First Command

by Scott Bartlett

  Guerrero looked up from her console, and her next words pushed the dilemma from Thatcher’s mind. “Sir, Reardon is hailing us. It’s Ramon Pegg’s destroyer—the Eagle.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Freedom System, Dupliss Region

  Earth Year 2290

  If Ramon’s shaded glasses were intended to hide his emotions, they weren’t doing a very good job.

  His hairless features contorted around the shades—eyebrows drawn down to hide their inner tips behind the lenses, shoulders bunched, and lips peeled back to reveal tightly clenched teeth.

  “This is it,” the Swede growled from the CIC holotank. “You’ve pushed us far enough. Surrender your ships or we’ll lay waste to the colony.”

  At that, Guerrero jerked in her seat, going rigid as she clutched her chair’s armrests. Luckily, Pegg couldn’t see the lieutenant.

  Thatcher forced himself to remain loose and relaxed. “You mean the same colony you are contracted to protect? You did kick Frontier out of the Oasis Protectorate, did you not? Are you aware of that word’s meaning?”

  “The Cluster’s moved way past playing shepherd to a flock of colonist sheep, you dope. It’s kill or be killed, now. We intend to kill. Unless you surrender your ships at once.”

  A puzzle piece clicked into place inside Thatcher’s mind, and he suppressed the smile that threatened to spread across his face. “Tell me, Pegg. Are you aware the UNC is distributing instant comm units to corps throughout the Cluster?”

  The Reardon CEO’s scowl took on a note of confusion.

  “I can see that you aren’t aware. I suppose that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise, considering you’ve managed to politically isolate yourself from almost the entire Cluster. Well, the UNC has indeed begun handing out the tech for instant communication across light years, and they gave one of its units to Frontier Security. That unit currently sits on the New Jersey, fully integrated with her existing systems. At any moment I choose, I can broadcast throughout the Cluster a recording of the remarks you just made about killing colonists.”

  “You’re bluffing.” Pegg’s face whitened, in stark contradiction to his statement.

  “No, Captain Pegg, I’m not. But we both know you are. The only thing worse than publicly contemplating the slaughter of innocents would be to actually do it. The Cluster’s corps would band together and exterminate Reardon in a matter of months. You wanted us to surrender so that you could do away with us, and then portray what happened here however you wished. But now you know that isn’t possible. So you can drop your charade about attacking colonists.”

  “It’s no charade.” Pegg leaned forward, cords standing out on his neck. “Last chance. Surrender now, or I’ll do it. I’ll kill them.”

  Lucy Guerrero twisted in her seat to stare at him with wide eyes. “Captain—”

  “Be silent, Lieutenant.” He understood how she felt, with her family vulnerable on the planet below. If Lin had been down there, he doubted he’d be keeping it together as well as this. But he knew he was right.

  “Well?” Thatcher said after a long moment.

  Pegg settled back into his chair. “You bastard.”

  “That’s what I thought. Now that we have that nonsense out of the way, let’s discuss more realistic options. I’m willing to make you an offer. Leave Dupliss.”

  That brought a sneer to Pegg’s face. “Dupliss is mine, cretin.”

  “No, it isn’t, and you’re running on borrowed time. But there’s a way for your corp to survive this intact. Take every Reardon ship and depart this region, never to return. Leave the pirates to us. Those are my terms, and they’re the best you’re going to get.”

  “You must be quite a poker player,” Pegg said with a sardonic chuckle. “Here are my terms.” With that, Pegg vanished from the holotank, and the transmission ended.

  When Guerrero spoke, he thought he heard a measure of relief in her voice. “Sir, the Reardon ships in planetary orbit have just destroyed the outrider frigate and are now advancing on our position.”

  It seemed almost grotesque that his operations officer would feel relieved in the face of a second Frontier ship going down and an overwhelming enemy force moving on them. But at the same time, Thatcher could understand it. Anything that takes her husband and children out of harm’s way.

  It didn’t matter. The true battle was about to begin. His true test. At twenty-four to fourteen, the enemy force still grossly outnumbered his. Yes, Thatcher had taken out twelve ships while losing only two from his outrider, but the vessels he’d destroyed had mostly been former private starships, stolen and converted by pirates. What remained were state-of-the-art warships, armed to the teeth and fielded by one of the Dawn Cluster’s wealthiest corporations.

  Pegg would throw Reardon Interstellar’s full weight at him, now.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Freedom System, Dupliss Region

  Earth Year 2290

  “The enemy fleet is spreading out, sir. It appears they’re attempting to outflank us.”

  “Acknowledged.” Thatcher heard a certain flatness in his own voice—a distractedness he hoped didn’t come across as worry to his crew.

  But Reardon’s maneuvers did concern him. Pegg was using Thatcher’s own tactic against him by forcing him into a disadvantageous position. He would have liked to fall back to the one Helio base his marines had taken over, to use its remaining turrets to even the odds a little. But the Reardon flank on that side, Jersey’s starboard side, was moving to swiftly cut off that option. It was also too late to take one of the bases nearest him—Reardon would be atop them before they managed to get marines aboard.

  Thatcher’s outrider had lost its teeth with the destruction of its frigate and corvette, and the eWar and the logistics vessel had withdrawn to the planet’s horizon, well out of Reardon’s reach. “Have our reserve ships rally with the outrider at the Helio base we control, Guerrero. From there, they can flank the Reardon fleet, with the option of falling back to the station’s turrets if needed.”

  “Aye, sir. Though it doesn’t seem possible they can set up the flank before the engagement begins.”

  “I know.” Thatcher studied his holoscreen’s tactical display, breathing through the tension threatening to immobilize him. He’d arrived at one of those moments which his grandfather had always said separated good captains from great ones. The ability to stare down daunting odds, keep one’s cool, and pull through—that was the stuff legends were made from.

  Edward Thatcher’s hoarse voice echoed through his head. “It will be hard, Tad. Harder than you can imagine. It will feel impossible. And there’s a good chance you’ll fail. Most do. But if there’s ever a time to prove what you’re really made of, that’s it.”

  His grandfather had been right. Thatcher hadn’t been able to imagine how hard it would be to keep his cool, because nothing he’d envisioned came close to this. But he was Tad Thatcher. The grandson of Edward Thatcher, hero of the first Xanthic Conflict. And he refused to let his story end in shameful defeat.

  “Ops, order all ships to direct primary laserfire at the ship I’m designating.” He selected a frigate on his holoscreen’s 3D representation of the battlespace, and he sent it to Guerrero for distribution to the rest of his attack force.

  A few seconds later, Guerrero turned to him, her frustration written across her brow. “The Victorious is hailing us again, sir.”

  Thatcher’s stomach hardened, and it took him a moment to process what his Ops officer had said. Now? “Put it through.”

  When Moll appeared in the holotank, he appeared about as exasperated as Thatcher felt. “Can I ask what you think you’re doing, telling us to target one of Reardon’s lowest-value units?”

  Thatcher’s voice came out with an edge. “Captain Moll, you’ve been reminded multiple times that this is a Frontier operation that you are merely participating in—not commanding. Yo
u’re endangering our forces by questioning my orders at such a critical time. And you’re certainly not keeping up your end of the bargain.”

  “You’re endangering us by failing to select high-value targets. We should focus on Pegg’s destroyer first.”

  Thatcher shook his head, unable to believe he was having this argument. “No. Look at how Pegg keeps the Eagle toward the rear of the formation. He hopes we’ll target it, so he can reverse thrust and draw us into a more vulnerable position. Even if we succeeded in neutralizing his destroyer, we would be relinquishing our best weapon—Pegg’s awareness of his corp’s vulnerable political position. Kill him, and the other Reardon crews would be left without direction. They’d behave like wild animals backed into a corner, and they’d attack with abandon. But with Pegg alive, we can pressure Reardon as a whole, and convince him to leave Freedom.”

  “Wait—leave? I thought we were here to destroy Reardon for good. You’d offer them the chance to leave?”

  “You might have come to destroy Reardon. I came to save the colonists of Oasis, by any means necessary.”

  Moll’s nostrils flared. “This is a blatant violation of our—”

  Veronica’s Rose voice cut into the conversation. “Captain Moll, right now you are violating our deal. Thatcher’s right. You’re supposed to follow his orders, not stand in the way of victory.”

  Moll cocked his head upward, even though neither of them could see Rose. “He isn’t talking about victory. He’s talking about suicide.”

  “Commander, why don’t you tell us what you’re thinking?”

  “Certainly. Before we entered Freedom, I received extensive intel on our enemy from…a reliable source.” The source was Mittelman, and he’d barely caught himself before revealing the spymaster’s name. “With the frigate, I’m not just targeting a weak ship, but a relatively inexperienced crew. After we destroy her, I will target another ship with a green crew. The more hulls we can account for, the faster Pegg’s doubt will grow. By fragmenting his fleet, we’ll force him to stand down.”

  Guerrero turned from her console again, and for once, her voice didn’t shake at all. “Sir, we’re ten seconds from entering effective firing range.”

  “Comply with the Commander’s order, Moll,” Rose said. “Or the deal’s off.”

  “Fine,” Moll spat, and vanished from the holotank.

  “Thank you, Ms. Rose.” Thatcher’s eyes fell on his tactical officer. “Ortega, I hope you’ve already calculated a firing solution for that frigate.”

  “I have, sir.”

  “Then fire.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Freedom System, Dupliss Region

  Earth Year 2290

  “Firing primary.”

  The entire cruiser thrummed with the energy pouring out of her to lance across the void. Thatcher’s holoscreen showed a realistic simulation of five other bright blue beams stemming from the other vessels comprising his main attack force.

  Seconds later, an explosion replaced the frigate on his tactical display. It hadn’t even managed to put up shields in time.

  “Guerrero, relay the next targets to the battle group.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  The frigate they’d just destroyed had not, in fact, contained the least experienced crew Reardon had. He’d selected it because another inexperienced crew piloted a corvette just beyond it, and a converted freighter filled with pirates also held formation nearby.

  This time, his battle group split their fire between the two targets. As laserfire shot across the battlespace, shields finally flickered to life around most of Reardon’s ships. Pegg probably ordered them to conserve their energy until they needed shields. But apparently he hadn’t anticipated the inexperienced crew failing to react to the focused fire in time. Now, he was playing it safe by telling every ship that had shields to use them.

  The freighter lacked shields, and its hull ruptured even faster than the frigate’s. But the corvette’s force field held longer than Thatcher had expected, with six powerful beams hammering down on it.

  Then he saw them: two logistics ships lingering at the rear of the enemy formation, just close enough to feed energy to the corvette.

  He was about to call out another target, one that was out of the logistics ships’ range—when the entire Reardon formation shifted. Its left flank was snapping inward, stabbing with sapphire rays. All of them targeting the Victorious.

  “Guerrero, tell the Lightfoot to get over there and bolster the destroyer’s shields.”

  But even as he gave the order, the Sunder logistics ship started toward Moll’s besieged command.

  Guerrero seemed about to acknowledge the order, but he spoke over her. “Have the Redpole directionally jam as many of the ships targeting the Victorious as she can.” Redpole was the eWar ship flying with his main attack force.

  “Aye, sir.” Then, Guerrero’s body seemed to grow even more rigid, though Thatcher wouldn’t have said that was possible. “Sir—the rest of Reardon’s ships are closing in.”

  It was true. Pegg was tightening the noose, and even as he watched, the Reardon flank not targeting the Victorious unleashed a volley of missiles interspersed with lasers.

  “Shields up, all ships!”

  Guerrero distributed the order immediately, and to Frontier’s credit, every ship put their shields up in time to intercept the incoming fire.

  That served to deflect the missiles, whose explosive power dispersed across the energy fields of multiple ships. But it seemed the missiles’ many targets had been chosen in the hopes of catching a crew unprepared, as Thatcher had with the frigate. The laserfire, however, all landed on the same target—the Boxer, Commander Frailey’s command. Without a logistics ship there to support her, the shields spasmed violently, then went out.

  No. “All ships target those firing on the Boxer with primaries!”

  But it was too late. The beams hit the frigate’s hull, drilling holes deep into her guts. She exploded.

  Damn it. Though they’d only spoken a few times, Thatcher had grown fond of Frailey.

  You can’t protect everyone, Tad. His grandfather’s words again.

  “Ops, where’s that flank?”

  “The ships are still mustering at the Helio base, sir.”

  Even as Guerrero spoke, the Reardon ships that had taken out the Boxer switched to targeting the Condor, a Frontier corvette. Her shields shuddered for a few seconds, then fell. The lasers found her hull, and she went the way of Frailey’s ship.

  All the while, the Victorious’ force field continued to quiver, kept on the brink of falling by the Lightfoot’s efforts.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Freedom System, Dupliss Region

  Earth Year 2290

  “The reserve and outrider have rallied and are moving out from the Helio base to flank, sir.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, Guerrero.” If we can just hold things together a little longer, maybe there’s a chance.

  Thatcher’s eyepiece notified him of a call from Veronica Rose, and he snatched his comm from its holster on the side of his chair, thumbing the button to accept before letting it drop into its cradle once more.

  “Yes?”

  “Commander. I’ve been monitoring the battle from my office.”

  He resisted the urge to snap at his boss, to demand to know what she wanted. Behavior like that would soon be taken up by the crew.

  “I just…” Rose cleared her throat. “It isn’t enough for us to win this battle, Commander. We need to win with enough forces to hold Oasis, and to remain an attractive partner to Moll and the rest of his alliance. Frontier’s longterm survival depends on it.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Ms. Rose.” His voice sounded brittle to his own ears. Keep it together. “It’s why I’ve been trying to secure a surrender from Pegg. Unfortunately, I believe he’s just as aware of our predicament. He’s pressuring u
s in exactly the way we’ve tried to pressure him. Which is why I need to focus on the engagement right now.”

  “Yes…I know. I’m sorry. I find it difficult to just sit here and monitor the battle, feeling completely powerless. But I’ll let you get back to it. Good luck, Thatcher. I think I’ll stop watching the engagement.”

  “That may be best.” Thatcher plucked the comm from its holster once more and ended the call.

  “Sir!” Guerrero choked out.

  She said nothing else, apparently overcome with panic, but Thatcher saw the source of her distress clearly enough. Pegg’s destroyer had finally advanced through the enemy formation, backed up by a logistics ship. Both vessels were positioned to cut off Jersey from her allies.

  The Eagle’s primary laser shot out, slamming into the cruiser’s shield and sending a cascade of rippling energy out from the impact point.

  “Return fire with our primary, Ortega. Have the forward gunners target the destroyer’s shield as well.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The Jersey’s thick beam projected through the void, accompanied by multiple smaller, abbreviated rays. Thatcher called up a shield readout on his console and swallowed hard. Without a logistics ship of her own, the cruiser’s shields were dropping fast.

  His gaze flew back to the 3D tactical display beneath the readout. It held little to lessen his distress. The reserve was being intercepted by ships from Reardon’s right flank, and on the opposite side of the engagement, the two forces were trading ships. The Victorious managed to take out an enemy cruiser, but a Frontier frigate soon followed. Now, Reardon was going after the Lightfoot, pushing it away from Moll’s destroyer. If it fell out of range for supplementing the Victorious’ shields, that could also prove disastrous for Frontier’s fledgling alliance with Sunder. Hard to partner with a dead CEO.

  Every friendly ship was occupied with the task of staying alive, with none available to help the New Jersey.