by Britt Ringel
* * *
Vernay’s final words played in every Seshafian bridge like a promise of success. Lieutenant Selvaggio heard whoops of comradery punctuate their new commander’s statement around Ravana’s bridge despite their impending fate.
Selvaggio had intentionally overstated her ship’s readiness to Heskan. The Hollaran snow’s ventral radiator was shot to pieces in the first pass, leaving her with only a few shots from the particle cannons before they would overheat. Worse yet, her port dual laser turret had been destroyed and the AIPS defensive screen was functional but only able to hold a third of its charge.
It’s not nearly enough, Selvaggio thought with a fatal acceptance. But I didn’t have a choice. We needed a rearguard and I couldn’t watch Jack die alone. She glanced to her left, at Renata Nelson. The Seshafian lieutenant had served with distinction on Tigre during the last skirmish in this system and had been the epitome of patriotic zeal during her short time as a first officer. The brilliance of that fervor had dimmed slightly when Selvaggio had offered up her section to face destruction.
“We’ll get two shots, maybe three at the most, Captain,” Nelson reported.
“We’re not going to stop firing, Ren,” Selvaggio corrected.
The first officer looked aghast. “But, ma’am, the heat radiators—”
“Will take care of themselves,” Selvaggio said resolutely. She leaned toward her first officer and asked in a quiet voice, “Ren, do you understand why I volunteered us?”
Nelson stared at her for several seconds but finally nodded with misty eyes. To Selvaggio’s surprise, the young woman smiled at her and whispered, “I do, Captain. I’m scared of what’s going to happen to me but I’m even more scared of what would happen to me if we didn’t do our duty.” She swallowed as she leaned back against her seat and finished in a louder voice, “Seshafi needs us and there are worse ways to die than protecting those you love.”
Selvaggio’s eyes tracked to the tactical plot. Dash was limping, unsteadily, outside the designated combat zone and on to safety.
Chapter 28
“Is that true?” Archduke Dunmore asked anxiously. “You never secured the return of our ships?”
Wallace blew out a long breath before answering. “My Lord, retaining disabled ships is sacrosanct. Insisting upon negotiating for the right to retrieve ships unable to dive after the battle is so petty that it borders on pedantic. She’s bluffing.”
His superior raised his eyebrows skeptically but remained silent.
“Now, if you will permit me, Archduke, I must win your battle.” Wallace turned away from the CEO and weighed the tactical situation. “Damien, have the van turn to starboard five degrees.”
The two fleets were 122ls apart and racing toward each other with a closure rate of .28c. The speed was acceptable but the virtual collision course was not. Wallace measured his options while his orders were carried out over the next two minutes.
By the time his van had adjusted its course, the two fleets had reduced the distance between them to 53ls. Over the next thirty seconds, he witnessed the Seshafian vanguard turn to port by five degrees.
Wallace grumbled to himself as the fleets returned to an intercept course. “Starboard eight degrees and four degrees into the positive plane.” The maneuver would not only take his fleet wide of the Seshafians but over them as well. If he timed it right, he could bring his fleet down on the second half of the Seshafian line and decimate not only their rearguard but also their main.
The command took one hundred fifty seconds to execute, bringing the fleets to 47ls from contact. The Seshafian response came quickly, before his rearguard had even a chance to settle upon its new course.
“They’re going to intercept us again, Admiral,” Ladd warned.
Wallace cursed physics. “That damned woman is commanding from the main while we’re stuck two light-minutes from the battle.” He spat vulgarity before ordering, “All ships wheel to starboard ninety degrees, abort the run and come to course zero-nine-zero.” His hands ached as his grip on the edge of the command console tightened.
Over the next two minutes and forty-seven seconds, Wallace watched his fleet scramble to avoid contact. They were successful, but the Seshafian fleet had come alarmingly close to obtaining stern shots against his retreating vanguard. The exposure flushed Wallace’s cheeks red with anger, and embarrassment.
“Damien, move the command ship closer,” he ordered. “I need less time lag to have a chance to outmaneuver her.”
Over the next ten minutes, the fleets reset into line ahead formations and maintained their distances. The processionals circled each other until, like a medieval joust, a knight tipped his lance and spurred his horse.
“Have the fleet make their course two-three-eight, same plane and speed,” he ordered. Wallace only had to wait thirty seconds to see the light from the battlefield this time. As predicted, the Seshafian fleet settled onto an intercept course.
“Not much room for maneuvers,” Ladd summarized.
“Regrettably, no,” Wallace agreed. “What else would you expect from barbarians?”
“There is a certain poetry to it. It’s candor,” his assistant observed. “So long as she is willing to accept a brutal engagement, there’s not much we can do to change that.”
“Her lack of skill is counterbalanced by the time lag I must suffer through.” Wallace’s shoulders dropped with the admission. “I cannot dance with an unwilling partner. The best I can manage is to minimize a run that destroys us all by ordering Admiral Lane to use her best judgment to avoid a direct pass.”
“They’ve taken the initiative from us,” Ladd muttered.
“Did we ever have it?” Dunmore asked derisively near the edge of the holo-tank.
* * *
Vernay watched the fleets hurdle toward each other. There had been no Saden response to her course change for over a minute now, easily enough time for Wallace to react. “This is it,” she said while tightening her shocksuit restraints.
“Entering missile range in two minutes,” Ajax’s weapons officer informed. “Point defense is ready.”
Vernay stared at the second-rate sailing majestically toward her ship. The damage Formidable had sustained from Dioscuri had marred her bow and her battle face, but she would still live up to her name. Thank God I’m facing her, Vernay thought. I’d never forgive myself if I hadn’t shared the risk. She had distilled her tactics to base elements: point directly at the enemy and do not flinch. Vernay knew that entering a game of maneuvers against Oliver Wallace would be a losing proposition for her fleet. She possessed neither the skill nor the experience to duel with him in a contest of movement. Instead, she had sought to negate his advantage by simply sailing a direct course toward her opponents, regardless of consequence. It’s going to be a bloodbath, she thought grimly, but at least it’ll be one for both sides. She recalled how she had felt as a junior grade lieutenant on Anelace overtaking the final pirate ship in Skathi, knowing that the length of the engagement would last far longer than the hull of her ship. She had been frightened back then, asking for just one more miracle, but she had also been staunchly proud, knowing that her actions would save the lives of fellow Brevic citizens. She monitored the gravely silent command frequency and thought of Anelace’s captain.
“One-MC, Sam,” she ordered as she simultaneously activated the command net. “Attention, defenders of Seshafi. In ninety seconds, we’ll enter combat. The course I’m taking us on will ensure this will be the final pass. It will determine whether our loved ones live free or under the yoke of a foreign invader. We privileged few have been given this critical moment in time. Recognize it. Seize it. History will surely remember how we faced it. I am honored to call myself a Seshafian today. Vernay out.”
She looked at Ricot, who returned her nod with a look of reverence. The unspoken respect was mixed with an awe that startled Vernay but also made her beam. “I know you’re going to fight the ship wonderfully, Sam. You’re ready
for this.”
Her first officer shivered. “Thank you, Captain.” He purposefully articulated each of his next words. “I won’t let you down.”
A strobe of light on Ajax’s tactical plot heralded a successful missile intercept by Hawk. The brig’s adversary, Triumph, had only been able to muster a single, pitiful shot from her forward-most missile port. Thirty seconds later, as Covington’s van dipped inside laser range, Ricot announced incoming missiles from Formidable.
Vernay pushed the chatter aside. Ajax was more than capable of defending itself; countless point defense drills had assured her of that. Focusing on the fleet instead, she caught the Sadens veering to starboard during the seconds before the vanguards let loose their GP turrets. “Compensate!” she ordered inside the command channel. “Main and rearguard, thrust to port! We will not be denied.”
* * *
The ships of the two fleets entered the final engagement as proud, deadly instruments of humanity. The lucky survivors exited as burning hulks spewing scrap. The less fortunate vessels eclipsed the brightness of Seshafi’s star during the final milliseconds of their lives.
Vernay did not call for damage reports immediately following Ajax’s pass. The gaps between ships on the tactical plot spoke volumes of the destruction achieved during the combat run. Covington’s brig had somehow defied the odds and survived, although Hobelar, an Iron Brigade snow, had not. McDaniel, the stout privateer captain on Uhlan, had already signaled surrender in concert with his sole remaining snow, Sowar. The capitulations would make no difference; the entire Saden van, although intact, staggered away from the slaughter with lights already extinguished.
Vernay’s section tolerated the pass slightly better than her vanguard. In the background, Lieutenant Commander Ricot was demanding Ajax’s status from his crew but Vernay already knew that nothing short of her destruction would cause Ajax’s lights to fade. The ships following, Falcon and Tigre, were ravaged and spitting debris but already attempting to close the space in their ranks created by Fame’s destruction. The miracle of the pass had been spent on Honor. The tiny corvette at the tail of the main had not only knocked her rival snow from the fight but also limped away, though with heavy damage.
On the opposite side of the balance sheet, Lieutenant Jaynee Baldwin’s foe, Trite, had been set afire. The bow of the ship was a writhing mass of flame that rolled over formerly sleek lines. Ahead of the dying snow, her sisters, Hero and Sultan, calved pieces from their hulls. The section’s new lead ship, Superb, sailed with blackened gouges riding down the length of her beam. Entirely absent from the Saden main was Formidable.
The tale of carnage was retold in the rearguard. The Saden line had stomached the short-ranged pass given its superior numbers but had still taken a brutal pounding from the three Hollaran snows. Excellence, the section’s leader, sailed blindly forward, unable or unwilling to follow the Saden main’s turn to port. The three snows behind the Saden lead ship fought valiantly to weather the tide of damage beaten into their hulls. After several minutes of effort, the trailing snow’s lights flickered and died.
The price for their submission had been steep. Vernay reeled from reality’s punch upon discovering that Ravana was no more. The blow stole her breath and crushed her heart. Only Rindr and two-thirds of Anakim remained.
Vernay recoiled from the horror of it all. The pure annihilation that had played out over the last minute threatened to overwhelm her senses. The logical part of her knew that she had witnessed far worse destruction in Sponde, Helike and Kale. But this was my doing, she confessed. My fault. The truism kicked her gut once more.
“Captain, I have a damage report,” Ricot offered from her left.
She looked at him with solemn eyes. “Are you recommending striking our lights, Sam?”
“We should,” Ricot conceded. “But no, I am not.” He smiled at her. “We’re with you, Captain. To the end.”
The look of commitment brought gooseflesh to Vernay’s arms. I’ve taken these people to the pits of Hell. How can he look at me like that after all this ruin? A thought knocked her from the self-loathing. This is what we gave Garrett: complete devotion. She shuddered and demanded to herself, Don’t waste it, Stacy.
Vernay activated the communication controls. “All ships, come right to zero-two-zero, same plane. Maintain point one-four-C. Ship captains, please provide your ship’s status as soon as possible. Ships striking their lights, thank you for your service and please clear the combat zone as soon as practical.” She waited half a beat before adding, “Captain Covington, Hawk is all that’s left in the vanguard. Can you maneuver well enough to form up with the main?”
The response came from a lieutenant whom Vernay did not recognize. “Negative, Captain,” the disembodied voice answered. “Hawk can’t maneuver yet. We’ve taken heavy damage to Engineering and our inertial compensators are failing. If we turn right now, we’ll break apart.”
“Who is this?” Vernay asked.
“I’m Lieutenant Wheeler in Auxiliary Control. Captain Covington was hurt when the bridge got hit. His last order was not to surrender under any circumstance but that was before our damage reports came in. We need at least an hour to work on the compensators.”
“Tigre just struck, Captain,” Ricot interrupted, pointing to the wall screen.
All that’s left is Ajax, Falcon, Rindr, Anakim and Honor, Vernay counted. Five ships. She depressed the comm button. “It’s okay, Wheeler. Hawk performed magnificently… the entire vanguard did. We can take it from here.”
“Captain Covington’s last order…”
“Strike your lights, Hawk,” Vernay responded. “It’s all right. Captains Williams and Harris, have Rindr and Anakim close with the main. We’re going to consolidate everyone into a single section.”
* * *
“It’s over.” Wallace’s eyes watched the holographic ships converge into an orderly line. He focused on the large, lead ship. It was the only line ship remaining in the contest.
“But, but, Viscount,” Ladd stuttered. “We have an equal number of ships, and Deft has yet to take damage.”
Wallace ignored the man ignoring reality. His fleet had been decimated to a single, undersized section. While Deft’s fortuitous position inside the rearguard had permitted her two combat passes without a direct adversary, she was but a snow. The other three remaining snows in his fleet were damaged to such a degree that had this been a skirmish against a corporation other than Seshafi’s, they would have retired long ago. What had begun with an advantage in not only numbers but mass had been subverted into yet another bloody battle of attrition through AmyraCorp’s mixture of unorthodox tactics and superior resolve. He focused his gaze upon Ajax’s hologram so harshly that it might vaporize under his eyes. He had been bested. He knew that much. No amount of finesse can stave off a single-minded bear determined to maul you, he thought. Moreover, none of my remaining vessels can match up against that line ship.
“We have been beaten, Damien,” Wallace announced gruffly. “Let us accept it like the gentlemen we are.” He cast a surreptitious glance toward Archduke Dunmore. The man appeared to be in shock at the ferocity of the final pass. Perhaps the ‘Vics have done me at least one favor.
“Record,” he ordered and prepared to, once again, swallow his pride. “Commander Vernay, Sade hereby withdraws the entirety of her casus bellum. My remaining fleet will combine into a caravan and exit the system at once. The ships unable to dive will make way toward Seshafi Major for repairs. As is customary, Sade will pay twice the repair fees as standard ransom.”
The ransom would be exorbitant. Five ships, including the fourth-rate, Courageux, had been incapacitated and while Sultan’s propulsion was intact, the ship was so severely damaged that it would never make the two-day voyage through tunnel space without critical repairs. Wallace counted the seconds go by. He had maneuvered his command ship close to the battlespace, far closer than any C-3 ship had ever dared before. The wait for a reply was a short one.<
br />
The portrait of the Brevic turned Seshafian appeared on the main screen. The woman had removed her helmet. Her sweat-saturated blonde hair had darkened considerably but the intensity of her blue eyes had not diminished at all. “Negative, Admiral,” she responded with an impertinent smile. “By corporate rules we have not forfeited our rights to those ships. I mean to take them. You can prepare for the next pass or surrender unconditionally. As far as those disabled ships go, they need to power down their weapons and propulsion systems completely or prepare themselves to repel boarders.” Her irreverent smile grew dark. “After witnessing the butchery you’ve brought to our people, I’m sure our marines would love to get involved in the action.”
“You fool!” cried out Dunmore. “You’ve lost everything! Do you have any idea of the number of lives and credits this adventurism will cost IaCom? Your invasion has been nothing but a net negative for the entire corporation!”
“You commanded me to take AmyraCorp, in toto, my Lord.” Wallace argued.
“Ten months ago!” countered Dunmore. “Had you not resorted to your chicanery with Cooke and brought a proper force the first time, we’d have never encountered these people! And now you’ve set this corporation back decades with your… your incompetence!”
“My Lord—”
“ENOUGH!” Dunmore roared and stomped toward Wallace. “Stand aside, Oliver, while I clean up the mess you’ve made.” Dunmore savagely gestured toward the bridge’s communications officer.
“Attention, Seshafian commander, this is Archduke Riston Dunmore, CEO of IaCom. There is always room for negotiation, Commander, and I need those ships returned to Sade for my system’s self-defense. Tell me what it is you would accept in lieu of the five starships you’ve blasted into scrap. Surely, I can offer you rewards more appealing than burnt-out circuitry and cored alloy.”
