match vector and velocity perfectly, and the slightest inaccuracy would prove fatal. But they’d have a chance, at least. And that was all Compton could give them now.
He stood up abruptly. “Max, it’s time. Give the fleet order. All personnel to the tanks now. Maneuvers begin in twelve minutes.”
And if everything goes perfectly, we just might make it out of this system.
* * *
“All weapons ready.” Kato was in Akagi’s command chair. His ship was wounded, mortally so considering the situation. Even if Compton’s wild plan was successful, the PRC flagship was far too damaged to escape. But she still had fight left in her, and Captain Aki Kato was about to demonstrate that fact to the ships of the First Imperium.
“All weapons stations report ready, Captain.” Yoshi Tanaka sat at the tactical station on the otherwise nearly empty bridge. Akagi normally had twelve officers and two guards in her control center, but Kato had cut his crew to the bone, evacuating all but the most essential personnel. That left Tanaka and the communications officer the only others there.
His face was twisted into an angry scowl as he stared at the display, watching the enemy move closer. Kato was a veteran of the Third Frontier War, and he’d fought hard in that conflict. He’d lost good friends too. But that war had paled next to the savagery of this one, and nothing matched the intensity of his hatred for the First Imperium. The soulless robots were brutal and relentless in a way no human enemy could be. And the sacrifices this war had demanded made the devastating losses of the Third Frontier War seem light by comparison.
It only made it worse that he knew his enemies did not feel fear. They didn’t even hate their human enemies, at least not in the way mankind understood the emotion. Their attempts at genocide were logical from their perspective, and not driven by rage or prejudice. They were merely following orders in the truest sense. But Kato hated them—he hated them with all the passions his human emotions could generate. He wanted to kill them, to see them in pain, to watch them overcome with fear as he ignored their pleas for mercy. And the fact that he knew his enemy would never feel the pain or fear he wanted to inflict only drove Kato’s anger. He didn’t know if he believed any of his people would survive, but he was damned sure they were going to dish out some damage.
“All ships are to fire when ready,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. He stared across the almost silent bridge as the comm officer relayed his order to the thin line of vessels under his command. Sixteen damaged ships was a poor force to stand against the massive array of First Imperium power now approaching, but no one expected his forlorn hope to stop the enemy or even damage them significantly. All they had to do was buy a little time, and if they could manage it, even a few minutes, they could increase the escape margin for their comrades—and for themselves if they were able to evacuate in time.
His eyes were fixed on the tactical display. The first enemy line, about fifty ships strong, was almost within missile range. Many of the vessels were damaged from the earlier fighting, and some, Kato hoped, were low on ordnance. Behind the initial wave there were others, over a thousand ships in all, including twenty of the massive new design that was already being called the Colossus. The whole fleet had twenty times the firepower needed to destroy every one of Compton’s ships, but Kato wasn’t worried about the massive waves of strength relentlessly approaching. His target was the first line, and in that fight, he knew his people could inflict a toll before they bugged out.
“All missile launchers…fire. One volle
y, continuous launches.” He spoke softly, firmly, never taking his eyes off his display. Akagi shook as she flushed the missiles from her external racks. Normally, it took at least fifteen minutes to clear the superstructure from the hull to allow the internal launchers to fire. But Kato had already given his orders, and a few seconds after the missiles launched, the racks that had held them in place were jettisoned immediately, without the careful effort to direct the huge chunks of metal away from the ships. It was a dangerous procedure, and Akagi shook several times as discarded hunks of hyper-steel slammed into her hull. But Kato knew time was his most precious resource, and a concentrated missile volley had the best chance of overwhelming the enemy’s defenses and scoring some kills.
“Racks cleared, Captain.” Tanaka was staring at his screens as he reported. “We have some hull breeches, lost atmosphere in several sectors, but nothing vital. And no casualties reported.”
Kato sighed softly. That’s one advantage of having 80% of the crew gone…fewer people around to get sucked out into space when their compartment is ripped open. Dropping the racks so quickly had been a big risk, but it was looking like a gamble that had paid off. At least for Akagi.
“Admiral, Orleans reports extensive damage from disengaging external racks. She is streaming air and fluids, sir.”
“Captain Amies is to evacuate immediately.” The stricken ship was no longer capable of contributing seriously to the fight. And that meant Kato couldn’t justify risking even its skeleton crew.
He stared straight ahead, watching the cloud of missiles on his display accelerating toward the enemy. “Let’s close to laser range, Commander. The task force is to accelerate at 5g.”
Time to finish this.
* * *
“All squadrons, this is the highest precision operation we have ever attempted.” Hurley’s voice was like ice. She didn’t have Compton’s confidence that any of her people would make it through, but that didn’t matter. Live or die, she would do it following the admiral’s orders. And Compton had been clear. Besides, if they were fated to die, it meant something to her that they die well, hurting the enemy and helping give their comrades a chance to escape.
“We will be commencing our assault in one minute. You will each make a single attack run at your assigned enemy vessel, and then you will execute the exact navigation plan locked into your onboard computers. You will not delay, not for any reason. I don’t care if you think one more run with lasers will take out a Leviathan…you will follow my orders to the letter. Admiral Compton’s orders.”
Her eyes were on the chronometer. It read forty seconds, thirty-nine, thirty-eight…
“There is no room for hesitation, no margin for error. We have to reach the rendezvous point on time, and align our velocity and vectors with our specific landing platforms. Then we will have to land rapidly, again with no room for delay or mistakes.”
Twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two…
“I expect not only the best from all of you…I expect perfection. And so does Admiral Compton. It’s time to do this, people, and do it right. And then we get the hell out of here so we can fight another day. Good luck to all of you.”
She cut the line and looked over at Wilder. The pilot was also staring at the chronometer, waiting for it to count down to zero. “Alright, John. You ready for this?”
The pilot nodded slowly. “Yes, Admiral. I’m ready.”
Hurley turned toward the rest of the crew. “Boys?”
The others nodded. “Yes, sir,” they said almost simultaneously—and unconvincingly.
Hurley took a deep breath as she watched the display worked its way through the single digits…to zero.
She leaned back as Wilder hit the thrust and the pressure of nine gees slammed into her. She could hardly move, but she managed to glance down at her screen. The entire formation, 243 small blue dots, moved ahead in perfect order. She felt a rush of pride. Her force included craft from most of the superpowers, crews with different training doctrines and capabilities. There were former enemies fighting together, men and women who had struggled against each other in the great battles of the Third Frontier War. But she had forged them into a single cohesive unit, and she’d done it in just two years. And she was damned proud of every one of them.
Many of her people were already dead. Indeed, almost two-thirds of her strength was gone in the battles of the last few days. More would die soon, she knew, but the fighter wings had done their part and more. They had given all they had to give to defeat mankind’s enemy.
“Captain Kato’s ships have fired their missiles, Admiral.” Kip Janz was the fighter’s main gunner, but now he was manning the small scanning station. He was struggling to hold his head up over the scope, to push back against the massive forces bearing down on them all. “It looks like they somehow launched everything in one continuous volley.” Janz’ tone was thick with confusion, but Hurley understood immediately.
He blew off his racks. Hopefully, he didn’t sustain too much damage.
“We’ll be at Point Zeta in thirty seconds, Admiral.” Wilder’s voice was as strained as everyone else’s. No one, not even the hardest veteran, could take nine gees without it affecting everything they did. “Cutting thrust in three…two…one…”
Hurley felt the crushing pressure disappear, replaced by the weightlessness of free fall. She looked down at her display, watching the icons align as thirty squadrons cut thrust simultaneously, maintaining almost perfect order. Then her eyes glanced toward the top of the screen, where a line of large red ovals marked the enemy vessels.
Her birds were already entering firing range, but not a shot came from any of her fighters. Every one of them was loaded with double-shotted plasma torpedoes, and the plan was simple—fly through everything the enemy could throw at them and close to point blank range before firing. She knew they wouldn’t all make it through, but the enemy ships in the first line had been badly shot up, and with any luck, the defensive fire would be light. The First Imperium didn’t have any fighters, and their defensive tactics had been thrown together to meet the threat posed by the small craft of the human fleets. Her birds were coming in fast, and that would minimize the time they spent in the hot zone. But they were also heading directly for their targets, and at almost 0.04c, they weren’t going to be able to maneuver or alter their vectors quickly. In space combat, high velocity reduced the variability of a target’s future location, in many cases making it easier to target them.
“We’ve got enemy missiles on the screen, Admiral.” Janz’ turned toward Hurley. “It looks like a heavy volley, but not as bad as it could be.”
Hurley could tell from Janz’ tone the enemy response was considerably weaker than he’d expected. “Man your guns, Lieutenant. It’s time to take out some missiles.”
“Yes, Admiral,” he replied sharply.
Hurley could hear a loud hum as the fighter’s anti-missile lasers powered up. The tiny ship had four of the small point defense weapons. They had an effective range of about 5,000 kilometers, almost nothing relative to the vast distances in space combat. But the missiles approaching weren’t the enemy’s big antimatter fueled, multi-gigaton ship killers either. They were barely firecrackers by comparison—20 to 50 megatons. They had to get close to take out one of her birds. A detonation within 300 meters would destroy a fighter outright. One half a kilometer away would probably give her entire crew a lethal dose of radiation. But any farther out, and the damage, if any, would be light.
She sat quietly and watched her tiny ship’s crew go about their tasks. She didn’t need to interfere. They were the best. She’d trained them, she’d led them. Now she would let them do their jobs.
“Missiles entering interception range in four minutes.”
Hurley nodded, but she didn’t reply. She just sat and waited. And wondered how the rest of the fleet was doing. Compton’s plan had seemed crazy to her at first, but the more she thought about it, the more she came to believe he just might pull
it off. It didn’t pay to bet against Terrance Compton.
Getting through the warp gate didn’t mean getting away, but it was a step in the direction. Once the fleet transited, Compton intended to drop a spread of mines just on the other side and blast toward one of the system’s exit gates. The enemy fleet would follow, but its sheer size would slow its transit—and the minefield would disorder it further. With any luck, Compton would gain on the enemy, increasing the gap between the two forces. And he would need every kilometer he could get.
Compton had scouting data on X4, and the location of several potential exit gates. But whatever system lay beyond was a total mystery—and each successive transit would be a gamble. Would they manage to find an exit gate in each before the enemy caught them? Or would one of the systems prove to be a dead end, with no escape?
“Missiles entering range in one minute.”
Hurley had great confidence in her people, but she knew this was a more than just a difficult mission. She tried not to think of it as a suicide run, as much because she knew that’s what Compton wanted, and not because she particularly expected to survive. Her birds were moving at a high velocity, and that made the job easier for the enemy missiles. Her ships couldn’t quickly alter their vectors, which meant the incoming warheads had a small area to target.
“Commencing interception.”
Hurley heard the high pitched whine of the lasers firing, one shot after another in rapid succession. She’d always hated this part of an assault, pushing through the enemy’s long-ranged interdiction, powerless, waiting to see if her ship would get picked off by a well-placed—or lucky—shot. Her fighters’ weapons were deadly, but they were shorter ranged, especially if she wanted to do serious damage. And she damned sure wanted that. So there was no choice but to take what the enemy threw at her people, and hope for the best.
