by Marko Kloos
“We have incoming,” Mayler warned. On the plot, a dozen contact symbols appeared next to the Gretian cruiser and rushed toward Minotaur. “They’re returning fire with their gun battery.”
Minotaur’s AI analyzed the incoming rail-gun rounds and maneuvered the ship to avoid them. It seemed like a waste of ammunition on the part of their enemy to throw slugs at this range. But five seconds after the first salvo, another followed, then another. By the time the first dozen rounds had covered three-quarters of the distance between the Gretian cruiser and Minotaur, twenty-four more were following behind in two intervals.
“Point defense is in autonomous mode and tracking,” Mayler said. The ship turned and twisted its way between the trajectories from the first salvo, and the slugs passed harmlessly above and below the hull. But the next broadside was just five seconds behind, and from the way the shots were dispersed, Dunstan knew that the AI on the Gretian ship was trying to anticipate their evasive maneuver, adjusting the follow-up shots to put them where Minotaur was likely to be next. The ship avoided the second spread, dropping from an eight-g burn to three g and then back to seven in the span of a few seconds. When the third salvo arrived, the Point Defense System went into action for the first time, blotting two of the rail-gun slugs out of space with a few megawatts of focused energy. And the Gretian cruiser continued to pump out broadsides, twelve slugs every four and a half seconds, saturating the space between them with salvo after salvo.
“We can’t stand up to this rate of fire,” Bosworth said. “Not even at this range.”
Dunstan didn’t know how many slugs the Gretian cruiser had in its gun battery magazines, but he doubted that Minotaur could keep up this dance until the enemy had shot those guns dry. The reactor was already running at maximum, splitting its output between the main drive and the Point Defense System. And despite their efforts to keep the distance open, the other ship had gained several kilometers on them since they had started their barrage.
Dunstan considered responding in kind and letting Mayler open fire with Minotaur’s own rail guns, but he dismissed the impulse right away. They only had four barrels, and the energy needed to fire them would divert megawatts of power away from the propulsion and Point Defense Systems. The rate of fire on their guns wasn’t nearly enough to duplicate the Gretian cruiser’s tactics anyway, he decided.
“Open all remaining missile tubes,” he ordered. “We have to give their AI something to do other than aim those fucking gun mounts at us. Maybe it’s enough to saturate their point defenses.”
“Aye, sir. Opening tubes one through sixteen.” Mayler flicked the safety caps off all the launch buttons on his console in quick succession.
“Randomize the intercept patterns and fire. Flush out everything we have left.”
“Firing one through three. Firing five. Firing seven through sixteen.” Mayler punched the remaining launch buttons. “All birds are away and tracking at fifty g. Time to target nineteen seconds.”
The space between the two ships became a chaotic display of overlapping sensor echoes. The Gretian cruiser kept up its broadside fusillades, twelve rounds every five seconds, and Minotaur weaved her way through the stream of tungsten slugs. Out of every salvo they dodged, one or two rounds got close enough to the ship to trigger the point-defense emitters. Minotaur’s missiles rushed past the incoming storm of rail-gun slugs and toward the Gretian cruiser, which turned fully broadside to them again to bring the maximum number of point-defense guns to bear.
A shudder went through Minotaur’s hull. Over at Lieutenant Bosworth’s station, a data screen materialized in front of him and began flashing red text and blinking diagrams.
“We took a hit to the aft port section,” Bosworth reported. “Hull penetration between frames forty-four and forty-five. Went through and exited the dorsal section right behind the aft missile tubes. We’ve lost the capacitor bank for the starboard emitters on the stern.”
Dunstan suppressed a curse. With one hit, they had lost 25 percent of their point-defense capability. The slugs from rail guns traveled at five thousand meters per second, and they punched straight through warship hulls wherever they hit. There were not too many angles where a tungsten slug could travel through the hull without hitting anything important. They’d lose essential components with every hit, and the resulting cascade failures would make it easier for the Gretian cruiser to score follow-up hits.
“Time to target on the birds is ten seconds,” Mayler said. The fourteen icons representing Minotaur’s guided missiles had passed another incoming rail-gun volley and were now starting to converge on the enemy cruiser, the AI seeking to overwhelm the other ship’s Point Defense System with warheads coming in from as many angles as possible.
Another hit shook the ship, then a third. This time, Dunstan could tell that something major had taken a blow. The lights in the AIC dimmed, then returned to normal before going out altogether. For a terrifying second, the AIC was in complete darkness. Then the illumination returned, and the tactical hologram and display projections popped back into existence.
“Direct hit on the main power trunk and secondary data core,” Bosworth shouted. “We are running on the backup trunk. The number-one water tank is venting into space.”
Dunstan returned his attention to the tactical display in time to see the sensor echoes from the Gretian cruiser clutter the space in front of the missiles from Minotaur, which were now just a few seconds away from their target.
“Enemy point defense is engaging our birds,” Mayler said.
“Come on,” Dunstan pleaded. The flak field from the Gretian cruiser’s point-defense gun mounts was stupendous. On the optical feed, it looked like the side of the enemy ship was on fire from bow to stern. Fourteen missiles turned to eight, then six, then four in just a few seconds. Then the point-defense fire and the explosions of the disintegrating antiship missiles were too much for the sensors to sort out at this range, and the area of space around the Gretian cruiser washed out into a blob of thermal bloom.
It took a few moments for the sensors to burn through the noise again. When they did, Mayler let out a triumphant little shout.
“Target hit,” he said. “Some of our birds got through. They’re trailing air. Their acceleration dropped to four g.”
On the tactical screen, the regular salvos from the Gretian rail guns had ceased. Minotaur dodged one more broadside that had been on the way already before the cruiser had switched its fire control to point defense. Dunstan held his breath in expectation of another hit, this one maybe through the reactor core or the AIC, ending the fight on the spot by killing them all in a blink. But the AI weaved the ship through the salvo, and Dunstan released his breath when the last of the tungsten slugs had passed fifty meters to stern. He could practically hear a collective sigh of relief in the AIC.
“We can’t take another exchange like this,” Lieutenant Bosworth said.
“Our missile tubes are empty anyway. And we’ll never survive a gun battle with that thing. Turn us away and get some distance before they get their batteries going again. And give me a damage assessment. For us and them.”
Minotaur was badly hurt. The second hit had caused damage to the power transfer network and reduced the reactor’s output by half for reasons the damage-control AI had yet to figure out. They were accelerating away from the enemy cruiser at an angle to keep from presenting their opponent with an easy stern shot. But whatever hit they had scored seemed to have hurt the Gretian ship at least as much. The cruiser was trailing air and debris, and it made no effort to come about and close the distance again.
“Looks like we got a solid missile hit on their stern section,” Mayler reported once the AI had done its damage assessment. “Their drive signature is flickering like a campfire. They’re down to three and a half g. The other hit we scored was likely ballistic debris from a close intercept.”
“If we nicked their reactor core, they may not have enough juice to run those rail guns,” Boswor
th said. “We have a half g of acceleration on them right now. We could close in and give them a dose of their own medicine.”
Dunstan shook his head.
“That’s not a gamble I’m willing to make. If they get their fusion plant patched up while we’re chasing them, they’ll tear us to pieces in three broadsides. We need to use that acceleration advantage to get out of here while we still can. We’re lucky we still have air in the hull. Mostly.”
Dunstan watched the Gretian cruiser opening the distance between them on the plot with a mixture of relief and frustration. They were out of the effective range of those murderous rail-gun batteries now, but they had no weapons of their own left to throw at the enemy ship. Space combat between modern warships was short and brutal, and nobody ever went home without holes in the hull and dead crew members in body bags. The screen above Bosworth’s station was still scrolling through damage reports and diagrams as the AI’s survey and repair units discovered more broken hardware in Minotaur’s hull. The third rail-gun hit had almost broken their back. That single 200 mm tungsten slug had torn through bulkheads and hull plating, severed power conduits and data trunks, disabled the ammunition feed for one of the rail-gun mounts, and damaged enough support frames on its short and violent passage through the hull that it would take a month in a fleet yard to put Minotaur back into fighting shape. Dunstan knew that his frigate was at the bottom of the priority list for yard work anyway, and there was a good chance the battle damage she had just suffered would see her decommissioned and consigned to the scrapyard.
“Where’s that damn merchant? Winds of Asterion?”
Mayler expanded the tactical display until the icon for the Oceanian ship showed up.
“Still running away in a straight line, still at three and a half g. Distance is now eight thousand two hundred kilometers.”
“And we can’t chase them because they’ve got that gun cruiser between us and them.” Dunstan frowned at the green icon representing the Gretian warship.
“We’ve already alerted the fleet. RNS Circe and Agamemnon are on the way,” Bosworth said. “And half a dozen Home Fleet units. They’ll find them and chase them down.”
Dunstan knew that Minotaur had performed as well as anyone could have hoped for against a vastly superior opponent, and that the missile strike they had scored on the Gretian cruiser would put that ship out of action for a while even if they escaped the Rhodian Home Fleet units that were coming to hunt them. But it still felt like a defeat to have to let the Gretian warship accelerate away without further challenge.
“Got some more good news,” Bosworth added. “Casualty report says eleven wounded, no KIA.”
Dunstan closed his eyes briefly and let out a relieved sigh. To have lost no crew members after that encounter was almost unbelievable luck.
“I hate calling this a draw,” he said. “But that’s what it’s going to have to be for today.”
“Just this round,” Mayler said.
Dunstan shook his head.
“If we’re counting this in rounds, they won this one by points, Mayler. And I don’t think we’ll be out of our corner again. Not with this old girl.”
As if to underscore her commander’s point, Minotaur’s AIC lights flickered again, and another row of warning messages scrolled across Lieutenant Bosworth’s damage-control screen.
“Set a least-time course for Rhodia One at maximum safe burn,” Dunstan ordered. “Bow toward the good guys, stern toward the bad guys. And let’s hope nothing essential falls off the ship before we get there.”
CHAPTER 17
IDINA
The mood in the Gretian police headquarters was visibly dark. Idina noticed few people standing around in the offices and conversing. Almost every Gretian officer that crossed her and Dahl’s path through the building either expressed sympathy to her in some way or simply gave her a grim, knowing nod. No Gretian cops had died in the bombing, but all eight members of the JSP’s quick-reaction squad had perished, along with eleven Gretian civilians that had been guests at the capsule hotel. Idina expressed her own anger and grief by wearing her full don’t-fuck-with-me combat armor, accessorized with a sidearm, multiple spare ammunition cassettes, and a subcompact machine pistol hanging on a sling in front of her chest armor plate. It would do nothing to save her from an explosion of that order, but it made her feel better, and it sent a clear message regarding her willingness to engage in confrontation.
“The chemical analysis is not complete yet,” Dahl said next to her as they walked along the central corridor of the building, causing Gretian officers to swerve out of their way or duck into nearby offices to avoid them. “But all indicators point toward a binary explosive, possibly artillery propellant from Gretian military stocks.”
“Surprise,” Idina said. “That’s how they got my squad out in the field three months ago. A rail gun to draw our attention, make us bunch up and get us all in the same spot. And then boom. I bet you my kukri that these were the same people.”
“I would not take that bet,” Dahl said. “The odds would be heavily in your favor. And even if they were not, I would never try to claim the win.”
“It’s a brigade expression,” Idina said. “You use it when you are absolutely sure of something. No brigade trooper would ever give up their kukri willingly.”
“The residue and explosive strength indicated the presence of at least two hundred liters of binary artillery propellant in the basement prior to the detonation. This is not something you carry into a building in a backpack on short notice. They set that trap for us well in advance.”
“Which means Fuldas was part of it. The question remains whether he was in on the whole thing. Or if they decided to shut him up for certain before he could get off the planet.”
“It just so happens that we have someone in custody who may know,” Dahl said.
“Let’s go ask him. And I hope for his sake that he isn’t into playing games today. Because I am all out of patience for those.”
Haimo was seated at a steel table in the middle of one of the small interrogation rooms. He was wearing restraints around his wrist, which had been tethered to an eye hook on the floor, leaving very little slack for movement. He looked up when they walked into the room, and his expression wasn’t unsure or fearful anymore. Instead, he looked calm and composed. He gave Idina a pleased little smirk that told her he knew about the bombing. For all their reputation as a hard-nosed law-and-order society, the Gretians were surprisingly lenient with their detainees once they were in state custody. She had been surprised to learn that they were even allowed limited Mnemosyne usage because the state considered access to information a human right.
Some police state, she thought as she returned Haimo’s gaze without expression. On Pallas, you would be in a windowless cell right now, with a hole in the ground for a toilet you’d be shitting blood into after each interrogation.
Dahl did not offer a greeting. She walked over to the table and put a translator earbud down in front of Haimo.
“The sergeant and I have a few questions for you,” Dahl said. “If you would.”
Haimo looked at the earbud as if he had never seen one before in his life. Then he raised his hands to the tabletop, which was the maximum range of movement the tether allowed. He picked up the earbud and threw it across the room, where it bounced off the wall and clattered on the floor.
“I will talk to you, maybe,” he said to Dahl. “I do not want to hear anything out of that one.”
He nodded his head at Idina with distaste.
Idina looked at him, and he held her gaze, the smug little smile still in the corners of his mouth. It was like looking at a different person. This wasn’t the kid they had scared shitless just a few days ago, the one who had been upset about losing his job. Idina was in full battle gear and armed to the teeth, and he was demonstratively unconcerned about it.
I wonder if the scared kid was an act, or if this cocky one is, she thought. Pallas and Gretia ha
d no history of conflict, no major cultural friction points before the last war. She had no idea why this kid and the people like him hated her so much. Maybe it was the fact that of all the other planets, Pallas’s population looked the most obviously non-Gretian. Or maybe this kid knew that Palladians had killed more Gretian soldiers on the ground than all other Alliance planets combined. They had given the Gretian veterans a legacy of generational nightmares about sharp blades in dark places. She hoped he hated her for the Palladian battle skills and not for her color, because that sort of rage seemed tiresome and stupid to expend on someone due to the melanin content of their skin.
So much rage, she thought. It will get you killed before you have a chance to get old enough for knowledge. You’ll never even know that you’ve wasted your life, or why.
And that would be fine with her right now, except that he wouldn’t be the only one who ended up dead. There were eight body bags in the morgue at Joint Base Sandvik right now, and most of them didn’t contain anything except a few scraps of tissue. All those young men and women were dead, their histories and ambitions wiped out in a few nanoseconds, every one of them leaving long-lived ripples of grief in their circles of friends and families with the heavy impact of their senseless deaths. And this little shit was happy about it.
“Captain Dahl,” she said without taking her eyes off Haimo’s face.
“Sergeant.”
“I’ve never asked you for any favors since we started patrolling together. I am asking you now. Go step outside for a minute and get a cup of coffee, please.”
Dahl didn’t reply right away. When Idina looked at her, the older woman’s emotional conflict was obvious on her face. She knew how Dahl felt right now, knew the magnitude of what she was asking of her. Three months of cautious friendship were not enough to put on the scale and be weighed fairly against thirty years of principled service.
