Dreadnought (Starship Blackbeard Book 3)

by Michael Wallace

  Captain Nigel Rutherford, HMS Vigilant

  Most of Smythe’s scans had been directed toward Albion and her environs, as Drake didn’t want to be surprised by navy destroyers, but they’d looked outward often enough to know that the first Hroom sloops were approaching in a hurry. Drake had already planned to ask the fort commanders for a truce as soon as the rescue mission returned, so they could unite to fight off the death fleet.

  Fort Ellen rounded the planet again. The planet was rotating into darkness, and Ellen was a black lump above it, orbiting in blackout conditions. Soon, it would be within range, and Drake didn’t know if it would light up with outgoing cannon and missile fire. Drake ordered the other two ships to hold their fire and their position, then waited.

  Isabel Vargus called through, anxious, wanting to know why they weren’t making a run. “We’ve got to keep those guns off the schooner.”

  “The forts have been ordered to stand down so we can face the Hroom together. Make no threatening movements, and we’ll see if the truce holds.”

  Isabel regarded him slowly, her artificial eye an unblinking stare. “You’d better be right, Drake.” She ended the call.

  Aguilar was still licking his wounds, performing emergency repairs to stem an oxygen leak and trying to fix two dismounted cannons, and he took little convincing not to renew the battle.

  Drake and his crew watched through the viewscreen as the orbital fort swung toward them. He readied countermeasures, presented their strongest shields to the fort, and braced for attack. Fort Ellen held its fire. Nyb Pim let out a hooting sound of relief, and Manx and Smythe gave each other high fives. Neither was looking at the defense grid computer, but Drake had pulled up an extra console, since they were short-handed, and was the first to spot the flashing lights.

  It was the second fortress, Fort William. The same fort, in fact, that Drake had battled during the initial mutiny several months ago. The commander, having received contradictory orders from Rutherford and Malthorne, must have decided to take the path of revenge.

  “Six class-two detonations expected,” Jane said. The computer’s voice sounded strained. No doubt, that was Drake’s imagination, but he would not have been surprised had she added, “The ship is not expected to survive the encounter.”

  #

  Gunfire killed two of Tolvern’s people in the run across the courtyard to the protective shelter of the tower doors. Another woman was grazed across her thigh and had to be dragged to safety. Half the team couldn’t cross, but remained pinned down behind the schooner’s landing struts.

  The schooner was taking fire, too, but it was all small arms so far, and the bullets pinged harmlessly off the ship’s armor. Meanwhile, Paredes had someone in the deck turret, which was only a .50-caliber machine gun. But it was enough to tear through the windows of the building overlooking the wall on the opposite side, and it soon had the incoming fire suppressed. The rest of Tolvern’s team ran across.

  Tolvern had tried the heavy oak doors on the off chance some idiot had left them unlocked. They hadn’t. Now Capp stuck a shaped charge to the locks. They risked the open courtyard again, hiding around the side of the tower, while she triggered the charge. Tolvern covered her ears. The charge detonated with a boom, and shards of wood, iron, and stone exploded into the courtyard.

  Capp and Carvalho tossed a pair of grenades through the blasted-out doors to be sure. Tolvern led them in, and immediately stumbled over three bodies sprawled across the floor, armed men in the garb of the royal guard.

  Tolvern had been in the tower years ago, when she was a cadet at the Academy. Every year, during the week surrounding the Settlement Day holidays, the king opened the palace grounds for public tours. York Tower itself was normally off-limits, as it contained the treasury vault and cells for high-profile prisoners, but a contingent of cadets had been allowed to enter and had been led to the mint, where they’d stared greedily into the vault. Gold ingots had filled the room, to be used to stamp guineas and half crowns.

  Now, pounding boots sounded down the corridor leading to the vaults. That was off to the right of a stone staircase that spiraled into the tower heights. Tolvern ordered two of her men to take up position at the mouth of the corridor. Others, she positioned at the shattered tower doors and at the base of the staircase. She collected the rest to climb to the higher levels.

  “I say we take the vaults first,” Nix said. He was Catarina’s man, the fellow with the Gatling-gun arm. “Ain’t they down this hall right here?”

  “Yeah, Commander,” Capp said. “We got enough here to do the job and still hold the tower. Me and Carvalho’ll lead a team and have it secured by the time you’re back.”

  “No,” Tolvern said. “First, the baron and the lady, then the vault. We don’t know how many guards are down there, and I want this room secured until I’m back with the prisoners.”

  Capp looked disgruntled, but when Nix and several of the others voiced protests, she took Tolvern’s side. “You heard the commander. We ain’t gonna throw away our lives over what’s in them vaults.”

  Outside, the gunfire was building in intensity, and Tolvern had no more time to argue. She left Capp in command of the dozen people remaining below, including Carvalho, Nix, and two of the Hroom, while she led the rest up the stairs. At each new landing, they stopped to hurl grenades ahead of them, then cleared the adjacent rooms. Tolvern couldn’t risk leaving enemies to ambush them from the rear.

  The upper levels held servants, palace guards, and jailers, who either surrendered, or were killed when they resisted. The jailers confirmed that Baron and Lady Drake were being held on the uppermost floor of the tower. Tolvern left men and women on each level, both to secure the captives and to take position at the windows, where they could snipe at enemies rushing the tower. By the time Tolvern had cleared the lowest three levels, she was down to eight companions, with Oglethorpe the only remaining crew member from Blackbeard.

  It all went smoothly until they approached the top level, where royal guards held the landing and kept steady fire blasting down the spiral staircase. Tolvern returned fire, but she and her forces were soon driven back. It sounded like there were no more than three enemies, but it may as well have been a battalion up there.

  Another call came from the schooner. This time it was Paredes himself, not the frightened-sounding kid. Tolvern could barely hear him above the gunfire. He said something about a helicopter.

  Tolvern set down her weapon and flattened her palms against her ears to block the sound of gunfire. “What? Did you say there’s a helicopter?”

  “Three helicopters. Already left the base. A company of York Town militia has entered the palace grounds, too, but we’re holding them off for now. Once those helicopters show up, we’re in trouble. My guns can’t reach them from the courtyard, and my shields won’t take the kind of abuse they can dish out.”

  This was bad. It was too soon; she needed more time. “How long?”

  “Five minutes, then we should leave.”

  “Are you kidding?” That was barely enough time to race back down the stairs, gather her people, and run to the schooner. “Give me ten.”

  An explosion echoed from somewhere below, followed by gunfire. What the devil was going on down there?

  A brief pause from Paredes’s side. “Eight minutes. Then I leave, whether you’re with me or not.”

  Tolvern grabbed her computer from her hip pocket and noted the time. Then she leaned around the corner with her assault rifle turned on full auto. She emptied the gun. The instant she stopped firing, two of her men pushed past and charged up, shooting. Tolvern and the others rushed after them. Moments later, one of her men came tumbling down, bloody and riddled with bullets. The other had vanished.

  Tolvern caught a glimpse of a man’s face, grim and determined, as he slammed another clip into his rifle. Another man raised his gun over the first man’s shoulder and pointed it down at her. She flinched backward as he fired. Bullets slammed into the wa
ll behind where she’d been standing. Tolvern and the others crouched around the corner of the staircase as the gunfire continued.

  “It’s no good,” Oglethorpe said, when there was a lull. “We can’t make it.”

  Tolvern had no good response. The enemy had the superior vantage point and apparently unlimited ammo with which to hold it. The gun battle seemed to have gone on forever already, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two.

  All too soon, the com chimed. Paredes again. He said something, and though she couldn’t catch it, she knew he must be telling her that her time was almost up. Return to the ship or stay behind forever.

  “I need a few more minutes!” Tolvern protested.

  “Listen to me!” he said. “It’s over.”

  “Huh?”

  “I said it’s over. Don’t keep shooting. There’s a truce.”

  A truce? She could hardly dare hope. “Tell that to these guys above us.”

  And yet, there was no shooting at the moment. Had the palace guards taken new orders, or were they waiting for Tolvern to pop around the corner again before they blasted her?

  “Because of the Hroom?” she asked Paredes.

  “Something like that. Guess they’d rather have Drake’s ship on their side than against them. It was his buddy in the navy who did it, got through to the king or something. The king himself has ordered a cease-fire, and the royal guards are standing by—they’re not attacking us. Same with the militia. The helicopters are circling, but they aren’t firing.”

  Tolvern ended the call. “Hey!” she yelled up the stairs. “You know why we’re here. Put down the guns, we’ll get who we came for, and then we’ll leave. Sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can fight the Hroom.”

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Tolvern kept her gun at the ready, wary, but not wanting to shoot a guard because she got jumpy.

  But it was Baron Drake who came around the corner. He wore a fine coat and trousers, and his steel-gray hair was slicked and parted down the middle. He was nearly sixty, if Tolvern remembered correctly, but still a handsome man, proud and aristocratic in bearing, and with the same piercing gaze as his son.

  “Miss Tolvern,” the baron said in his crisp, aristocratic accent. He was smiling. “I should have known it would be you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Smythe and Barker worked their countermeasures and brought down two of the missiles from Fort William. Nyb Pim’s clever evasive maneuvers shook off two more. Unfortunately, attempts to get clear of the missiles brought them within torpedo range, and now they had three Hunter-II torpedoes to deal with. Jane’s warnings in Drake’s ear grew increasingly dire. The first missile slammed into the rear shields, doing considerable damage.

  Outlaw and Pussycat tried to run in to confuse the incoming weaponry. All this did was expose them to cannon fire from the fort. They were soon fleeing toward the moon, pursued by missiles.

  “Twenty-five seconds to impact,” Jane warned as the second missile raced in.

  Blackbeard gave a final, futile shimmy to shake it off, and then Drake ordered Nyb Pim to show the heavier port shield. The ship shuddered. Lights blinked on Drake’s console.

  “Jane, status of shields?”

  “Estimating . . . rear shields, seventy-eight percent. Port shield . . . fifty-three percent. Deck shield—”

  He cut her off. Fifty-three percent? Blast it, that second missile had struck hard. With the weakened shields, the three incoming torpedoes would tear them apart.

  Jane was shortly back on. “First torpedo impact in ninety seconds. Class-three detonation expected.”

  “Someone give me countermeasures,” he called.

  “I’m trying!” Smythe protested.

  “Try harder, or we’re going to die.”

  The torpedo was only thirty seconds out when it suddenly veered away. The other two torpedoes corkscrewed and fizzled out.

  “Well done, Smythe! Very well done.”

  “That wasn’t me, Captain.”

  Drake was about to call Barker, thinking that someone in the gunnery must have been responsible, but then he noticed that Fort William was no longer shooting and appeared to have stood down entirely. Why? Because of the Hroom fleet, still barreling toward them, unopposed? But why the change of heart now?

  “Sir,” Manx said from Tolvern’s seat. His voice quivered. “There’s a call for you. It’s . . . I think it is the King.”

  Drake’s eyes widened. He looked down at the console. There it was, the authenticated signature from the royal palace, indicating the king was on the other line.

  “Put him on the viewscreen.”

  There was no mistaking the face that appeared in front of him. King Bartholomew’s visage was stamped on every coin in every pocket in Albion. He had the nose of a Roman emperor, but other than that, his bearing was not particularly regal, being too long of face, with a high, balding forehead, and a pointy chin. His older brother had cut a much more imposing figure, but after the crown prince was killed in a riding accident, Bartholomew had stepped in. He had been king since the death of his father eight years ago.

  He didn’t wear that crown now, of course, but a smoking jacket and a simple linen shirt. He stood in front of a towering shelf of books, and a fire burned on a massive hearth to his right, a pair of sleeping dogs sprawled in front of it.

  “Your Majesty,” Drake said. “Was it you who ordered the forts to stand down?”

  “Be quiet and listen, Drake.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Why have you attacked my palace?”

  “To free my parents, Your Majesty.”

  “You are aware, of course, that there is a suicidal fleet on its way to attack Albion, and nobody is opposing it. Yet you are attacking our forts and distracting my commanders while they should be preparing to save Albion from annihilation.”

  “Only until I rescue my parents. Then I will join the Royal Navy in battling the Hroom.”

  “Yes, so Captain Rutherford has told me. That is why I ordered Fort William to stand down, contrary to Lord Admiral Malthorne’s instructions.”

  Drake itched to tell the king of Malthorne’s perfidy, to complain that the court-martial that had driven his ship to mutiny had been a farce. He wanted to explain about the sugar antidote Malthorne had hidden on his Hot Barsa estate. But he remained quiet.

  “There is something you should know,” the king said. “Fort St. George refuses to stand down, its commander proclaiming obedience to the Admiralty until the battle is finished. St. George has engines and is moving into a geosynchronous orbit over York Town, where it intends to destroy your schooner. They are trying to convince me to evacuate the palace for my own safety.”

  “You are not in any danger from us, Your Majesty, I promise you. And surely St. George won’t fire on the schooner or the palace while you are still in it.”

  “Be quiet, Drake. I have orders for you.”

  “Your Majesty?”

  “When this battle is over—if, by the grace of God, we should survive as a people—you will present yourself to the palace for a new trial. It will be a fair one, I guarantee you. Your commander, your pilot, Captain Rutherford, and anyone else you choose will be allowed to testify on your behalf. If you are found innocent, you will be fully restored.” The king stopped, and his face turned even more grave. “Or, you can flee and return to a life of piracy. Those are your choices.”

  Elation rose in Drake’s chest. This was it, his chance to prove his innocence, to clear his name. It was all he had ever wanted.

  “I will come, Your Majesty.”

  #

  “You look more like your mother every time I see you,” Baron Drake said. “She was a very pretty young woman, you know.” The baron studied Tolvern with a smile as she gaped back at him. “But all the same, I’d rather not have your gun pointed at my chest.”

  Tolvern hastily lowered the weapon. “I am sorry, Your Lordship.”

  And then she bl
ushed at the compliment, suddenly feeling like the shy child who had hidden behind her mother’s skirts and gawked at the tall, proud lord who had come to see her father, the steward of the estate.

  The baron gestured behind him, and his wife came around the corner. She, too, looked none the worse for wear, dressed in a fine gown with velvet sleeves and a cinched waist. Like her husband, she was still attractive for her age. Captain Drake was of good breeding, as evidenced by his parents.

  “Have you been mistreated?” Tolvern asked.

  The baron shook his head. “Not yet. But they meant to hang us, so I suppose the mistreatment was coming. Is my son . . . ?”

  “Is he alive and well? He was last time I saw him. We’d better get out of here and make sure he stays that way.”

  Tolvern collected the rest of her people on the way down, and when she reached the bottom level, she found Capp by herself, pacing the entryway to the tower with a strange mixture of elation and fear on her face.

  “Where are the rest?” Tolvern asked, frowning. She remembered the explosion and gunshots she’d heard from below. “Where did they go?”

  “I couldn’t control those blokes. Tried to, but they wouldn’t leave it be, so we went down to the treasury.”

  “What is this?” the baron asked. He studied Tolvern’s companions. “They said you had turned pirate, but I cannot believe my son would do such a thing.”

  Tolvern had no time for this, either the nonsense in the vaults or explaining the whole mess to the baron. “Oglethorpe, the rest of you, escort Baron and Lady Drake to the ship. Capp, you stay with me.”

  While Oglethorpe and the rest led the baron and his wife out of the tower, Capp and Tolvern hurried down the hallway toward the vaults. They passed several dead guards and crew members, cut down by gunfire. They rounded a corner and found another dead guard and two more dead crew. This had better be worth it; it had been a costly battle.

  The vault entrance was a ruin of twisted bars with a mangled metal door blown off its hinges. Capp and Tolvern passed through it and into a concrete chamber with no windows and no exit, about twenty feet by twenty feet in dimension and a dozen feet high. This was the vault Tolvern had glimpsed during her visit as a cadet, only now she was inside, and her people had captured it. Shouts, cheers, and toasts echoed across the room. Men and women were slapping each other on the back, sharing flasks of whiskey, and dancing around. Someone handed a paper sack of sugar to the Hroom, who poured it into their mouths, hooting with excitement. There were about twenty people crammed into the room, and not one of them was holding his weapon at the ready.