by PJ Strebor
From the darkness beneath the enemy, a massive barrage of firepower unleashed against her stern shields. Missiles, Nathan lost count of how many, hit right where they should, weakening the shields that protected her most vital area. Lucky bored in, his pulsars sustaining a constant flow of energy, tearing through her armor. The beams terminated at the same moment Nathan’s back flared. Rolling away from the E-boat, he took his boat out of blast range. A slow count of three, and the enemy vessel vaporized.
One to go.
Lucky formed up on his port side.
“What now?”
“Now we go and kill the last E-boat.”
“Fair enough. Where do we start looking?”
“Follow me. I know exactly where she is.”
***
On the far side of the massive planet they found only civilian ships.
“Where are they?” Commodore Becklin asked.
“They’re not showing up on scans, Sir. But it’s hard to read anything through this interference.”
“I can see that for myself. A picket force of that size doesn’t just disappear. What the hell are the Brets up to?”
“Torpedoes, multiple tracks from port and starboard.”
“Locate source and destroy them.”
“I have something at our nine o’clock. Could be a Bret destroyer.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Kill the fucker.”
Pulsars struck out at the incoming salvos, destroying most of them. His ship trembled as three got through his defenses.
“Hits to forward weapons array.”
His command bucked as she fired hundreds of torpedoes at the attacking force.
“I have contacts approaching from astern.”
“Helm, hard about, flank speed. Take us back to the fleet. Weapons officer, fire on them with or without acquisition.”
“More torpedoes, multiple tracks from astern.”
“Hit. One destroyer killed, Sir.”
Must be a squadron of the little fuckers. Four more to go.
It took ten minutes of frantic combat to fight their way past the stubborn defense. They had destroyed or severely damaged the Bret destroyer squadron, but had paid a price for their shallow victory. His forward weapons array looked to have been chewed up and spat out.
“How many offensive weapons do we have left?”
“Thirteen, Sir, but we’re trying to restore more.”
“Sir, message from Emaonon’s Vengeance. Reads: Under attack, shields weakening. That’s all, Sir.”
Now Becklin knew where the Bret capital ships had disappeared to.
“Sir, we are clear of the planet’s comm interference.”
“Comm, send to Captain Matthes: All boats fire on targets. Lay waste to Cimmeria.”
“Aye-aye, Sir.”
“Massive debris field ahead, Sir,” his T-O said. “It could be the fleet.”
“Any sign of the Brets?”
“No, Sir.”
Thank the good Lord for his blessings.
***
Captain Richards examined the latest damage reports. They had been knocked about by the concussions from the shifting asteroids, but when he detected the massive salvo from the admiral’s ships, he had no problem with pushing HMS Sword Mistress away from the dangerously erratic archipelago.
With all nonessential systems shut down and repairs underway, he could relax for a minute.
“Captain, an enemy battleship has rounded the planet and is on course for our position.”
“Fuck me drunk,” Richards hissed.
“Shields?” Chris asked.
“No.”
“If they fire on us with our shields down—”
“We’re dead — yeah, I know. If we raise shields, she’ll definitely spot us and simply fire more ordnance against us. The result will be the same.”
“Helm, nudge us closer to the debris field. But do it quietly.”
“Aye, Sir, quietly it is.”
“Cease all repair operations. Silent running throughout the ship.”
“Aye, Sir.”
“With any luck she’ll think we’re part of the junk pile and ignore us.”
Or we’ll be dead.
***
Captain Matthes’ patience neared exhaustion. Yes, he understood that his boat had been close to the explosion that destroyed the battle station. Yes, she had taken a beating as millions of tonnes of battle station and accompanying asteroids pummeled her. And yes, the electromagnetic pulse wave had fried many of his systems. But he desperately needed communications. For hours he had been cooling his heels, waiting for the techs to do their jobs. Without communications, he knew nothing of what was happening in the space around him. His small force of E-boats had negotiated the Bretish channel without incident and taken up their stations. But what of Commodore Becklin?
How long would be too long to await orders? By now, anything could be happening. Victory, with the commodore already preparing the bulk freighters for departure. Or defeat, with no one to give the final order? The uncertainty could drive a man crazy.
At least he did not have to contend with a spook looking over his shoulder. Saxon had left on another ship, hours before the fighting began. Small mercies.
“You can try it now, Captain,” the sweaty tech said.
“Finally.” He jabbed the transmit button to contact the other E-boats, remembering to use the correct codes, just in case they were being monitored. “This is Serrano, to all Talgarno ships. Respond to my signal.” Hissing static replied. “Is this thing working?” he snapped at the tech.
“Yes, Sir. Everything checks out, Sir.”
“Serrano to all Talgarno ships, respond to my signal.”
“Sir,” his XO whispered, “they could have been destroyed by the same blast that crippled us.”
“Perhaps.” Did he wait in the hope that Becklin would give him the orders to decimate Cimmeria? Or did he dare to proceed on his own initiative? For all he knew, the whole plan had gone to shit.
“Willi, have we gotten the boat bay doors open yet?”
“I have two teams working on it.”
“Torpedoes?”
“We’re close, Sir.”
“Give me one tube, and we can finish our business and be on our way home.”
“Sounds good, Sir. I’ll check with the weapons officer and see if I can—”
“Contact, Captain,” the T-O yelled. “One ship, small, moving fast, bow-on to us. He’s armed, Sir.”
“Please tell me we have pulsars.”
“Aye, Sir, all bow chasers are fully functional,” Willi said.
“Then be good enough to kill whoever that is.”
***
Nathan and Lucky adopted the same attack profile as before. He would draw the enemy’s fire, Lucky would sneak up from behind and kill her.
Considering Cimmeria’s largest population center sat beneath the E-boat, the stakes had grown significantly higher. Panthera was not only her capital city, but home to her first deposits of trephine crystals. Destroy Panthera, and half of the planet’s resources would be rendered useless. The attack would also destroy the planet’s infrastructure. And four million of its citizens.
Nathan began his attack as he had before. Something felt different this time. He couldn’t isolate it.
The E-boat looked as if it had been through a grinder, but his readings said it still had effective defensive weaponry. Her skipper did not linger over the target, instead adopting an attack posture. Where were her fighters?
Nathan approached as before, into the teeth of fire. Pulsar fire spewed out, narrowly missing him. He began evasive maneuvers to try and throw off her aim. By now, Lucky would be coasting closer to her stern.
***
Lucky waited patiently as the range to the enemy boat steadily closed. The plan was sound and should work as it did before. He could not help worrying about Nathan. His battered fighter couldn’t take many more hits, especially from the E-boat’
s vastly more powerful weaponry. One strike from those monster pulsars could kill him.
The stern of the enemy could be clearly seen through his forward panels. Only a few more minutes and he would—
Something near her fantail. What is that? Light?
“Oh, shiiiit.”
The boat bay hatch crawled open, struggling against an unseen force. If she launched fighters, their simple plan could turn into a desperate fight for their lives.
The doors opened about halfway, then jammed. The knot in Lucky’s muscles relaxed. Until the first fighter squeezed through the gap.
***
Nathan received the flash feed. “Fighters launching.”
The chatter through his earpiece said as much. Again he could not understand what they said, but they sounded mad about something. Soon he would be attacked. The job still remained unfinished.
Nathan pushed his throttles forward. The best defense is offense, he had heard. Dodging fire, he closed with the enemy. He had only two missiles left. The range closed, but what could he do with the limited firepower? Nothing, except drawing fire to himself, and attention away from Lucky’s attack.
He fired one of his remaining missiles, hoping for a hit that would give him his chance to close to point blank range and rake her defenses. Enemy fire destroyed the missile well short of the boat. Closing the range, he fired as the chance presented itself. At this extreme close range, evading the intense fire proved to be challenging. Time and again, beams glanced off his armor.
Fighters approached from the E-boat. Perhaps he should draw them away, then Lucky might—
“Cimmerian vessel,” a familiar voice said over his earpiece, “disengage immediately.”
Evading the frantic enemy fire, Nathan pulled away, then glanced over his shoulder. A dark disk shape blocked the stars. Five Specter fighters streaked past him, heading into the darkened space to engage the enemy fighters.
Six torpedoes burst from Insolent’s tubes. Expecting the E-boat to explode, Nathan put some distance between himself and it.
The E-boat skipper turned his keel to face the torpedo onslaught. He must be mad.
His point defense took out two torpedoes; the rest exploded against his keel shielding. The impact threw her onto her back. Then the Pruessen’s insane tactics made sense. Swinging out of the tumble, he brought her nose about, to face the planet. He had protected his weapons array.
***
“Four hits, Skipper. She’s lurching over to starboard.”
Bradman waited for his torpedoes to be reloaded before delivering the kill shot.
At the last moment he realized what the enemy skipper had done. Bradman pushed Insolent over in a vicious turn, trying to position his boat between the enemy and the planet. Too late. The E-boat fired a single torpedo.
Bradman set a pursuit course, pushing his throttles into the red. The torpedo was fast, but so was his boat. If it made it into the ionosphere, he would lose his only chance to stop it. He fired: the shot went wide. Again he fired: range too long. The torpedo grazed the ionosphere. Bradman took a deep breath and focused on the fleeing ordnance. He waited, his focus absolute, then fired a single shot. The torpedo erupted in a brief spout of flames, sending shadows across the murky field.
“A shot in a million, Skipper,” Antonia said.
Yeah, not bad for an old guy.
He brought Insolent around in a tight arc, back toward the E-boat. Time to finish the job.
“Torpedoes. Torpedoes inbound.” A pause. “Fourteen torpedoes. All nukes.”
“Shit.” Where the hell did they come from?
Bradman turned bow-on to the mass of destruction. Only a capital ship had the capability of firing so many torpedoes.
Time to live up to your reputation, Bradman.
***
“No,” Nathan gasped. The battleship, still thousands of clicks away, had fired a murderous volley at Insolent. The surrounding interference worked both ways.
Insolent stood little chance of surviving the onslaught. But Bradman had stopped the torpedo that would have decimated Panthera. Right now the E-boat could be loading another one.
Nathan’s first instinct was to rush to the aid of his boat. Fighting against his better nature, he paused with his hands hovering over the controls. Assist Insolent or kill the E-boat? One hundred and forty lives balanced against four million. His heart said help his boat, his shipmates, but his duty forbade it. The E-boat had to be stopped. He slammed his fist into his console.
“Damn, damn, damn.”
Swinging the Kamora in a tight turn, he charged toward the enemy boat. Only a stern attack had a chance of doing the job. With only one missile in his arsenal, it would take his very best to kill her. As he closed with the Jackal, no pulsars lanced out at him, confirming to Nathan that her sensors had been disabled by Insolent’s attack. He needed to take out two strategically positioned shield blisters. Two impossibly small targets. His pulsar beams bounced off her armor. Closer, he fired again. This one came so close to a blister. A familiar pop between his ears, and his focus immediately sharpened. He fired, hitting one blister. Now, one more blister and he would shoot a missile up her butt. Finally, the E-boat fired blindly with her stern weapons. Even with her sensors out, she put up an impressive defense, broad swinging arcs of fire coming close to hitting him. Avoiding the fire, he maintained his attack, closing the distance. He saw the blister and only the blister. His finger closed on the firing stud.
Fire erupted against his spine. Threat, from below. Nathan tossed the boat over on her side as the deadly beams tore into his shields.
Out of position and facing fire from two directions, Nathan tried to disengage. His Kamora staggered under a massive impact, power went down, and his holo panels blacked out. His fighter tumbled out of control.
Totally defenseless, blind and disoriented, Nathan fought to regain some degree of control. A couple of panels on his port screen struggled to life. He tried to slow her tumble, but most of his maneuvering systems had failed. Frantically fighting his damaged craft, he slowed her maddening spin, then brought her to a dead stop.
He sat, unmoving for a time, breathing heavily, listening for the hiss of escaping oxygen. Wish I had my V-suit. The combat sphere appeared to be undamaged. Such could not be said for his Kamora.
“SMC.”
“SMC.”
“Condition report.”
“All sections forward of struts twenty-eight through thirty-six are destroyed.”
“Time to restoration.”
“Those sections are no longer attached to this vessel.”
Shit, they shot my nose off.
“Continue.”
“All weapons destroyed. Reactor scrammed. Energy buffers at twenty-nine percent and falling. Maneuvering hull plating destroyed. Shields destroyed. Primary tactical sensors destroyed. Activating secondary sensor array. Primary and secondary navigation destroyed. Long-range comms destroyed.”
“SMC, just tell me what is working.”
“Six maneuvering thrusters operable. Life support available but failing.”
Nathan waited, waited. “That’s it?”
“Affirmative. Selective holo panels becoming available. This unit is damaged and may be una—”
“SMC. SMC?”
Nathan closed his eyes and groaned as a flood of exhaustion and nausea crushed him into his chair.
“Not now. Not now.” The weakness of his voice startled him. His knack had chosen this time to extract its payment. He tried to reach the attitude controls, but his hand shook with the effort. With a struggle, he forced his head to move.
On a panel, down and to starboard, an enemy fighter approached. As he banked into position, Nathan saw his torn underbelly.
“Just can’t keep you out of the game, can I, T?”
The enemy fighter drew closer. Looking him over. Or positioning to take the kill shot? Nathan was powerless to do anything about it. Powerless, like the two pilots he had killed earli
er.
A single garbled voice came through his earpiece. Quiet, considered, unhurried. Nathan would bet money T was talking to him. He could imagine the words.
So my friend, you got me a good one back there, but now I’ve got you. Nothing personal, it’s simply the way of the warrior.
He could almost have respected the pilot, if he wasn’t Pruessen.
Without instruments, he could not confirm a lock-on. Nathan stared the enemy in the eye. His back flared. Oh Livy, I’m so sorry.
Pulsar fire ripped into T’s weakened keel. His fighter began to tear apart, then exploded. Lucky streaked through the debris with an enemy fighter hot on his six.
“Go on, Lucky, run like the wind. Get the hell out of here.”
***
Lucky pushed his throttles so hard he thought they would break off in his hand. Nathan would be safe, for the moment, and now he had his own problems. The Jackal-class fighters were faster than intel reports indicated. But surely they could not catch this beast. A glancing shot to his port wing said differently.
Raking fire hit him again and again. Alarms blared as systems went out. His fighter lurched as his port engine was hit. Rotating through his axis, he fired everything he had at the closing Jackal. He hit it again and again as the Jackal sent the favor back. Finally the stubborn Jackal blew apart. Before his death, the enemy fired. Missiles reached out and ripped at Lucky’s damaged Kamora.
Alarms wailed a final warning.
“Imminent core breach,” the SMC said.
“Shit.”
Seconds later, the Kamora fighter piloted by Ensign Garrison “Lucky” Whitney exploded in a brief fireball.
***
Nathan followed Lucky’s escape. An explosion marked the end of the Jackal.
“Atta boy, Lucky.”
Nathan’s grin turned into a grimace as a second, much larger, explosion lit dark space.
His friend had died trying to save him. That’s three, on my head.
