by David Weber
Heissman wasn’t protecting friends and family anymore. All he was protecting was Manticore’s government. De la Roza had seen plenty of governments come and go, often with the average citizen barely noticing.
But the Casey’s commander was clearly determined to be stubborn. And that stubbornness was going to cost him.
Unfortunately, it was going to cost the Volsungs, too. CIC’s current projection was that Casey would be able to kill her current vector—forward for Casey, backward for the Volsung force Heissman was trying to catch—and get nearly to missile range before Thor and the rest of his force reached engagement distance with the approaching Green One ships. Unless De la Roza wanted a gadfly at his rear, he was going to have to detach one of his ships to deal with her.
Only it wasn’t quite that simple. CIC was sifting through the data Gensonne had sent, but they still didn’t know how the damn light cruiser had taken out Tyr. If Casey tried it again against whoever De la Roza sent, it might be smart to make sure there was a second ship close enough to see what the hell the Manticorans’ secret weapon was. The problem was that detaching two ships would drop his force down to six. Worse, one of the logical ships to detach to block Casey was the destroyer Fox, which was currently trailing behind the main force in com-relay position. Without someone back there, De la Roza would have to risk the miscommunication that often happened to ships trying to lase messages and data through their sidewalls.
But it was a risk he would have to take. There was no way in hell he was going to take three of his ships out of the combat stack.
Still, the Volsungs continued to hold the high ground here, both in absolute number of ships and sheer capability. Unexpected losses or no, they were still on track to win this thing.
“Signal Fox and Selene,” he ordered. “They’re to fall back and dog Casey’s vector: engage and destroy. And tell them to be quick about it.”
* * *
“All ships have rolled wedges, Admiral,” Imbar reported.
“Good,” Gensonne said, studying the gravitics display. A nicely executed maneuver. Whatever slippage might have occurred earlier, all of his captains and crews were back to their top game. “Signal all ships to hold vector until the incoming missiles have been destroyed. On my mark, we’ll move out on our current heading at one-sixty-five gees. Once we do, Adder and Ganymede will move to forward positions and Phobos will fall back into com-relay position.”
“Yes, Sir,” Imbar said. “Anything else?”
Gensonne pursed his lips, studying the tactical. De la Roza’s main force was still nearly half an hour behind him, and of course Gensonne’s group was about to diverge from them anyway. The loss of his second battlecruiser couldn’t be made up, but it might be wise to at least bolster his numbers a bit. Umbriel and Miranda were still angling away from him, but the geometry was such that they could rejoin him without too much trouble.
“Signal Sidewinder Force,” he told the captain. “Have them alter course to match our vector and stay with us. Warn them to stay on their toes—we may shift our vector as the need arises.”
“Yes, Sir,” Imbar said again. “Ah…I assume you’ve noted that changing course to rendezvous with us will take them within missile range of the two Manticoran forces currently hunting them?”
“Then they’ll be close enough to destroy them, won’t they?” Gensonne countered.
“I meant…yes, Sir,” Imbar said, changing his mind.
As well he should. Two Volsung destroyers against a destroyer and a couple of corvettes?
Especially when the two corvettes weren’t even regular Navy, but Manticoran Patrol and Rescue Service. Llyn’s intel report had included a full rundown on the so-called MPARS, and it was about as pitiful a collection of military wannabes as Gensonne could imagine. If Captains Patterson and Hawkin couldn’t figure out how to take out that kind of challenge they deserved to be blown out of the sky.
He felt his throat tighten. Ironically, he could remember thinking the exact same thing about Tyr’s Captain Blakely on occasion, too. That hadn’t ended very well.
“Fine,” he growled. “Emphasize to Captains Patterson and Hawkin that they’re to watch themselves and not get cocky. The Manticorans aren’t quite the pushovers we were promised.”
“Yes, Sir,” Imbar said, sounding marginally happier that he would now be giving the Sidewinder force an extra head’s-up.
Gensonne snorted again. The Volsungs still had the advantage. They were still going to win.
And whatever ships and men Locatelli cost him, Llyn and his bosses at Axelrod would replace them. Gensonne would make sure of that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
By the time Ensign Locatelli returned with the cascade relays, Osterman had most of the wiring fixed, rerouted, or half-assed kluged.
Which had sounded a lot easier up front than it had turned out to be. Several of the plasma conduits had been ruptured in the attack, and though the plasma itself had long since dissipated it had left behind jagged tangles of superheated metal and plastic. Osterman sported a half dozen new burns of varying degrees, plus a couple of new cuts along her cheek and side.
She’d thrown bandages on the worst of them. More pain medication would have been nice, but she couldn’t take the risk. Throbbing agony was a distraction, but she could work through it. Numbness and mental fog she absolutely couldn’t afford.
She’d skipped the usual disinfectant protocols, of course. No point to any of that.
“What the hell took you so long?” she growled as he maneuvered the package through the hatchway. That wasn’t how petty officers were supposed to talk to officers, but her arm was aching fiercely in counterpoint to her new burns and cuts, and she was in no mood to play a game that was in its last few minutes anyway.
“I had to go right to the edge of CIC to collect enough of the relays,” he said, his face screwed up with quiet agony. He’d collected a few fresh burns of his own, Osterman noted with a twinge of guilt, and it was a good bet that he’d gone as light on the pain meds as she had. “From what I could see through the hatch vision port, it looked like CIC was breached and depressurized before they could get their helmets on.”
Osterman nodded heavily. She’d held out the secret hope that either the bridge or CIC had survived, and simply hadn’t responded for some reason to Locatelli’s uni-link calls. Clearly, they hadn’t.
“But it looked like at least some of the gear is still functional,” Locatelli continued. “Most importantly, the com repeater system.”
“Really,” Osterman said, a small flicker of hope twisting through the knot in her stomach. If they could contact Invincible or Swiftsure, their range of options would suddenly open up.
The brief hope evaporated. To get into CIC would require her to set up a micro airlock, and there was no way she could do that with only one useable arm.
“I can’t go in there,” Locatelli continued, gesturing toward the tear in his vac suit where his leg had been. “But you can.”
“Except—”
“I’ve already got the micro lock set up for you,” he said. “I figure that between you and Invincible you can come up with a plan.”
“Yes, Sir,” Osterman said, her grudging new respect for the kid rising yet another grudging notch. “Can you get those relays installed by yourself?”
“I’m an officer, Chief,” Locatelli said, giving her the pain-colored ghost of a smile. “We can do anything. Says so in the manual. Get going—if I finish before you get back, I’ll be forward with the tracking sensors.”
* * *
In perfect unison, the five ships of Group One pitch/yawed wedge.
Just in time for Aegis’s missile salvo to be obliterated by the invaders’ wedges.
Metzger smiled tightly. The admiral had called it, all right. Tamerlane had been playing it cute.
Little did he know he’d pulled out only half a victory.
“Practice missiles impacted on the battlecruiser’s stress band,”
Perrow confirmed.
And now, having goaded Aegis into wasting what he assumed were real missiles, Tamerlane would come back around to face his opponents.
Only the invaders weren’t rolling. Instead—
“Acceleration!” Perrow snapped. “Group One is heading—Admiral, they’re running.”
Metzger stared at the tactical in disbelief. They were running, all right, their new course taking them away from Aegis’s vector at a sharp angle.
“Hardly,” Locatelli said grimly. “Tamerlane’s simply splitting his forces.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Metzger protested. “The two groups together have an overwhelming force. Splitting them up leaves each one on a par with us.”
“On paper, maybe,” Perrow muttered. “Probably not in reality.”
“You’re missing the big picture, Captain,” Locatelli said. “Tamerlane understands his chess. He’s not out to destroy pawns, per se, but to checkmate the king. In this case, quite literally.”
Metzger felt her stomach tighten. Of course. If Tamerlane could get past Aegis and reach Manticore, he could sit in orbit and deliver an ultimatum straight to Landing and King Edward.
And Eridani Edict or no, the king couldn’t trust the invaders not to do something horrendously devastating. He would either have to surrender or else risk the destruction of his world and his people.
“Which leaves us only one option,” Locatelli continued. “TO, plot me a course to come up behind Group One. Once you have it, send it to all ships, and inform them that on my mark Aegis will be doing a yaw turn to pursue Group One and engage.”
“Leaving Group Two unopposed, Sir?” Metzger asked quietly.
“Group Two is twenty minutes away,” Locatelli reminded him. “Group One has a clear opening all the way to Manticore. For better or for worse, that’s the one we have to deal with first.”
Metzger sighed. “Understood.”
“Course computed, Admiral,” Perrow reported.
Her proposed course joined the rest of the ship vectors on Metzger’s tac display. She studied it, the knots in her stomach tightening another few turns. This was a bad idea—she could feel it in her bones. Getting Aegis to chase his ships was exactly what Tamerlane wanted them to do, and Locatelli was going to walk right into whatever trap their enemies were planning.
But Locatelli was right. Manticore was under two separate threats, and Green One was all that stood in the Star Kingdom’s defense. The threats had to be dealt with in order.
Admiral Locatelli, the overall System Commander, had made his decision. It was Metzger’s job to follow the orders she’d been given, and hope that the missile base on Thorson would somehow be up to the task of holding off Group Two until Aegis could deal with Group One and return.
Assuming Aegis was up to that task.
“All ships standing by, Admiral,” McBride reported.
“Thank you, XO,” Locatelli said. “On my mark…”
“Sir!” Chief Warren called suddenly from the com station, half turning to look wide-eyed at Locatelli. “We’re getting a signal. It’s weak and the focus is a little erratic—” His throat worked. “Sir…it’s from Phoenix.”
* * *
“Watch it, Captain,” Lisa called into the microphone. “They’re changing course.”
The seconds of the time-delay counted down—a shorter delay, now, than it had been at the beginning of the pursuit. Lisa took advantage of the lull to run the numbers on Group Three’s latest maneuver. They were doing a yaw turn to starboard, and had thrown a few more gees into their deceleration. Added up, it looked like they’d given up on their original thrust toward Manticore. Was it possible they’d decided to abort and run?
She snorted under her breath. No, of course not. A more careful look at the newly-altered vector of Tamerlane’s force made it clear that the destroyers were simply heading back to hook up with Group One.
“I see them, Commander,” Hardasty’s voice came back. “Adjusting our course to maintain intercept vector. I see Group One is on the move, too. Think they’re trying to hook up together?”
“Looks that way,” Lisa confirmed. The destroyers were still fine-tuning their maneuver, and she made sure to fine-tune her own readings and analysis accordingly.
“Good,” Hardasty said with satisfaction.
Lisa felt her throat tighten. Hardasty could call it good if she wanted. After all, the two MPARS ships were still a fair ways out, and by the time they reached missile range her projection was that the enemy destroyers would probably be flank-on to them, with no way to launch any sort of attack in their direction.
Damocles, unfortunately, was in a much less sanguine position. The destroyers’ new course wouldn’t quite put them nose-to-nose with her, but there would be enough of an opening through the edge of their widened throats to make missile exchanges possible.
And Damocles only had seven missiles to spend in that exchange. With two opponents with an unknown number of missiles in their own arsenals, that wasn’t a happy balance.
“TO?” Marcello’s voice came over the CIC speaker.
“I’ve got a revised course, Sir,” Lisa called back. “Sending it to you now.”
“Are missiles and crews ready?”
Lisa checked the reports again. “Both launchers signal ready, Captain,” she confirmed. “Lieutenant Nikkelsen claims his crews will be able to reload the launchers in thirty-five seconds.”
“Tell him they’ll have twenty-five,” Marcello said. “Better—tell him that I’ll be treating the fastest crew to dinner and an open bar in Landing when this is over.”
Lisa smiled despite the tension dragging at her face. A nice, generous, morale-boosting offer.
Too bad there wouldn’t be anyone left alive to collect.
“I’ll pass that on, Sir,” she said.
“Good,” Marcello said. “Helm, initiate the new course. These bastards are running for mama. Let’s see if we can nail them before they get there.”
* * *
Gensonne’s first, incredulous thought was that his little Thu’ban Sidestep maneuver had caught Locatelli by surprise.
Because it certainly looked like it had. Off on his port flank now, Green One was just sitting there, still pointed at the spot where Gensonne’s force had been a few seconds ago.
But as the seconds turned into a minute, and still no movement, he realized that the Manticoran hadn’t simply been surprised by Odin’s departure. He’d seen it, all right, assessed the situation, and decided to wait for De la Roza and Thor instead.
Gensonne shook his head. There were really no good decisions here, but letting the advance force go in favor of taking on De la Roza was the worst of the lot.
Because the battle Locatelli had now committed himself to would never happen. At least, not in the way he thought it would. As soon as the advance force was far enough away that Green One could no longer catch it, Gensonne would order De la Roza to break off and run transverse to his current vector, drawing Locatelli even farther out of position and leaving Gensonne plenty of time to reach Manticore, destroy the lunar defenses, and deliver his ultimatum.
And once the King surrendered, it wouldn’t matter how many ships or missiles the Royal Manticoran Navy had left. With the nation’s capitulation, the RMN would be legally required to stand down.
“Aspect change,” Clymes reported. “Green One battlecruiser turning toward us.”
Again, Gensonne shook his head. Making the wrong decision was bad enough. But making the wrong decision, then changing his mind and trying a different one, was even worse. All Locatelli had accomplished was to waste some time and throw his force into confusion—
“Missile trace,” Clymes added. “Missile trace four—tight cluster. Acceleration thirty-five hundred gees; impact time ninety-two seconds.”
Gensonne frowned as he studied the tactical. All right, so Locatelli wasn’t a complete idiot. He’d simply been waiting to turn and fire until the Volsungs’
new angled vector had opened the aft end of their sidewalls to attack.
It wasn’t a classic up-the-kilt shot, of course, and it would take some very fancy telemetry control to make it work. But if those missiles could be made to pass the edge of the Volsungs’ sidewalls and explode before they impacted on the far sidewall or the wedge they could still do serious damage.
Worse, because it wasn’t a straight up-the-kilt shot, Odin’s ECM would be trying to operate through her own sidewall and therefore be effectively useless. The missile would have a free ride right up until the point where it cleared the sidewall.
Could that be the Manticorans’ secret weapon? Not a weapon at all, but merely a breakthrough advance in missile control?
Possibly. Certainly that kind of back-room R&D wasn’t like fancy hardware that Llyn’s spies and information grabs might have missed.
It was very unlikely, he knew. Llyn’s people couldn’t be that incompetent.
Still…
“Signal all ships,” he ordered. “Cease acceleration on my mark, then pitch thirty degrees negative on my mark.”
“Thirty degrees, Sir?” Imbar asked, a frown in his voice.
“Did I say thirty degrees, Captain?” Gensonne shot back. “Then make it thirty degrees.”
Which was really a shade more than they needed, he knew. But after Tyr, Gensonne was inclined to err on the side of caution. A thirty-degree shift in their course would put their sidewalls directly across the battlecruiser’s line of fire, eliminating that angled back door. “They’re going to fire some missiles,” he continued. Imbar didn’t deserve an explanation, but there was no reason not to give him one.
“Will we then be returning to our present course?” Imbar persisted. “Or will we stay on that new one?”
There was some implied criticism in the question, Gensonne noted. More than Gensonne deserved. Definitely more than Imbar was entitled to deliver. Maybe he thought the Old Man was losing his nerve.
Maybe someone else would be promoted to Odin’s captain after all this was over.
