The seated officers rose, and they all saluted Wilcox before filing out of the room. Gordon stayed where he was, watching them leave. Wilcox sighed again and sat down, and Gordon saw his friend’s confidence deflate.
“There are still a lot of ifs here,” Gordon walked toward the door, wincing as his wounds protested the motion. They’d been hurting more with each day’s effort, but what could he do? He needed to start helping with preparations, especially with the artillery crews. They couldn’t afford a single error or hesitation with this kind of plan.
Wilcox leaned back, rubbed his chin with his hand, the rasp of stubble filling the silence in the room. When he spoke at last, his voice was quiet.
“But it’s a damn good if, don’t you think?”
They held each other’s gaze for a second, then Gordon walked out of the room, leaving Wilcox alone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Enemy ships becoming visible on long-range scopes, Captain.”
“Transfer the data to my station.” Kim flipped her screen open, removed the stylus from its groove beside the display. She waited, tapped the screen’s metal frame, impatient for the image to appear. “Mr. Fowler?”
“It’s coming through now, Ma’am.”
Kim looked at Ensign Fowler, who was hunched over Wilcox’s station. The young man was obviously still adjusting to Jack’s job.
The faint flash of the activated screen brought Kim’s attention back to her display. A wire frame image of Kensington appeared, as well as about twenty small, white dots clustered together in orbit over a landmass on the planet’s northern hemisphere.
The armada.
She bit the back of her stylus, heard the sound of boots on steel, and felt Holsey’s gaze over her shoulder.
“Amateurs.” Holsey scoffed. “They’re so low in orbit.”
Kim didn’t respond, but watched as the computer outlined concentric spheres around the ship, with percentage probabilities written on them, followed by arrows showing course and speed of the ships.
Kim closed her eyes for a second, and she could almost hear Captain Danner’s lecture at the academy her freshman year.
“At distance, any information gathered by the scopes can be minutes or hours old. Therefore, planning an attack vector is a game of probabilities, not facts—”
“A crapshoot,” Holsey said, unknowingly completing the sentence in Kim’s head.
Kim nodded. She traced a line with her stylus, then tapped on the keyboard to send the course to helm and fire control. If Kim’s guess proved correct, her course would keep the planet between the Verdun and the enemy ships until the last minute, and it would keep them uphill of the enemy ships, at a higher orbit.
“If they’re consistent with what we’ve seen, that should be a pretty good bet.” Holsey sounded confident, though Kim could detect the note of doubt in her voice.
Kim slipped her stylus back in its groove, looked over her shoulder at Holsey. “They don’t seem to know much about maneuvering ships in space, or gravitational advantages. They’re inexperienced, whoever they are.”
Holsey scratched the back of her neck. “And superior numbers can’t fix stupid.”
“Most of the time, Commander.” Kim held Holsey’s gaze for a second longer before facing forward again. “Mr. Stetler, begin approach for attack maneuvers.”
Christine lay down onto the moist, warm ground, arranging herself so that she could peek out at the fort’s massive form from behind a thick, thorny bush.
“Victor Five, Victor Six. We’re in position.” Wilcox’s whisper was barely louder than the distant mechanical hum of the fort’s gun turrets, which were traversing back and forth, searching, their shapes backlit by the sun setting over the mountains.
Christine listened to Osterman’s reply over her headset, watched Lazaar fiddle with the gain controls on his radio pack, sweat running down his temples.
The past day had been a rush of preparing equipment, gathering and distributing ammunition, briefing and re-briefing her platoon on the plan, and then hauling themselves as fast as they could — with a full combat load and in armor — across the miles of rough terrain between their bunker and the fort. They’d split from Major Osterman and his group some miles ago and veered to the south, keeping to cover as they’d made their way down to the edge of the forest across from the fort’s main gate, the humid, hot air of monsoon season roasting them in their turtle shells.
“Doesn’t look all that different.” Squires whispered from Christine’s other side. “Just looks like the grounds crew has some work to do.”
Christine peered out at the fort again, wishing for a moment that she had x-ray vision to see what the enemy garrison was doing. Her eyes traveled over the disturbed clods of dirt in the grassy, flat plain surrounding the fort, the tell-tale sign of weapons fire and projectiles digging up the earth. There was a wrecked supply truck not far from the edge of the woods, but no cover otherwise. Christine bit her lip, tapped her ring gently against the stock of her carbine. There was a lot of open ground to cover. If this didn’t work…
You won’t be around to worry about it.
“We’ll begin firing in approximately one minute,” Osterman finished, breaking Christine’s train of thought.
“Copy,” Wilcox said. “Captain, Lieutenant?”
“Sir.” Christine turned to face Wilcox, seeing something steady and fixed about his expression that pushed away her doubts. There were no more uncertainties, no more questions about plausibility or whether or not this was a good idea. There was only the task at hand.
“Get your platoons in order.”
“Yes, sir.”
Christine followed Squires through the brush back to where the rest of the attack force was waiting, her heart beating against the rigid plate of her armor, her body tensed for action. She had always wished that she fell naturally into a state of calm before a battle, like a hero in a movie or one of the medal recipients they bragged about in Alliance Servicemember’s Magazine. But calm was something she’d learned, something she imposed on herself each time.
She concentrated on the press of her ring against the carbine’s stock, nodded to Squires as he slipped into the trees to the right toward his platoon. Christine continued for a dozen more yards or so, until she was just in front of the thicket where she’d left Sergeant Néri. She knelt down on the ground, and her rangers slipped out of cover and gathered around her.
She took a moment to look around at all of them, taking note of each of their faces. Néri, his dark eyes impassive as always. Clos, Miller, Henrikson, Harris, Watts... Some of them were obviously frightened, breathing in controlled in-and-out cycles, as if they were trying to catch their breath or fight back nausea. Others seemed relaxed, almost bored, though small details — tightened jaw muscles, lips drawn just a little too tight, eyes that seemed to look out from behind transparent walls — told Christine what they were really feeling. But all of them, all thirty-seven of them, were looking at her with something Christine almost didn’t want to name. Trust? Faith? Love? Christine fought back the rush of emotion she felt for this group of dirty, sweat-stained rangers — and the weight of the responsibility she carried for them. They would do this right. She would get them through this.
Christine took a breath. “We’ll be moving in a few minutes, after the diversionary attack is complete. Morrisseau, Wu,” Christine turned to the two engineers. “We’ll be counting on you to get those doors open fast. Anyone have any questions?”
She looked between the faces of her troops, saw a few of them shake their heads.
“Good.” Christine paused, took a breath. “Move as fast as possible. If you see anyone go down, leave him where he falls. We’re all better off if we hurry up and get this job done.”
There was a general chorus of “Yes ma’am” and a flurry of nodding heads.
Christine forced a smile onto her face, projecting confidence. “Good. I’ll see you all in the command center, drinking some of Ne
ville’s brandy.”
A chuckle. Some grins. A moment of normal life.
“Now,” Christine’s smile vanished as she reached for the scabbard on her belt. “Fix bayonets.”
“Foxtrot, Victor Five. Commence firing on my mark, target Alpha-Alpha-one-seven-four-five, over.” Gordon tilted his headset mic toward his mouth, trying to keep his voice low as he called in the coordinates for the fort’s communications stack. The outer glacis of the fort was a good two hundred yards away from the edge of the tree line where he and the forward observation team were stationed, but somehow it didn’t feel right to speak in a normal voice.
The reply came a second later. “Victor Five, Foxtrot, will fire on your mark, out.”
Gordon turned to Lieutenant Garrett, who was crouched to his left with his platoon. He didn’t envy them their job.
Lieutenant Garrett nodded wordlessly back at him, and Gordon could see the light catching the eyes of his troops, shining in the growing darkness. Their faces were all drawn into hard angles and tight lines.
Gordon turned to his other side, looked down the tree line to the right, over in the direction of where he knew Wilcox, Flores, and the others were waiting. Everyone was in position. An image from his childhood of a line of dominoes on the floor popped into his mind. He remembered sitting there, finger cocked and ready. They could still turn back at this point. Find some other way. Once the word was given, there was no choice but to see the attack through.
Gordon looked forward at the fort again, raised the handset to his mouth.
“Foxtrot, Victor Five, mark, over.”
“Victor Five, Foxtrot, copy, out.”
The twilight air split into thunder that had nothing to do with the gathering clouds.
Tom raced down the concrete passageway, ignoring the wide eyes and questioning glances of his people as he passed them. He slowed down to zig-zag between the barricades, the strange, muffled booming sound echoing along the corridor.
Tom took the scarred steps into the command center two at a time.
“What the hell was that?” He looked around at the handful of people manning the various stations in the command center, but they all stared blankly back at him.
Eugene had his headset around his neck, the internal fort’s internal telephone pressed to his ear. He looked up, saw Tom.
“They’re shooting at us!”
“From where?” Tom walked over to Eugene, placed his hand on the seatback.
“We… we don’t know. Observation domes can’t see anyone.”
Another series of deep, rumbling booms. Tom felt a slight tremble in the concrete flooring, and he realized with a chill what was happening.
“They’re shelling us. The Alliance attack is here. Can we fire back?”
Eugene shook his head. “We don’t know where they’re coming from.”
Tom took a deep breath, felt the eyes of everyone on him. “Then we wait for the attack to begin. We should be safe in here.”
Another explosion, this one louder than before, drummed through the air. Tom heard an electronic buzzing noise gush from the radio headset.
“Dammit!” Eugene raised one headphone to his ear, tapped on the keyboard of the computer, which was displaying a black screen with the word ‘error’ blinking across it in red.
“They’re hitting near the radio stack,” Eugene said, cursing again. “We’re losing signal strength.”
The report of the shells grew closer together, blended into a rapid string of blasts. Eugene stood up, dropping the telephone and throwing off his headphones. “We need to get out of here!”
“Easy,” Tom said, gently pushing the kid back into his chair. He couldn’t have Eugene spreading panic, not when the assault had just begun. “Easy.”
“We should order the turrets to retract.”
Tom turned to see the Supervisor standing at the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a look of concern painted onto his face.
“We want the fort’s defensive capabilities to remain intact,” the Supervisor continued. “Send an attack force to meet the enemy infantry when they—”
“Tom!” Eugene’s terrified voice interrupted Smith. “We’re being attacked—soldiers from the woods to the northeast. A–And I’m getting a signal from the fleet.”
Tom watched Eugene’s features screw up in concentration. If the fleet was signaling, it could only mean one thing.
“Well, out with it!” Tom waved his hands impatiently.
“Sorry,” Eugene murmured, closing his eyes. “It’s hard to hear with the damage to the radio.” Then his eyes flew open.
“The Alliance ship has returned—and it’s firing on them!”
The room trembled again, and Eugene shook his head. “That’s it. They’ve hit the antenna again. We’ve lost all of it.”
Tom put his hand on Eugene’s shoulder again, trying to think. The Alliance forces had chosen their moment well. A massive fist was closing around him, suffocating him. Some sort of trap had been sprung, and he and his followers were in the middle of it. If there was even a chance of escaping the snare, the next moments would be critical.
It was so damn surreal.
A year ago, he’d never have imagined himself in the middle of a battle, in charge of the thing. Tom had to keep himself from laughing. And yet, outside the fort and above them in orbit, a battle was starting. In the command center, it was so calm, so quiet all of a sudden. Even the sound of the artillery had—
The shells have stopped!
Tom grinned as he realized that the thunder of artillery was over.
“The barrage has lifted. They won’t risk hitting their own people. Keep the turrets up to repel the enemy. And prepare our troops to counterattack.” Tom turned to the Supervisor, and could, for once, match his smile. “We’ll finish off the Alliance forces here and now.”
“And what about the warship?” Eugene’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
Tom turned around again and meet the eyes of everyone in the room in turn. He took a breath, and he knew what they had to do.
Tom turned on his heel and walked over to the missile control console, snapping his fingers in front of the stunned face of the man sitting at it.
“Jordan. Jordan!” Tom grabbed the man’s chair by the armrests and looked into his terrified eyes. “Activate the targeting computer, and bring the launch systems online.”
The bridge turned bright white for an instant as an explosion flashed across the holoports. Kim squinted her eyes and looked back at the image of the enemy ship engulfed in the fire of its own destruction, breaking into pieces.
“Enemy vessel destroyed.” Isabelle’s voice played over the intercom, and the bridge crew erupted into cheers.
“Keep focused.” The knot in Kim’s chest unwound slightly. “There are still plenty more where that came from. Direct fire control to concentrate lee-side guns on the ships breaking formation. Don’t let them get around us.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
The attack was going as well as Kim could ask for. The enemy ships had been close to where Kim had predicted they’d be, and they’d been unaware of the Verdun’s approach until the last minute. Stetler had been able to maneuver the ship into a broadside position and open fire before the target vessels had even been able to move. Clustered together in tight formation, the ships had sustained plenty of damage from the Verdun’s main guns in the first volley. When the enemy fleet had sent a wing of fighters forward — cargo tenders mixed with the same light craft that had chased the Verdun off of Kensington — the skilled Alliance pilots had ripped them to pieces within minutes. The enemy ships were far more maneuverable than the massive Verdun, and Kim knew the key to beating them was to keep them at bay with superior firepower. Based on how their opponents kept trying to spread out and flank the Verdun, it was clear the enemy understood that fact, too.
Kim looked down at her display, felt the deck tremble under her as the Verdun fired again. She changed the camera vie
w, saw the enemy fleet slowly dispersing, trying to close the distance with the Alliance ship. A pair of vessels was breaking to the left, no doubt attempting to move out of the planet’s gravity well and encircle the Verdun. A cluster of shells, small points of ignited plasma against the black of space, shot toward the main group of enemy ships, then disappeared for a moment against the brightness of the planet beyond. A second later, a series of explosions sparkled between the enemy ships as the shells’ time fuses ignited.
The deck trembled again, and Kim saw another swarm of shells, fired from the guns on the side of the ship facing away from the enemy fleet, fly straight forward, their course putting them at right angles to their target. Kim bit her lip, watched as the path of the shells curved slowly, the planet’s gravity bending their trajectory. The shells traced a graceful parabola through the darkness until they were heading directly for the two ships breaking from the rest of the fleet. Then—
“Boom!” Stetler rubbed his hands together. “There’s another one.”
“Enemy vessel destroyed.” Isabelle’s voice calmly confirmed Stetler’s observation a second later.
“Nice shooting!” Urquhart said.
“See to your stations, people.” Holsey barked down from behind Kim. “This is not close to being over.”
Kim looked over at Fowler, then across the room at Baudouin. “What is the status of the fighters? Any damage?”
“No, ma’am.” Fowler leaned back from his station and met Kim’s eyes. “Enemy ordnance is at the limit of its range.”
“The interceptors are mopping up most of it,” Baudouin said, holding a hand over her headset. “Ordnance deflectors are throwing off the rest.”
Kim drummed her fingers on her armrest. Maybe this was going to turn out fine after all.
Yeah, right.
It was never that simple.
“There are a few more breaking from the group,” Kim said, inclining her head. “Instruct fire control to maintain rate of fire. We don’t let up until that fleet is ashes.”
Outpost Page 25
