by Jay Allan
“Sir?” There was confusion in the ensign’s voice…and perhaps the first bits of terrible realization.
“Just get those warheads ready to blow. I’m going to get the AI to set the reactor up for a controlled containment failure.” He paused, and there was a moment of total silence. “We’re not going to shoot at that Leviathan, son.” Another pause, as Ving looked around his empty bridge once more. “We’re going to ram Snow Leopard right down their throats.”
* * *
“What the hell?” Erika West stared at the display. She knew what she was seeing, but some part of her couldn’t believe it.
“What ship is that? Snow Leopard?” Her eyes were fixed on the fast-moving icon. “Get me Captain Ving! Now!”
Krantz leaned over his console for a few seconds. Then he turned back toward West. “Captain Ving, Admiral.”
“Bill, what the hell are you doing over there?” She knew, but she had to hear it from him.
“That Leviathan is going to cut off Saratoga.” His voice was weak, forced. “It’s too much firepower, too close. I’ll take care of it for you.” She could hear him gasping for air.
“No,” she said. “Captain Ving, we do not send ships to make suicide runs. Return to your previous heading.”
“Please, admiral…I’m dead already. We all are. The disease…it’s killed half the crew. I only have two people still at their posts…and neither of us are going to last long. Let us die saving the flagship…let it mean something.”
West was a cold person, at least that’s what everyone thought. But she was easily moved too, especially by acts of courage and loyalty. William Ving and his crew were dying, they were sick, weak, in pain. And his thoughts were on his duty, on how he could contribute once more before he died.
West knew she had to let him do it. She couldn’t refuse…force him to sit where he was and die in misery and futility. Or he might ignore her order, ram the enemy vessel anyway…and her refusal would turn his act of devotion into one of mutiny. No, she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t.
“Very well, Captain Ving. You have my permission.” She paused, fighting back a wave of emotion she knew her staff would find unsettling if it slipped out. “And the thoughts and prayers of everyone in the fleet go with you and your crew.” She took a deep breath. “It has been an honor to serve with you, William Ving.”
“And you, Admiral.” The line went dead. West knew Ving needed all his strength for his ship’s final attack.
She turned toward the display, trying to maintain her composure as she watched the icon move swiftly across the screen. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw his course, right from behind Saratoga. The enemy battleship was closing rapidly on the human flagship…and Snow Leopard was coming up from behind Saratoga, in the scanner shadow of the Yorktown class battlewagon.
“I’ll be damned,” she whispered under her breath. The enemy wouldn’t see Ving’s ship, not until it was too late. The attack ship would zip right by Saratoga at almost 0.02c, and then it would smash into the First Imperium vessel. West couldn’t imagine the energy that would be released when the twelve thousand tons of the attack ship slammed into the Leviathan at two percent of lightspeed, but she knew one thing. There wouldn’t be a piece left of the enemy battleship bigger than shattered chunks of atoms.
She just nodded as she watched. Snow Leopard had one of the best combat records in the fleet, and Bill Ving was one of the most skilled suicide boat pilots she’d ever seen.
And so he remains until the very end…
Saratoga shook hard. Another hit. A bad one. She left running the ship to Davis Black, but she was starting to worry about how long her flagship could take the pounding. The flag bridge was still fully operative, except for a few minor shorts, but she could tell the ship itself was in trouble. She could feel the internal explosions, smell the chemicals and smoke in the air. She knew Saratoga was spewing gases and liquids through her rent hull…and she realized Ving’s desperate attack was the ship’s only chance.
She stared down as the small icon moved toward the blue star that represented Saratoga. Just a few more seconds.
Saratoga shook again, harder this time, and the lights on the flag bridge dimmed.
“Admiral, Captain Black reports reactor B scragged. He’s reduced non-essential power usage to keep the lasers firing.”
“Very well,” she said, as she watched Snow Leopard zip around Saratoga…and head straight for the enemy ship.”
“Die well, William Ving…and all on Snow Leopard. Your comrades salute you…and they thank you.” She spoke softly, with more emotion in her voice than anyone on the flag bridge had heard before.
A few seconds later, Snow Leopard’s icon vanished…along with the Leviathan’s. Ving’s ship had one final kill to its record…and Erika West intended to make sure it went down in the official records.
* * *
Cutter leaned over the workstation, his fingers moving in a blur. The alien keyboards weren’t the same as ones built and used by humans, nor, of course were the symbols anything like an Earth alphabet. But he realized he somehow had the knowledge of how to type on them, to understand their meaning. He’d been thinking about his encounter with Almeerhan since he’d left X48 II, and now he realized the alien had left him with more than just the memories of their encounter. Somehow Cutter knew this place, as though he’d been there years before. He realized that was ridiculous, yet he seemed to understand how to use all the equipment.
He hadn’t come there expecting to know his way around. Indeed, he was almost certain the knowledge was buried somehow, surfacing only when he needed it.
Like now.
“Admiral West,” he said, leaning his face toward a small, glowing sphere. “Admiral West, do you read me?”
Connor Frasier stood behind him. The Marine looked around every few seconds, as if he expected someone to come running out of some hidden hallway or compartment. He had his assault rifle out at the ready, but Cutter had ordered him not to fire without his expressed permission. The last thing he needed was for Frasier to go shooting up all this mysterious First Imperium tech.
“Dr. Cutter?” It was West, her voice raw, distracted. “What is it, Doctor…I’m afraid I’ve got my hands full right…” She paused for an instant. “How are you sending this message, Doctor? You’re still on the planet, aren’t you?” Cutter understood her confusion. Saratoga was well outside the range of any human-built portable transmitter.
Cutter nodded, a pointless gesture he realized immediately. “Yes, Admiral. I’m…ah…borrowing some of the First Imperium equipment down here.” He could hear sounds in the background, explosions, alarms.
“Doctor, I’m afraid…”
“Listen to me, Admiral…very carefully. I have gained control over the planetary defense grid. The weapons protecting this world are extremely powerful, as we saw when our Leviathans were destroyed. But you are out of range right now…the enemy is out of range. If you can retreat, pull the First Imperium forces back with you…the defense systems will engage them immediately.”
There was an instant of silence. Then: “Understood, doctor…what is the effective range?”
“Two point five light seconds, Admiral. I will pause the auto-attack sequence so the enemy doesn’t get any warning. Get the entire enemy fleet within two point five light seconds of the planet…and I’ll do the rest.”
He knew he was asking her to trust him with the fate of the fleet…on very little actual data. He expected a fight, and he was trying to put together his argument to challenge whatever she threw back at him. But she said simply, “Understood.” Then the line went dead.
* * *
“Commander Krantz, tell Captain Vogel he has to get those ships moving faster. I don’t care how he does it, but he needs to be at the designated point in four minutes.” West had been snapping out orders nonstop. She’d suddenly commanded her ships to break off, pull back, insisting they reach specified positions in a matter of m
inutes.
Most of the ship’s captains branded the commands impossible, but she just repeated them, louder and with more focused rage behind them. Her staff had told her many times how much the fleet’s captains were afraid of her. Now she was going to find out how afraid.
“Yes, Admiral.” Krantz was used to West, but even he seemed unnerved at the force of her orders. Ever since she’d spoken with Hieronymus Cutter, she’d been on a rampage. She hadn’t explained anything, she’d just ordered the whole fleet to fall back. The tactic seemed ill-advised…it took the fleet out of formation…and the retreat would let the enemy ships get closer to the planet, the destination on which everyone in the fleet had placed all their hopes. A place they knew they had to defend at all costs. But no one had the guts to challenge West, not now.
“All vessels acknowledge, Admiral. The fleet is falling back as ordered.” A pause, no more than a few seconds. Then: “The enemy appears to be pursuing.”
“All enemy ships?”
“Most of them, Admiral. It appears they have a small tactical reserve.”
Shit. Anything outside range when Cutter lets loose with those weapons is going to survive…
“Get me Commander Jones.”
“Yes, Admiral.” Krantz turned toward his workstation. “Commander Jones on your line.”
“Beverly, what’s the status of your squadrons?” West was uncomfortable. Sending the fighters on a desperate, nearly-suicidal mission was virtually a cliché in the fleet, but it still felt unfair. No one had borne more of the burden to buy the fleet’s survival, nor paid a higher price. But she had to pull the fleet back, close enough to Shangri la for Cutter to unleash the planet’s deadly defenses. And she couldn’t leave a whole enemy task force behind, out of range and able to flee, to warn the Regent’s forces what the X108 system held.
“We’re good, Admiral. Luck seems to be with us for a change. We’ve only lost one ship…and the crew managed to eject in time.”
West sighed softly. Jones was a good officer, but she’d only ended up in command as soon as she did because Fujin was in sickbay and Hurley had gone with Compton. She was in over her head, and despite the success her people had enjoyed so far, West could hear it in her voice.
“We’re pulling the fleet back, Commander, to a new position two light seconds out from the planet. The enemy appears to be following…all except one task force. I need your people to hit that force, Beverly…and I do mean with everything you have. None of those ships can get away, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Admiral.” West could hear the tension in Jones’ voice, her struggle to sound confident, to hide her uncertainty. “You can count on us.”
I hope so, Beverly. I hope so.
“Very well, Commander. You have your orders.”
West cut the line and stared at the display, at the small cluster of tiny dots representing the fighters.
I hope so…
Chapter Sixteen
AS Midway
Z16 System
The Fleet: 87 ships (+2 Leviathans), 20,671 crew
“Arm all missiles. Prepare to launch.” Compton snapped out the order, his voice louder, harder than he’d intended. He’d been waiting, holding back the command as long as he could. He’d felt Cortez’ eyes on him the whole time, the tension of his entire flag bridge crew as the seconds ticked away. The use of missiles in sprint mode was a new tactic, one he had invented, but now he was changing it again, taking it from aggressive to downright crazy. He knew his people were waiting for the launch order…but they were going to have to wait a bit longer.
Midway shook hard. The vessel had moved into energy weapons range of the enemy, and the guns of the two Leviathans had opened fire. The First Imperium lasers were powerful weapons, but at this distance only a small percentage scored hits, and those that did had dissipated much of their energy by the time they reached Midway. But even a weakened weapon from one of the great battleships hurt, and the damage reports were already coming in.
Midway had come through the enemy missile barrage in better shape than Compton had dared to hope. Hurley’s fighters had exceeded all expectations, blowing away more than two thirds of the incoming warheads. The weakened volley then moved right through Midway’s point defense zone, first the battleship’s anti-missile laser batteries…and then the shotguns, the magnetic catapults that blasted clouds of heavy metal pellets out at enormous speed. Even a tiny scrap of metal could destroy a missile when it hit at 0.01c.
In the end, only half a dozen missiles got through, and just two of them were close enough to cause any damage, mostly overloads and crew casualties from heavy radiation blasts. Compton felt every crew member he lost, and he knew any damage to Midway’s physical plant could be the difference between victory and defeat in the battle to come. But he was still relieved. It had gone better than he’d dared to imagine.
The ship rocked again, harder this time…another hit, and some kind of internal explosion from the feel of it. Midway’s lasers were still silent. The enemy weapons had longer range…and Compton’s flagship couldn’t activate its heavy laser cannons while the missiles were still in the tubes.
“Forty thousand kilometers, Admiral.” Cortez was starting to sound nervous.
Compton didn’t reply. He just sat in his chair, staring at the display. The closest any ship had gotten before sprint firing its missiles was fifty thousand kilometers. But Compton planned to smash that record to oblivion.
“Thirty thousand kilometers.”
“Commander Cortez, I want all laser crews ready to arm and fire their weapons on an instant’s notice.”
“Yes, Admiral.” Cortez hesitated for a second, staring over at Compton.
“And Commander, advise the engineering crew I want full power to the lasers immediately after missile launch.” He paused. “And I do mean fucking immediately.” Compton rarely swore when he gave orders…which was why he’d chosen to now. He wanted his people as good as they could be, on the edge, driven to the absolute limits of their ability. Anything less, and he knew all his people would die.
“Twenty-five thousand kilometers, sir.” Cortez looked over at Compton, his tension bubbling over. This wasn’t close for sprint missile fire…it was downright insane. “Sir!”
“Hold,” Compton said, his voice frozen. Midway shook again, twice in rapid succession. They were in close range of the enemy lasers now, and each hit was taking a toll.
“Damage reports, sir,” Cortez said. “We lost two missile launchers.”
“Acknowledged.” Compton sounded like an automaton. Unshakable, fearless. But inside he felt the tension in his stomach and with each deliberative breath. He knew the missile launchers were fragile, that he would lose some during the approach. But two in one shot? He felt his throat tighten.
Stay with the plan…just a few more seconds…
“Twenty thousand kil…”
“All missiles…launch!”
Cortez whipped around, back to his station, and he ran his fingers down the board, flipping a series of levers. Midway shook ten times in rapid succession, as each of her active launchers spat out its deadly ordnance. The ten missiles appeared on the screen immediately, already moving at three hundred kilometers per second and accelerating at 50g.
“Navigation plan Gamma-2…engage. All laser batteries, fire!”
Midway lurched hard as its engines engaged, and Compton felt the 3g of thrust pressing hard against him. The burst wouldn’t be long, only twenty seconds. Just enough to confuse the enemy targeting systems, as the AIs running those two ships raced to respond to the unexpected threat of Midway’s missiles.
He heard the distant whining, the sounds of his ship’s lasers firing. And he saw a small cluster of dots, closing on the enemy ships from behind. Hurley and her ten surviving fighters, beginning their attack run.
He felt the heat inside him, the hunter’s instinct that came over him in battle. Fifty years at war, yet every time the enemy was in his sights he
felt it. Just like the first time.
* * *
“Alright people, let’s go. There’s one ship left…let’s make that zero. All ships, converge and begin attack runs. Let’s take that fucker out.” Greta Hurley still felt the tingle, the residual excitement from a moment earlier, when she’d seen one of Compton’s sprint missiles slam right into the other enemy Leviathan…and vaporize the massive battleship with 550 megatons of pure destruction. She’d heard the shouts on all her ships over the main com channel. A doomed struggle had just become a bit less hopeless, and the energy surged through her veins. She’d been planning to send five of her fighters against each of the enemy vessels, but now she had them concentrated on the sole survivor. And ten attacks could do some serious damage. A Leviathan was hard to destroy, especially an undamaged one, but her people would do their part.
“Are you ready, John?” She stared across the cockpit at her pilot.
“Ready, Admiral.”
“Then lead us in.” She turned back to the com, changing to the wing circuit. “Alright people, it’s time. Form up on my ship. I don’t want to see anybody popping off shots at long range. Everybody closes to point blank. Anybody launches a torpedo more than 10,000 klicks out has to deal with me.” She flipped off the com.
“Okay, John…let’s go.”
Wilder pushed the throttle forward, and the fighter accelerated hard. Hurley felt the pressure slam into her…6g she guessed, though she didn’t bother to check. She just stared straight ahead, focused on the enemy ship.
The First Imperium did not have fighters, and they employed their missile defense systems against the small ships in lieu of a purpose-designed array. Their light lasers and anti-missile rockets were dangerous, but they were repurposed weapons, inherently less effective than something built solely to kill fighters. And Hurley’s pilots were all veterans, experienced at evading the First Imperium fire as they attacked. Hurley knew for all the losses she’d suffered, it could have been worse. That seemed a perverse thought about a force that had lost 90% of its strength over the past eighteen months, but she knew her people had been lucky too, that the odds had been far worse even than the terrible result. She knew they might all be dead now, indeed they should all be dead…months ago. And then the fleet would have been lost too. More than once, her fighters had been the difference between victory and defeat. Yes, luck had been with them.
