by Adams, David
"Thirty seconds!" shouted Wolfe, as the Seth'arak loomed closer and closer.
It was going to be very close.
Command and Control Core
Toralii Cruiser Seth'arak
["We can fire momentarily, Warbringer!"]
Smoke filled the control core, so thick and acidic it burned his eyes. Fires raged on multiple decks, and the hologram above him shimmered as though it would wink out at any moment. Purple alarm lights flashed in all corners of his vision, and the ship's gravity generators were offline. The contents of the room floated all around him, along with a not-insignificant amount of purple blood.
He had ignored the Humans for too long. The insects had stingers; individually weak, but collectively they had buckled the Seth'arak's hull and breached their defences.
His crew stood by him, though. He knew that they would. The Seth'arak was the pride of the Alliance space arm. They would follow him until their death.
Vican's voice cut over the wail of the complaining systems. ["Another wave of fire is incoming!"]
The ship rocked from the impacts, and as Avaran watched, it tilted on its axis. He swore, loudly and profusely. The worldshatter device was forward aiming; if the ship could not be steered, the ability to fire at the Humans would be lost.
["The inertial drive is offline!"] said Baelica. ["The ship is drifting!"]
["Repair it."] Avaran moved to where Baelica stood, clutching her console as though she might fly away from it at any moment. ["Or move to the backup system, I care not. I need to point the front of my ship at the target."]
They would not escape him this time.
["Warbringer,"] said Baelica, ["we should consider retreating. If we regain some control of our systems, the L1 jump point is not far. We can slingshot around the planet, effect repairs while shielded by Velsharn's mass, and then fire again on the way out. Our thermal capacity is already too high. If we fire again with all this damage, we may risk a cascade."]
["Toralii do not fear death, Airmaiden. Find your courage."]
["It is the Kel-Voran who mistake suicide for war, Warbringer. There is no shame in saving your vessel and the lives of your crew."]
["Poetic,"] said Avaran, holding Baelica's seat as the ship rocked from another wave of fire. His legs floated towards the shimmering, failing hologram in the ceiling. ["But we can neither attack, defend, nor escape without the ability to manoeuvre."]
Baelica spoke into her windwhisper device, then to Vican. ["The constructs are effecting repairs, but we have lost too many. We may not regain the ability to move in time before our current trajectory takes us into Velsharn's atmosphere."]
Avaran glanced up at the holographic image, a picture of Velsharn growing larger and larger as the ship, its movement ballistic, flew towards it, spinning slowly on its vertical axis.
["Time to impact?"]
["Quarter of a cycle."]
That would have to be good enough. Avaran ground his sharp teeth together. ["Then if our worldshatter device does not finish them, 200,000 tonnes of warship shall instead!"]
Baelica looked at him as though he was mad, but then a tremendous explosion threw her away from him and him from her. The ship lurched violently, and debris floated in the lack of gravity.
["The inertial drive is functional!"] shouted Vican, triumph soaked into every word. ["We have rudimentary flight control!"]
Smug satisfaction. The Humans would be destroyed. Avaran fought to right himself in the lack of gravity. More blood floated in the command core, and the profound scent of it filled his nostrils.
["Airmaiden Baelica, angle the dispersion beam wide enough to cover the entire island."]
Adjutant Vican's voice reached him through the smoke. ["Baelica is dead, Warbringer. I'll make the adjustments myself."]
["Fire when ready, Adjutant."]
His ship shook, building with energy, and then there was only white light.
CHAPTER XI
No Third Option
*****
Operations
TFR Washington
Space above Velsharn
ANDERSON WATCHED AS A BRIGHT, eerie light enveloped the Seth'arak, a pulse of energy running from its stern to its ravaged bow. It shone ever brighter, a raw beam of power growing from the ship's body, sparks flying in all directions like a swarm of fireflies gathered at the tip. The glow became too bright, heat pouring off the ship in waves, distorting their view of the ship that was to be the destroyer of the rest of their species.
Then, with a searing light that washed out their cameras, the Seth'arak broke in half. The aft section exploded in a white ball of expanding gasses and heat that moved outwards in a sphere, the powerful force becoming a faint shockwave by the time it reached them, the ripple washing over their vessel with barely a shudder. Then the debris, metal rain scraping and pounding on their hull as it passed.
"Report," said Anderson, staring wide-eyed at the nothing before him where the Seth'arak had been moments before.
"The rear half of the ship is gone," said Wolfe. "Its reactors overloaded, near as I can tell."
"They pushed too hard," said Anderson, but a shudder ran through his ship from the stern.
"Captain, the second and third cruisers are firing on us."
He touched his headset. "Washington to Tehran and Madrid, the Seth'arak is combat ineffective, good work. But we're taking fire from the other cruiser, and there are a significant number of vessels behind them. We need to make a defensive screen and protect the Beijing until they can gather their people and lift off."
Concern filled de Lugo's voice. "We are unable to raise the Beijing, Captain, but I'm uncertain they will be able to leave the planet even if they wanted to. Thermal imagery is showing significant damage to the ship's superstructure, along with numerous secondary explosions. They have a significant hull breach, and one of their reactors may be in danger of exploding."
"Damn. Then there's nothing we can do for them from here," said Anderson. "We just have to buy them as much time as we can." A glance at the radar screen confirmed what he already knew. "Don't worry, we have enough to keep us worried up here."
"I was worried we were going to run out of targets," said de Lugo, laughing in his ear. "One down, a dozen to go."
"Do you think I should ask them if they want to surrender?"
"Can't hurt."
Farah Sabeen spoke next. "The Tehran will provide fire support as long as we are able, but our stern has taken moderate damage. We can take down the next cruiser with our combined firepower, Insha'Allah."
Insha'Allah. One of the few Islamic phrases he knew. "God willing."
"Confirmed, Tehran. We'll work with you."
Anderson glanced to Wolfe. "Bastards didn't even bother making a formation," he observed. "They just sailed right towards the colony, in the order they jumped in."
"Cost them their lead cruiser." Wolfe pointed to a radar on the command console. "Look at how much more cautious the second vessel is."
"Once bitten, twice shy."
"Maybe they're just waiting for their fellows before they move forward," said Wolfe. "They're decelerating. They must have realised we can sting them if they rush in."
It did seem to be the case. All ships continued to exchange volleys of fire, but the distances involved meant that by the time the projectiles arrived, the ships had left the area they had occupied when the rounds were fired. Anticipating their manoeuvres, when their radars could not even provide real-time information, was impossible.
Still, the Human ships had ammunition to spare, and every second's delay was another second the Beijing had to rally their forces and either to assist with the battle or retreat.
"Captain," said Perez, his communications officer. "Incoming transmission from the L1 jump point."
"I'm reading a contact there," said Cole. "200,000 tonnes." He chewed on his lower lip as he read from his console, the wait intolerable to him. "No identification. It must be leading another wave of ships."<
br />
Then they were finished. Even if the Beijing, by some miracle, managed to lift themselves out of the mountainside, the paths to the only two jump points they could realistically reach were cut off. The L4 and L5 points were far too far away, and across too much open space. They would never make it.
"Play the transmission," said Anderson, although he was in no mood for Toralii gloating. "Every moment they spend talking to us buys us more time."
["Human defenders of Velsharn,"] said a male Toralii voice unknown to him. ["I am Worldleader Evek, Warbringer of the Defenders of Augara, Commanding Officer of Krekhan, The Hand of Reckoning. I come at the behest of Wrathbringer Melissa Liao, Spear of Earth, to defend the world of Velsharn."]
Defend? He touched his headset. "You have my full attention, Worldleader Evek. I am Captain Edward Anderson of the Task Force Resolution. We are currently under sustained assault from the Toralii Alliance, the same fleet who burned our homeworld. They have fired on the surface of Velsharn, inflicting unknown damage on the Beijing and the colonists it harbours. We respectfully request your assistance."
["We acknowledge that the Alliance has violated our sovereignty, just as Commander Liao promised they would. Link our computers, and we will assist you until the remainder of our fleet arrives."]
Liao had been in direct communication with this Worldleader Evek? She had mentioned nothing of this to him, nor had any of the other commanding officers he had spoken to of late.
Perhaps Captain Grégoire had known of this. Even so, that seemed odd. Grégoire had always been on the level with all of them, particularly in matters of inter-fleet communication.
"Sir," said Perez. "Direct communication from the Tehran. Private channel only."
"Put it through."
"Edward, this is Farah. What the fuck?"
Such a harsh statement from the normally mild mannered Muslim made him laugh despite it all. "I have no idea, Commander. Commander Liao didn't mention anything to me."
"Nor to de Lugo," said Farah. "How the hell did this happen?"
"We'll ask Liao when we see her next," said Anderson. "But right now, well… there's a saying amongst Americans. 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.' It means that when something good happens, like the tactical situation changing from hopeless to slightly-better-than-suicidal, you don't ask too many questions."
"Agreed. I'll take slightly-better-than-suicidal odds at this point. Allah subhānahu wa ta'āla smiles upon us today. Commander Sabeen out."
If there were any deities up there, with "up" being an entirely arbitrary position in the void of space, Anderson found it hard to believe they looked upon them with anything other than mild disdain. There could be no love in their hearts if they were willing to slaughter almost all of their population to prove some point the survivors could not understand.
The ship rocked as another volley of fire raked across their stern.
"Mr. Cole, forward targeting information to the Krekhan and work with their teams to provide fire solutions."
"My Toralii's fairly rusty," said Wolfe, "but did he call his ship The Hand of Reckoning?"
"Yeah. Seems like the more important their ship is, the longer a title the Toralii give it."
"Right."
Anderson, sipping his coffee, studied the long-range radar. The drink, along with the repetitive motion of drinking, helped him focus. He always drank from a special mug, electric blue, a gift from his father. He'd taken it on all his deployments. Wolfe disapproved—not because of his Mormon beliefs, which prohibited coffee or tea, but because ceramics could shatter, something which posed a profound risk if the gravity went out. Fortunately for his sanity, Anderson had convinced him to indulge this particular eccentricity. Being a Captain had its privileges.
Two more Telvan ships had joined the fight, appearing in the L1 Lagrange point, their weapons tiny streaks on the radar screen as they leapt towards the Alliance vessels. Their manouvering betrayed a subtle change in the enemy ships' locations as they joined up. No longer were they a long line, a disorganised rabble leisurely floating towards victory. This time they knew danger lay ahead, and they were forming up accordingly. A three-dimensional cone, pointed directly at the Telvan fleet; such a formation would enable them to direct maximum firepower towards the most perceived threat.
"Now this is a more even fight," said Wolfe, and Anderson was inclined to agree.
Not that he was prepared to take such a thing on face value. Things weren't always as they seemed.
"Ready another volley of railgun fire. Coordinate our attack with the Krekhan and our surviving Broadswords. See if we can punch a hole in that wall of metal."
"Nuclear warheads are armed and ready, sir."
"Weapons free, Commander Wolfe. Fire at your discretion."
The Washington shuddered as twin nuclear-tipped missiles, propelled by magnetic rails that ran the length of the ship, flew from the stern to the bow and leapt across the void. Even though they moved at a considerable fraction of the speed of light, their movement across the radar screen was painfully slow.
"Impact in twelve seconds, Captain. Six. Signals have merged."
It was hardly a dramatic moment. Their wave of dots met the dots that represented the Toralii, and then static and heat on their thermal cameras, then nothing. Of course, the impacts had occurred well in the past, but such matters were of little concern.
"Hit, hit. Two hits, Captain, and several from the Broadswords all on the lead Alliance ship. The Krekhan is opening up with all plasma batteries. The Alliance is returning fire." The torrent of super accelerated plasma flowed towards the Krekhan as the Alliance volley leapt across space towards their allies.
"Lieutenant Perez, patch me through to Evek."
The plasma rolled over their Telvan ally, and then a static-filled voice filtered through his headset.
["This is a poor time for conversation, Captain. We are busy."]
In the background, alarms wailed with an urgency he understood. "Copy that, Krekhan. What's the plan?"
["Our remaining ships are entering the jump point as we speak, but until that time, the Krekhan will suffer the brunt of their fire. Our resolve is as strong as our hull plating, Human."]
"How can we assist you?"
["Continue as you are. Your weapons are causing heat and radiological damage to their vessels, that is just as valuable an assistance as any. Our hull can withstand their fire. Breakthrough cruisers are built for just this task, jumping to dangerous locations and absorbing the hatred of fleets of ships. We will hold!"]
"Excellent. Washington out." He switched channels. "Anderson to Tehran. Farah, how are you coping over there?"
"Doing well. We have absorbed a moderate amount of Alliance fire, and our number two railgun is only operating at half efficiency, but we're firing as best we can. It's almost as though the Toralii never learnt not to hit girls."
["Why not?"] asked Evek over their line. Clearly, Farah had been talking to him before.
"Because," said Sabeen, "they hit back. Fire another salvo, both rails, and target the lead vessel."
Railgun slugs and their magnetically launched missile cousins poured out of all three Pillars of the Earth, the Washington, the Madrid, and the Tehran working in unison. The Telvan gave them targeting information, they complied, and the dots on their radar screens dodged, weaved, and merged. This was the long-range combat he had trained for. Operations was a smooth, well-oiled machine as the Washington put rounds downrange, fired missile after missile, and engaged in defensive manoeuvring as much as a 200,000 tonne ship could.
The Beijing had been in its share of metaphorical knife fights, but aside from the engagement with the Seth'arak, primarily conducted at short ranges, this was where the Washington shone from a technological point of view and where Anderson was most comfortable.
War conducted from exceedingly long ranges, where the enemy couldn't fight back. Victory was supposed to be total, absolute, and unfair.
More Telva
n ships appeared in the L1 Lagrange point; long-range optics showed the Krekhan venting smoke and atmosphere into space, with fires on multiple decks, but their Telvan allies fought on. The Humans continued to pour fire into them.
"Captain," said Wolfe, "our Broadswords are dry on missiles. They're requesting combat landings to re-arm and swap wounded crewmen."
"Do it. Turn our starboard side to the Toralii, and open our port side hangar bay doors."
"That will leave us more exposed," warned Wolfe. "The broadside is a much larger attack surface."
"And also less damaged. Let's spread the hate out a bit. If we make only a partial tea-time turn, it should increase the normal for our armour."
Wolfe conceded the point with a firm nod. "Turning port, thirty degrees, increasing angle of attack to maximise the normal."
Armour was essentially a wall of metal. British tank commanders in the Second World War had learnt a manoeuvre called "tea time". They would position their forward armour so that incoming fire struck it at an angle. This not only increased the relative thickness of the armour, as incoming fire had more steel to penetrate, but also increased the chance of a ricochet.
The Washington was fighting accelerated balls of superheated plasma, but the principle remained the same. Striking the armour at an angle increased the area over which the heat dispersed, allowing it to radiate away faster. The charged hull of the Task Force Resolution cruisers would do the rest.
In theory. In practice, their hull was weakened in many areas and perforated in several. Standard orders for general quarters involved the ship's outer sections to be evacuated as much as possible. They had lost systems, supplies and air, but no people.
Not yet.
The ship tilted on its vertical axis relative to the Toralii. The pattern of fire that struck their ship changed; now it burned their flank, the white-hot streaks of Alliance fire scouring the side of his vessel, leaving long black scorch marks along its surface.
