“Sir,” Lloyd said. “We found the Hroom sloops. Well, mostly.”
Drake looked down from the viewscreen. “What do you mean, mostly?”
“I’ll show you, sir.”
Lloyd divided the viewscreen into segments. At first, Drake’s hopes soared. Over sixty sloops of war had been located in the system, more than twice what the general had promised. They flew in three different waves, each with twenty-two ships.
And then the truth of the matter hit him. “They aren’t real, are they?”
“I’m afraid not, sir,” Lloyd said. His heavy eyelids drooped almost closed as he studied his console. “A typical Hroom trick.”
The Hroom had a technology that allowed them to project their fleet to other locations in the system. Whatever signal they gave off appeared at first glance to represent actual ships. In the early years of Albion contact with the Hroom Empire—centuries ago, now—several battles had turned on these so-called phantom fleets when Royal Navy vessels rushed off to fight a force that did not exist, leaving positions weakened.
“And if we spotted it so easily, there’s no chance that the enemy will be fooled either, is there?” Drake said to Manx, whose initial response had been a sigh.
“You’d think Tolvern would tell them not to bother,” Manx said.
“Maybe she did. Mose Dryz might not have listened to her.”
“That didn’t take long,” Lloyd said. “Confirmed, sir. This force and this one over here are both phantoms. The real fleet is the one near Blackbeard.”
“Surely the Hroom weren’t always this rigid,” Manx said. “I can only imagine Apex laughing, or clucking, or whatever they do when they’re amused.”
“They express humor the same way they express any other emotion,” Drake said. “With a celebratory evisceration of their enemies.”
“The general let us down,” Manx said. “No surprise. I never thought he’d get his thirty sloops.”
“I never thought he’d get twenty,” Drake said. “If the Hroom had that kind of force, wouldn’t they be trying to save one of their planets? But he’s got more ships than he left with, and I’ll take it. Whatever we’ve got, it’s time to bring it together. Lloyd, open a subspace channel.”
“To whom, sir?” Manx asked.
“I don’t know what the blazes McGowan is doing out there, but unless he’s waiting for the Apex mother ship, I need him in action and not sitting on his hands.”
Drake composed the message and sent it to McGowan as soon as Lloyd prepared it for transmission. It was simple and unambiguous.
Engage the enemy at once.
“We might have sold the Hroom short, sir,” Lloyd said a few minutes later. “Take a look at this.”
Blackbeard and Mose Dryz’s ships were still five hours from the approaching enemy fleet, but matters had seemed to be reaching the point of inevitability. Except that the Apex ships were turning away from combat. Swinging on a wide arc, they curved up on the z-axis and hooked back toward the Kettle.
Drake couldn’t figure it out at first. Why would the enemy retreat even though they enjoyed an overwhelming advantage in numbers and firepower? Belatedly, he realized what must have happened.
“I don’t understand,” Manx said. “Why would they turn around?”
“They don’t see Tolvern,” Drake said. “They must have lost her.”
“But they’re close, sir, and they’re hitting with all their sensors.”
“They only seem close from here, and that’s because we can see what’s happening. To the buzzards, it’s really not that close to be searching for a fully cloaked enemy. Their sensors are rubbish.”
“But they must have spotted Blackbeard at one point to come rushing out like that,” Manx insisted.
“We weren’t here—we don’t know what happened. Maybe Tolvern showed herself to lure them away, or there might be some other reason. But that Hroom trick seems to have thrown them off the trail. They may not have fallen for the phantom fleets, but they had to take a look, and when they did, they lost track of Blackbeard and her ships.”
“Could have just kept going and they’d have run into her,” Manx said.
“I know that, and you know that. Apex doesn’t. It’s a good reminder—the enemy is not all powerful and all knowing. They can be outsmarted.”
#
Drake expected Tolvern and Mose Dryz to slow their ships and allow Dreadnought and the rest of his fleet to catch up. Dreadnought was traveling uncloaked, brazenly showing her guns, daring the enemy to approach. Taunting, even. He didn’t expect Apex to bite—they surely knew that Dreadnought wasn’t alone, even though the rest of his fleet stayed cloaked.
But Blackbeard and the sloops kept charging forward, headed toward the gas giant. That was concerning. Tolvern must have spotted Drake, so why didn’t she wait for him?
As for McGowan, he’d set his task force in motion as soon as the admiral sent the subspace. McGowan must have been positioned to fly toward the battle station and only waiting for orders. Some of Drake’s anger faded. Maybe he and Tolvern had agreed to keep McGowan in reserve for some reason.
Tolvern’s subspace arrived just as Drake’s ships crossed the position where she’d tricked the enemy into retreating.
Apex searched with energy pulses. Failed. Left probes. Battle station did not see probes and tried to reposition. Location revealed. I am moving to assist.
Drake suppressed a curse. Apparently bad luck and carelessness on Commander Li’s part had revealed the battle station, and Tolvern felt compelled to rush in to defend him. He thought about calling her back, letting Sentinel 3 make an accounting of itself, then bringing in the fleet for a decisive engagement with whatever enemies survived.
But Drake needed the Singaporean weapons. And he’d promised to defend his new allies in return for their cooperation.
“But I won’t have Tolvern throwing away her life, either,” he told Manx, “not to mention wrecking that magnificent Hroom fleet.”
Drake sent Tolvern a two-word response.
Extreme caution.
#
Tolvern laughed when she got Drake’s subspace. “Extreme caution? Is he serious?”
“It means he don’t want us doing nothing stupid,” Capp said.
“Like attacking an Apex fleet with a single cruiser and a bunch of Hroom sloops led by a death cultist?”
“He still thinks it’s the general in charge though, don’t he?”
“That doesn’t change the facts,” Tolvern said. “There are thirty-two lances and spears, plus a harvester. I’d rather stick my hand into a hole and pull out a rattlesnake. You’ll note that Drake didn’t tell us to stop and wait. Only to be careful. As if a warning does us any good.”
“The enemy is jumping,” Smythe announced.
Tolvern’s forces were faster than Apex’s, and she’d been gradually overtaking the enemy fleet. In another hour, she could have targeted the trailing ships with long-range missiles. But the Apex ships now jumped to safety, one by one. They reappeared about a million miles beyond the Kettle’s outermost moon. The harvester ship was last to arrive, and when it did, the other ships formed a cordon to shield it.
All eyes on the bridge were glued to the viewscreen. After days of slowly developing action, the next few hours would be thrilling. Would Apex make a charge at the battle station? That probe trick had been clever, and no doubt they’d kept Sentinel 3 in their sights. What about Li’s eliminon battery? How would he put it to use?
“Maybe Li got himself hidden again,” Capp said.
The harvester ship spit out three missiles. They started off slow and lazy, almost like torpedoes, but accelerated as they dropped toward the Kettle. When they reached the planet’s ring, they banked hard. Green pulses appeared from the ring and blasted them apart.
“Nope,” Tolvern said. “Not hidden.”
Li, you fool. All you had to do was stay motionless. Now they’ve got you.
Several lances peeled awa
y from the harvester and hooked around the planet. Five more lances, together with two spears, swung into orbit around one of the larger moons. Two more lances jumped away. Others crowded the harvester ship.
“They’re breaking up the hunter-killer packs,” Smythe said. “What do you think that means?”
“They’re taking cover,” Tolvern said. “Setting up to ambush us.”
Capp grunted. “At least they ain’t attacking the battle station. Not yet, anyhow.”
No, they weren’t. Apart from that initial trio of missiles—which appeared to be an exploratory barrage only—the enemy hadn’t moved against the sentinel. The harvester was up to something, although it was hard to see what, exactly, with several lances hugging its hull and blocking the view. There it was. The harvester was opening up, releasing something.
Ten large objects drifted away, then ignited their engines.
“Are those more lances?” Tolvern asked. “Don’t tell me the harvester is really a carrier.”
“They’re too small to be lances,” Smythe said. “More like large torpedoes.”
“If you’re right, Li will shoot those out of the sky easily enough. Pilot,” Tolvern said to Nyb Pim, “let’s plot a new course.”
Tolvern gave him her attention, and they worked out a course that would get her through the enemy ships and toward the battle station. She didn’t have Sentinel 3’s exact position, but could narrow it down to a few thousand miles.
When she turned back to the viewscreen, there were almost thirty of the autonomously moving torpedoes. They began as several small clusters, but dispersed toward the various moons around the Kettle.
“How big were the boarding craft the buzzards rammed into Blackbeard?” she asked.
“These are bigger, if that’s what you’re asking,” Smythe said. “And they have engines. I doubt we’re looking at boarding craft.”
They had to be manned vessels, though, not merely floating bombs. Each ship was smaller than one of the navy’s own torpedo boats, but in sheer numbers, they’d almost doubled the size of the enemy fleet.
Only four lances and a spear remained near the harvester. The rest of the enemy ships, including the newly launched craft, formed a shell around the Kettle and its ring.
“I have no idea what they’re up to,” Tolvern said, “but I like our chances. No way they can cover it all. We’ll make a couple of maneuvers to throw them off our trail, and smash right through to the sentinel.”
“They got a lot more ships now,” Capp said.
“I’d rather face sixty enemies under the sentinel’s guns than thirty out here on our own.”
The Hroom high priestess called Blackbeard when they were less than an hour from reaching the outermost of the enemy’s forces. Dela Zam still wore her iron necklace, but had added an iron circlet to her brow.
“Where is the general?” Tolvern asked.
“I told you already—”
“But now you’re wearing his crown.”
“For expediency,” Dela Zam said. “When the battle is over, I will return it.”
“Did you depose him?”
“Of course not.”
“So he’s still in command?”
“I told you, I’m in temporary command. But I’m only honoring the general’s wishes.”
Tolvern narrowed her eyes, studying Dela Zam for signs of deception. If the priestess had been human, Tolvern would have guessed an outright lie. Mose Dryz might even be dead. But a Hroom would have either admitted it or refused to answer.
“Did the general tell you to call, or is this your own initiative?”
“I’m calling out of courtesy,” the priestess said.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Nor do I intend to.”
“So, your own initiative. Go on.”
Dela Zam made an annoyed sounding hum. “I see your stratagem, Jess Tolvern. I know what you hope to accomplish.”
“That’s obvious enough. Stay alive until Admiral Drake and Captain McGowan join the battle.”
“In that case, your goals and mine have diverged.”
“You don’t want to stay alive? I thought that was the noncontroversial part.”
“My goal is victory. Yours is to live to fight another day.”
“I’m kind of aiming for both of those things,” Tolvern said. “Anyway, the best path to both win the battle and to stay alive is to concentrate all of our firepower, and that means hiding under the battle station’s guns and waiting for the boys to show up to the party.”
“The harvester ship is almost unguarded. It is the perfect opportunity to strike a blow.”
“Even if it was unguarded, you just broadcast your intentions.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Tolvern was losing her patience. “You’re going to form your ships into either the claw formation or the wedge and make a run at the harvester. Which, being roughly as powerful as HMS Dreadnought, and commanded by someone with far more imagination than yourself, will gobble up your fleet and spit out the bones.”
Again, Dela Zam said nothing to either confirm or deny.
“If you do this,” Tolvern said, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“The god of death will guide my hand as I obey His will. And if His will is that I die, so be it.”
“Let me talk to the general. I don’t care how sick he is, I want to talk to him.”
“This is your warning, Jess Tolvern. Make your plans without taking into account the Hroom ships.”
Chapter Eleven
Drake was so focused on the action developing on the viewscreen that he didn’t notice Hillary Koh’s agitation until Lloyd sent him a message bringing the woman’s behavior to his attention. Drake looked up to see Koh pacing in front of the tech console, gnawing on the tip of her thumb and muttering to herself as she spared glances at her terminal.
Drake called her over. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair a mess, as if she’d run her hands through it too many times.
“When did you last see your bed?” Drake asked.
“I don’t remember. Yesterday, I think?”
“And if I query Simon, will the computer tell me you were actually asleep, or were you still interfaced to your work station?”
She glanced up at the screen, as if something had happened in the five seconds since she’d last checked.
“Koh, look at me.”
“Don’t send me off, sir,” she said. “I’ve got to see how it plays out.”
“Sentinel 3 has been in battle before,” Drake said. “Your friends survived that encounter, and they’ll survive this one.”
“Those are boarding craft the harvester launched,” she said. “Thirty of them. They’re going in hard, and they’re going to take prisoners.”
“Only if they can get past Li’s plasma emitter and the eliminon battery. And only if Blackbeard and the sloops don’t knock them around.”
“You said yourself you don’t have much faith in the Hroom.”
“No, Koh, I do not. But they don’t have to win the fight, only stay alive.” He raised his voice. “Díaz, how long until we reach the battlefield?”
“Give me one moment and I’ll have your answer, sir,” the pilot responded.
“They’re not invincible, Koh,” Drake said. “This is a smaller force than we faced among the refugee fleet.”
“We didn’t fight a harvester, sir. With all due respect, neither of us know how we’ll fare.”
“No, we don’t. But you pacing and worrying is not going to tilt the balance.”
“Admiral?” Díaz said. “Five hours and forty-seven minutes until we join the fight.”
Drake nodded an acknowledgment, then continued with Koh. “My better judgment says you need ten hours off shift, completely disconnected. Dinner, a hot shower, sleep. But given the circumstances, five hours will do. No,” he added as she sputtered a response, “it doesn’t matter what Blackbeard and the sloops do, because you can’t
affect it. Koh, I—”
An exclamation from the tech console drew their attention. The enemy ships had been spreading out for the past couple of hours, but now they were on the move.
A dozen lances leaped toward the gas giant’s ring. They immediately began firing at a spot in the ring, which lit up on the sensors as it returned fire. Twisting missiles raced out from the battle station, followed by globs of green fire from the plasma ejector. The plasma engulfed two lances and destroyed them. Other enemy ships squirmed to evade. Several more lances appeared from around the back side of the planet.
Simultaneously, the harvester—well beyond the action—fired a burst of missiles and smaller bomblets. They raced toward the battlefield, followed by a second, even larger wave. There were so many missiles, bombs, and ships, the sensors struggled to track them all.
Meanwhile, the small boarding craft disgorged by the harvester a few hours earlier suddenly veered toward the planet. The battle station was delivering a beating to the attacking lances, but the enemy was firing so many shots from so many directions that some of them got past the station’s baffles. One penetrated the shields on the outer ring, and a bombproof burst.
“Get him off your back!” Koh cried, as if Li could hear her. “He’s going to tear you apart.”
One of the sentinel’s batteries found the offending lance and attacked it with a barrage of bombs. Drake expected the lance to flee, but it sat there trading blows even as the Singaporeans improved their targeting and hammered until it blew apart.
Koh gasped in relief and staggered for the nearest seat.
“That ship could have got away,” Manx said. “It sacrificed itself.”
“They’re like wasps,” Drake said. “The life of a drone is worth nothing, so long as it gets in its stings before it’s swatted.”
Indeed, enemy lances were dying right and left, even though few of them landed the same kind of punishment before the battle station destroyed them. So far, eight down, with a ninth making a futile charge and seeing itself knocked out of the action. And the Singaporeans hadn’t yet fired up their eliminon battery, or needed to.
Even as he knew that all of this was preliminary jostling, Drake was mentally recalculating his odds. The more enemy ships that fell, the better his chances of taking out the harvester with Dreadnought. Wipe away the support vessels and go straight at it. As for Sentinel 3, it was making a good accounting of itself, but its danger had only just begun.
Shattered Sun (The Sentinel Trilogy Book 3) Page 9
