Triumph's Ashes (The Cassidy Chronicles Volume 5)

by Adam Gaffen

  She checked their projected course and decided on a change.

  “Bun-Bun.”

  “Skipper?” answered the commander of Division Three.

  “Adjust course to approach from the keel.”

  “Aye, skipper,” he said, and the six ships of his division subtly adjusted their trajectories.

  “Time for diplomacy,” she said, opening a frequency she knew the Union used.

  “Attention, Covey. This is Commander Garcia-Kay of the Terran Federation. You are entering interdicted space. Change course and return to Earth orbit or you will be destroyed. This is your only warning.”

  “Ten credits say they don’t answer,” Boomer said.

  “Twenty says they answer with an insult.”

  “You’re on.”

  “Commander of what? Those fleabites? Don’t make me laugh.”

  “You owe me twenty. Covey, your answer is noted and logged. Out.”

  She switched to the squadron frequency.

  “They’ve decided not to play nice. Let’s convince them of the error of their ways. Division One, follow me, by the numbers, topside, fore to aft. Bun-Bun.”

  “Skipper.”

  “You lead Div Three up the keel, aft to bow.”

  “Aye, Skipper.”

  The Copernicus-class cruisers came from a different design tradition than the former ANS ships. Where Artemis had built relatively long and thin ships, with the bridge sensibly mounted flush to the hull, the Copernicus-class went a different direction. Their hulls were much wider than the Artemis-built ships, and so the bridge had been elevated to give a clear field of view of the entire body. That also became their critical weakness, one which Double Dip intended to exploit.

  “Div One, hang back a few seconds,” she started to say before Boomer interrupted.

  “Vampire! Multiple targets. Looks like they’re volleying everything,” Boomer announced.

  “Squadron, break!”

  The careful coordination of the two divisions evaporated as the pilots scrambled for every g their engines could pull. Some of the more creative AI’s managed to pull a few extra g, but they all out-classed the missiles the Covey was throwing at them by a considerable margin.

  “Two locked on our tail,” Boomer reported. “Scratch that. Four. Five. You know, maybe you shouldn’t have lipped off to them? Six.”

  “Frak me,” Double Dip cursed, slewing her Direwolf. “The rest of the squadron?”

  “Two or three per ship,” Boomer said. “Ten.”

  “Damn, damn, damn.”

  She was headed due North, straight up, perpendicular to the ecliptic.

  “You want the good news first?”

  “Sure.” With half of her attention she checked on the status of her pilots. So far, so good.

  “They’ve run dry. Out of missiles.”

  “That is good.”

  “The bad news is these are all Huygens. Oh, and thirteen.”

  “Golmonging bastards.”

  The Huygens was a larger, faster, longer-legged missile that was typically tipped with a nuclear warhead. A near miss, a few kilometers, would be enough to knock a Direwolf out of commission. Any closer and the Direwolf wouldn’t survive.

  “Thoughts?”

  “When in doubt, run away?”

  The missiles in pursuit were fast, but the Direwolves were faster. The problem was if she left them behind they were just smart enough to try to find new targets. So, while she could run away from them, as the squadron was doing, she’d be dumping thirteen missiles back into the basket. Oddly enough, that made her decision easier.

  She’d have to lead them on a merry chase, far, far away from her squadron, then take them out.

  “Boomer,” she started, then stopped as Rubberneck’s icon flashed red.

  “Rubberneck? Nymeria Five, come in!”

  No response.

  She reached out through the Q-Net to pick up the telemetry. There was still data being reported from his Direwolf, but every major system was offline.

  Then even that disappeared.

  “Rubberneck!” she yelled, knowing it futile.

  “Skipper, we’re under fire!” Bun-Bun called.

  Under fire...?

  “Motherless –”

  In hindsight, it was obvious. While the Direwolves were fleeing the immediate threat to their safety, the Huygens, the Covey was busy adjusting the aim for their broadside lasers. Each one was rated at a single megawatt, which was enough to ruin any pilot’s day. And now they were firing at her people!

  “Nymeria, evasive pattern Charlie!”

  EP Charlie was a series of random-seeming jinks around the long axis of the Direwolf, designed to ruin the targeting lock for energy weapons while allowing them to maintain their course. Without the Epsilon-class AI built into each Direwolf the maneuver would have been impossible, but that was one of the tricks which made the Direwolf the deadliest craft, kilo-for-kilo, in space.

  Confident that her pilots wouldn’t get caught unawares again, Daniela turned back to her own situation.

  Thirteen missiles made a fairly easy target if she could get one to detonate and take out the rest. The problem was this was real life and not a bad entertainment program on a FicChan. While the Direwolf mounted two 700 kW lasers, either of which were capable of knocking out a Huygens, even hitting the warhead squarely wouldn’t cause detonation. Nuclear warheads were notoriously finicky and really, honestly, preferred not to explode unless precisely persuaded. Simply applying vast quantities of energy wasn’t going to cut it.

  “Boomer.”

  “Yo.”

  “Target practice.”

  She knew AI’s didn’t sigh. They didn’t have lungs.

  Boomer sighed.

  “Capacitors charged. Lasers primed. Once we cut the engines we’re gonna have about ten seconds.”

  “Understood. Cut engines.”

  The three sublight engines whined as they powered down, a vibration she could feel through her seat. Using the Orientation Adjustment System (OAS) she flipped her ship so she was now facing the missiles. Missiles which were now making up ground at over eleven KPS.

  “Fire as we bear,” she said, depressing the trigger.

  When properly cared for, the relationship between the pilot, the AI, and the ship was akin to the relationship between a human brain and a hand. She thought it, her hand did it. In her Direwolf, she thought it, Boomer did it, confirmed by the actual movements of her hands on the controls.

  One by one the lasers locked onto their targets, fired, and passed on to the next. In less than five seconds the oh-so-delicate warheads and detonators were so much scrap. The missiles still had power, guidance, and tracking, but now they were reduced to kinetic weapons.

  “Power up, Boomer. We have an appointment.”

  The engines returned with a whoomp which slammed her back into her seat, jumping from zero to 650g acceleration in a quarter-second, but she ignored the discomfort. A quick look at her readouts told her the rest of her pilots were still alive. Good.

  “Take the safeties offline,” she ordered.

  “Whoa, whoa, there,” Boomer said as they flashed past the Huygens, now pointed the exact wrong direction.

  “They’re called safeties for a reason, you know.”

  “I know. Are you saying you can’t get a few more g out of the engines?”

  “Well, no, I’m not saying that.”

  “I thought you used to get caught hotwiring aircars on Caprica?”

  “Well, back in the day, yeah.”

  “Good. Do whatever you need; all I want is lasers, targeting, and engines.”

  She could hear the AI shake his nonexistent head.

  “Diverting power. This might get uncomfortable.”

  She grunted as the inertial compensator was taken down a notch and she went from feeling 5g to 8g. The engines, too, increased their roar, pushing their protests through the durasteel hull.

  “That’s it. Seven oh six
g’s of accel.”

  “Time to target?”

  “At this accel, forty-eight seconds, mark. Speed at approach will be three three two KPS.”

  “Cut accel at 300 KPS and divert all power to the lasers.”

  “Double Dip, you can’t do that, you’ll overload the capacitors!”

  “All I need is one shot,” she said.

  “If we blow the capacitors, that’s all you’ll get, if we’re lucky! Forty seconds.”

  “Attention, Covey. You shot down one of my pilots. I don’t like that.”

  “Only one?” answered the same superior voice. “I’ll have to have a word with my gunners.”

  “Thirty seconds.”

  “I’m feeling less than generous. Surrender or die, Covey.”

  “You’re one pathetic little ship!”

  “No, Covey. I’m a Direwolf, and we have sharp teeth.” She closed the circuit.

  “Twenty seconds.”

  They were approaching from above and forward; the Covey was still too far to see with Mark 1 Eyeball, but the sensors had it just fine.

  “Same plan as originally. Continuous shots from the bow to the bridge, Boomer, then hold targeting on the bridge pylon until we’re past.”

  “One kamikaze strafing run. Always did want to go out in a blaze of glory. Ten seconds.”

  The Covey was still on course for her base at Scipio City, running flat-out, but compared to Daniela’s Direwolf he may as well have been motionless.

  “Five. Firing. Three, two, one, and we’re clear!”

  The lasers had an immense range; theoretically it was unlimited, but for practical purposes ten kiloklicks was considered the maximum.

  She was considerably closer.

  The invisible beams gouged trenches through the unarmored hull, digging deep into the bulkheads, corridors, ducting, conduits – everything which made a ship a going concern. Debris and atmosphere vomited from the battered hull, and then it was the bridge pylon’s turn. Boomer managed to hold both lasers on the base of the pylon for 1.4 seconds, plenty long enough for all the durasteel to heat far beyond the vaporization point.

  As she flashed past Double Dip caught a glimpse of the gap between the hull and the pylon. Given the damage she’d done on the run up the hull, the Covey was a dead ship; it just hadn’t stopped moving.

  “Ah, geez,” Boomer was saying.

  She looked at the telltales. Just about every major system was either red, flashing red, or simply showing, “Offline”.

  She throttled back and attempted to spin the ship to start killing their momentum.

  “What?”

  “We’re gonna need the body shop again. I don’t think either laser survived, and the capacitors are totally blown.”

  “Boomer, why aren’t we turning?”

  “Oh, the OAS is offline. Hold on. Rerouting. Try it now.”

  The nose slowly spun around.

  “It’s like driving a Wolf!”

  “Yeah, well, you’re lucky you have that much. Now leave me alone to see what I can salvage.”

  “Comms?”

  “Yeah, yeah. They’re up.”

  “Bun-Bun?”

  “Wow, Skipper, that was a hell of a run!”

  “Status, Bun-Bun.”

  “Um. All missiles destroyed. No other damage to the squadron. We have Rubberneck’s emergency beacon and the Charlemagne is en route. He’s alive, but his boat’s fragged.”

  “That’s great! What about the missiles which were behind me?”

  “Six went into tumbles when they attempted to change course, two collided, and the other five have been destroyed. Diana is tracking the five tumblers for later disposal.”

  “Good. Pace the Covey; if anyone tries to abandon ship, let them. According to my projections it’s going to splash pretty much dead center of the Scipio City naval station.”

  “Aye, Skipper. What about you?”

  “I’m going to try to get home in one piece, then spend most of the night writing up the after-action report before Flashdance or the Admiral asks me why I broke another bird.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Habitat Njord; Artemis City, Council Chamber

  “What in Zeus’ Chariot happened?”

  “The Covey was damaged by Double Dip’s strafing run; when her final blast severed the bridge from the body of the ship, the crew was too concerned with saving themselves to attempt any serious restoration of control,” said Davie.

  Kendra groaned.

  “And we’re getting blamed for it.”

  Davie shrugged.

  “Not many people are listening to Artemis any longer, Kendra. Newling’s declaration of the ‘Union of Artemis’ and her own title lost her most sympathy on Earth.”

  “Except with the bureaucrats,” grumbled Kendra.

  “Except them. At least the engineering crew had the sense to shut down the fusion plants before abandoning ship. A megaton KEW is bad enough, but adding a couple exploding reactors to that would have been a whole new definition of bad. Plus it impacted in Scipio City, which primarily existed to support their military. Casualties are surprisingly light, and they even did us a favor.”

  “Oh? I could use some good news.”

  “Well, every mobile unit managed to scramble out of the blast range, but their construction and repair yards at the base are gone. They have a smaller base, above Artemis City, but it’s not nearly as capable as the one at Scipio. Both Nicole and Taylor have confirmed it.”

  “So they can’t build more ships?”

  “Not for a while. What they have is what they’ve got.”

  Kendra considered this new information.

  “Davie, what do you think would happen if we offered to reopen active negotiations?”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Ending the war.”

  “Won’t work,” Davie said flatly. “Maybe, possibly, three weeks ago, before the revolution kicked off, they might have listened. Unlikely, but with Newling you never can tell what she’s going to decide.”

  “And now?”

  “We’ve backed the rebels, declared them the legitimate government of Luna. No matter what benefits Artemis might reap by curtailing offensive operations against us, Newling’s pride won’t allow her to sit down with us for any meaningful discussion.”

  Kendra considered what Davie said. The silence that stretched between them was comfortable. Both women had long since recognized the similar strengths and pains in the other. They weren’t friends, precisely, but they were family now, a bond forged in fire and blood.

  “Offer anyways,” Kendra said at last. “The worst they can say is no.”

  “I advise against it, Kendra. It could be seen as a sign of weakness.”

  “Weakness? We knocked down a Copernicus cruiser with a single pass from a Direwolf! Yes, Double Dip did a number on her ship, but that’s a trade we’ll do all day, every day. How is that weakness?”

  “It’s not the military side; they know they’re outclassed. No, it’s the public side. You see, or maybe you don’t, the Families depend on the citizens believing they have the best possible situation.”

  “Anyone with an ounce of sense can tell that’s not true!” objected Kendra.

  “If they have the information,” countered Davie. “Loonies don’t. The LunaNet is controlled by MinSec; anyone who is caught tapping off-planet content is almost certain to be thrown into a PRC.”

  “PRC? Come on, Davie, you know I hate jargon.”

  “Political Rehabilitation Center. Kendra, you know this stuff; it was where Jim and Cassie were stashed, along with Autumn and her crew. In any case, the Families are always careful to spin the news in the way which will paint them in the most favorable light.”

  “How does losing a cubic kilometer of their biggest naval base get spun?”

  “I’ve had Harpo pulling the feed from LunaNet, get the information straight from the horse’s mouth. Where did you people come up with that, by the way?�
�

  “Come up with what?”

  “That expression. ‘Horse’s mouth’? First time I heard it, I thought it was some kind of nanobot-enhanced animal.”

  Kendra was puzzled. “No idea. I could search for it if you really want to know.”

  “No, irrelevant. The point is I’ve been reading the swill they’re feeding the Loonies, and according to Her Imperial Majesty we deliberately butchered the crew of the Covey then dropped the smoking derelict down onto Scipio City to cripple their Navy. Alas, alas, our nefarious plan failed, and the valiant citizens of Scipio City who fell to our attack will be remembered as martyrs.” She made a face. “Maeve wouldn’t let that sort of crap pass her lips, but it works for them.”

  “The people believe that shit?”

  “They don’t have anything to compare it to. Yes. They believe. And so if we ask to return to the table, they’ll play it as the last gambit of our failed, unjust, cruel war against the good people of Luna.”

  Kendra groaned again.

  “If I’d known what sort of a dung heap I’d be stepping into, I’d have told Cass to cancel the meeting with Mya.”

  “Huh?”

  “Ancient history. What if we simply start showing up at the negotiating site and talking to them? They do have someone there, right? Diana?”

  “Yes, Admiral. The Union is represented by Rebecca Kesler, a minor functionary in their former Foreign Ministry. She and Mr. Morgan have been meeting every day long enough to greet each other, inquire after families, and establish that no new instructions have been received from either side.”

  “Let’s change that. What would happen if I showed up there and talked to Kesler? Davie?”

  “Don’t do it, Kendra. Your allies will be offended you didn’t consult them, and the rebels will think you’re betraying them.”

  “Zeus blast it, tell me what we can do!” Kendra snapped. “I’m tired of being boxed in; if I don’t get some options, I’m going to start kicking walls to see what holes I can make!”

  “We’ve already started enforcing the embargo; we could up the ante, not allow any ships to leave the surface. There’s no worry about humanitarian concerns. Luna is self-sufficient, even the Accord minerals, and everyone knows it.” Davie grew pensive.