Death Skies (Fire and Rust Book 4)

by Anthony James

  “That’s good enough, thank you.”

  Griffin warned his crew to strap in and complete their pre-warmup checks on the double. He scanned the monitoring screens on his own console and found numerous amber alerts, along with several more which were red.

  “Course set,” said Kroll.

  Griffin took a deep breath. “I’ve sealed all the operational interior doors and I’m ready to fire the detonators. Is everyone ready?”

  Kenyon wasn’t ready. “Sir, wait!”

  “What is it?” asked Griffin, detecting the urgency. He turned to look around the edge of his high-sided bucket seat and his harness straps creaked.

  “A distress signal, sir! Coming from the ULS Trojan!”

  It was one of those completely unexpected moments that had Griffin fumbling for his next words. “Where is it? What’s their status?”

  “They are under attack, sir! Hostiles onboard. Admiral Kolb requests immediate assistance.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Positional data puts them approximately fifteen minutes high lightspeed from here.”

  “Any other details?”

  “No, sir. There’s an FTL comm delay of several minutes. I can request more information.”

  “Send them a comm describing our suspicion that tharniol is toxic to those shadow aliens.”

  “You think that’s what’s attacking the Trojan?” asked Kenyon. “Damn, stupid question. What the hell else is it going to be?”

  “We’re going to help out,” said Griffin. “Lieutenant Kroll – set the new destination.”

  Kroll had a heavy touch and the buttons on his console made a distinctive clack. “That’s done, sir.”

  “FTL comm on its way.”

  “Let’s do this.”

  Griffin knocked his flight helmet twice and sent the command to the detonators. After a short delay, he heard the boom of their activation, the sound muffled by distance but unmistakable.

  “The tharniol drive is online and warming up,” said Kroll, his voice tight. “I got a dozen new alerts up here sir. Critical failure on the detonator mountings and stress fractures in the casings of both. Next time, they’ll both blow and probably take out the main drive.”

  The words were sobering and nobody said anything. The rumbling of the tharniol drive increased steadily in volume and Griffin kept his eyes fixed on the status monitors. Everything appeared to be in the right place, give or take. A new amber alert appeared and he cleared it from the screen. The alert reappeared and this time he ignored it.

  “Any time now,” said Kroll.

  The Hurricane’s entire structure seemed to groan under the immense strain, but it held together. The heavy cruiser entered a high multiple of lightspeed, heading towards what Griffin felt sure was going to be another incredibly perilous situation.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The turbulence started almost at once. The Hurricane’s damaged hull shook violently and the walls creaked like they would split at any moment. The hull monitors spilled warnings onto the status display, each one recommending an immediate return to base. It was too late for Griffin to change his mind and he wasn’t going to back down.

  “What are our expectations upon arrival, sir?” asked Kroll, shortly after the launch.

  “Aliens running through the middle of the Trojan killing our people,” said Griffin, doing his best to predict what was coming.

  “How can we help them?” said Dominguez. “We don’t have a shuttle.”

  “The Trojan has plenty.”

  “But what about…”

  “I don’t know,” said Griffin, cutting Shelton off mid-sentence. “I need some quiet in order to think.”

  The questions dried up, allowing Griffin time to concentrate. A few vague thoughts and ideas came, but nothing that gave him confidence. He was reduced to guessing and speculation, neither of which was ideal. Griffin had an unshakable feeling that the Trojan was beset by more than a handful of aliens and, deep down, he was hoping that experience and instinct would allow him to evaluate the situation the moment he arrived. He didn’t like to rely on the reactionary method, but it didn’t usually fail him.

  Minutes counted down and the Hurricane neared its destination. Griffin watched the seconds, hating their slow erosion, yet at the same time wanting them to last.

  “Come on!” he said angrily. He took deep breaths to calm himself. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and the flight suit couldn’t insulate him from the inner chill. He wanted to get up and stretch his limbs, but the turbulence was too much.

  “Two minutes,” said Kroll. “We’re aiming for ten thousand klicks distance from the Trojan.”

  On such a comparatively short lightspeed journey, Griffin expected them to arrive exactly as predicted and within a few hundred meters of the target point. Ten thousand klicks would be enough to buy them time to complete area scans, while not being far enough to introduce a significant delay in flying close enough to assist the Trojan.

  “Sixty seconds.”

  Griffin ran through his checks again. The Hurricane’s weapons systems were partially operational – it wasn’t anywhere near full strength, but neither was it helpless. The sublight propulsion was completely undamaged, so the spaceship was as fast as ever, assuming it didn’t break up during acceleration or evasive maneuvers.

  “Ten seconds.”

  The Hurricane shuddered its way into local space. The nausea angered Griffin more than it debilitated him and he clenched his teeth hard together, willing his body to overcome its weakness. He heard Kroll retching and Dominguez uttered her usual stream of obscenities.

  Static cleared off the sensor feed and the screens turned into the darkness of unending space, covered in the white dots of faraway stars.

  “Commencing local area scan,” said Shelton.

  “I’m trying to pinpoint the Trojan,” said Dominguez.

  The distress signal contained precise positional data and Griffin knew it shouldn’t be a difficult task to find the carrier.

  “Got it!” said Dominguez. “Zooming and enhancing.”

  “Local scan clear,” said Shelton. “Expanding search sphere.”

  The Trojan appeared on one of the main bulkhead screens. The image wasn’t perfect, but it was enough for Griffin to recognize the overall shape as being that of a diamond class carrier.

  “Are they moving?”

  “No, sir – completely stationary.”

  “Any sign of damage?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure, sir. I’ll try to enhance the feed a little more.”

  “Lieutenant Kenyon, what about the comms?”

  “I’ve got green receptors from the Trojan’s command and control deck, sir, but nobody’s talking. They’re still broadcasting the distress signal on automatic.”

  “Dammit, keep trying.”

  “I’ll bypass the main comms team and see if I can make contact with a handheld comms unit – there should be plenty of those active.”

  “Expanded search sphere also clear,” said Shelton. “Unless there’s a stealth-equipped Ragger fleet nearby.”

  “Look at this,” said Dominguez. Another of the bulkhead screens changed to the zoomed feed from one of the forward arrays.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Griffin.

  The spaceship was completely black in color and it was only visible because of the green outline added by Dominguez. The vessel was bulky and of indeterminate size, with no discernible features. The accompanying data on the feed suggested it was approximately one hundred klicks from the Trojan.

  “I don’t know if it’s facing us or showing its flank, sir,” said Dominguez. “I guess it’s similar in size to the Trojan, but don’t ask me to estimate its weight. And I got you a clearer image of the carrier.”

  Griffin narrowed his eyes at the updated feed. “Doesn’t look like it suffered any damage.”

  “Nope. The rear bay door is open,” said Dominguez. “I wonder if they’ve launched Vipers.”


  “There are no Vipers broadcasting, sir,” said Kenyon at once. “And I wouldn’t expect anything if they were still docked.”

  “Or if they were destroyed,” said Griffin. He didn’t like this at all.

  “I’ve got a combat suit receptor,” said Kenyon. “Well damn, it’s Sergeant Lockhart.”

  “Put him on the bridge speakers.”

  “Connecting.”

  “Sergeant Lockhart, this is Captain Griffin.”

  “Hello, sir.” Lockhart sounded as gruff as ever, with no indication he was under pressure.

  “What’s the situation?”

  “Well, sir. We got attacked by some new aliens. They’ve probably killed most of the Trojan’s crew. Me and what’s left of my squad are hiding out in propulsion, along with a few others.”

  “How many others?”

  “Ninety-two of us in total and another couple of hundred in an FTL transport in the main bay. Admiral Kolb ordered an evac, but everything’s offline. No lights, no power, no life support, no nothing. Makes it hard to see what you’re shooting at, not that these alien assholes seem bothered when we fill them with bullets.”

  “Who’s in charge now?”

  “Admiral Kolb still commands, sir. She’s in that transport along with Fleet Admiral Stone. Like I said, it won’t fire up, so they’re stuck onboard with the rest of us.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant. I’m here with the Hurricane and we’ll do what we can to get you out. I’d suggest you don’t move out of propulsion. Those aliens don’t like the smell of tharniol.”

  “We’ll stay put unless we hear otherwise.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  Griffin cut the channel. “Find Admiral Kolb or Fleet Admiral Stone and get me a comms link.”

  “I’m trying, sir. If the shuttle is offline in the way Sergeant Lockhart says it is, I won’t find a receptor.”

  “Someone onboard it must have a communicator?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do what I can.”

  Kenyon came up with the goods. “Here’s Admiral Kolb.”

  Kolb sounded a whole lot more stressed than Sergeant Lockhart. “Captain Griffin, it’s good to hear from you.”

  “We are here with the Hurricane, ma’am. There is what I assume to be an enemy spaceship within a hundred klicks of the Trojan. What can you tell us about it?”

  “We were attacked during lightspeed by a new species of alien. I don’t know how they got onboard. They began killing my crew. The Trojan has – had – a large contingent of armed soldiers onboard, but our bullets are ineffective against this enemy. I was forced to order re-entry to local space in order to evacuate. Before we could escape from the bay, that spaceship appeared and it has done something to shut down every sublight propulsion unit. Anything that runs off a battery is working, everything else is offline.”

  “Were you able to discharge any of the Trojan’s weaponry, ma’am?”

  “The carrier’s countermeasures were on auto. Nobody heard them fire.”

  “The enemy ship doesn’t appear to be damaged,” said Griffin.

  The Trojan was only designed to defend itself and use its Vipers for offense, so it wasn’t surprising to discover that the carrier hadn’t been able to destroy its opponent.

  “Where are the other members of AF2, Captain?” asked Kolb, sounding even more concerned.

  “We don’t know, ma’am. The Hurricane was attacked in the same way as the Trojan, except that no enemy ship was waiting for us when we entered local space.”

  “I fear what is to come.”

  “Me too, ma’am. We’ve sent an FTL comm to base. We can’t influence those events now, but we can try our damnedest to fix this one.”

  “I appreciate that, Captain. What do you propose?”

  “I don’t know.” For once, Griffin was at a loss for bright ideas. “There must be a way. Please give me a minute to think.”

  “Time is a luxury for my crew, Captain. Those aliens are drawn to life. The Trojan is a big ship, but they will find us.”

  “Tharniol hurts them, Admiral. If you have a source of it on the shuttle, find it and use it against them.”

  Kolb gave a soft laugh. “If only it came out of the food station on a tray.”

  “Sergeant Lockhart is in propulsion with ninety-one others, ma’am. The enemy are not attacking that area.”

  “I’m aware of that. We had a small tharniol leak earlier. Perhaps that’s what’s keeping those personnel safe. Anyway, propulsion is approximately nine hundred meters from this shuttle and several levels below. The enemy are between us.”

  The picture Kolb painted was a depressingly bleak one. Griffin accepted the facts, but he wanted to move on. It was time to act. “I should go, ma’am. My comms officer will keep an open channel.”

  “Good luck, Captain.”

  “Good luck to us all, ma’am.”

  The channel went dead, leaving Griffin to face the enormity of the task facing him and his crew. What made it worse was the lack of opportunity to think or plan. Griffin closed his eyes for a moment and tried desperately to come up with a plan.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Griffin spoke out loud in an attempt to kickstart his brain. “If we fly too close, that enemy spaceship will probably shut us down. We don’t know what other armaments it’s carrying and we’re in no fit state to slug it out with a ship as big as that one.”

  “What about hit and run, sir?” asked Shelton. “If we draw the enemy away from the Trojan, they may be unable to maintain the power lockdown on our carrier.”

  “Or the lockdown weapon could be targeted and they might hit us with it from all the way out there,” said Kroll.

  “The two forward upper railguns are operational,” said Jackson. “We could put a couple of slugs into them and see what happens.”

  “Two railgun shots isn’t going to put them out of action, Lieutenant.”

  “We could unload everything – missiles, nukes, railguns. That ought to piss them off.”

  Griffin had no objection to the unload everything tactic, but he felt uneasy. He’d already been given a demonstration of how these aliens were immune to standard bullets and he didn’t want to discover that their spaceships had a few surprises as well. Had the Hurricane been at full battle strength, he’d have been more open to the frontal approach. As it was, doubts plagued him, with the main one being fear of helplessness. If the enemy warship locked down the Hurricane, Griffin and his crew would be reduced to passive spectators, waiting for death.

  “Lieutenant Kroll, can you think of any way to bring the power back if the enemy shuts us down?”

  Kroll huffed and puffed. “Admiral Kolb did say that whatever weapon it was used against them, it only shut down the sublights. That means the Trojan’s tharniol drive is potentially available.”

  “Which takes ten minutes to warm up and fire.”

  “Yes.”

  “The detonators themselves are jump started by a charge held in a dedicated capacitor, right?” Griffin knew that time was short and he found himself talking faster and faster.

  “Yes, sir. The capacitor discharges, the detonator fires and the tharniol drive begins warmup.”

  “Is there any way to divert power from the tharniol drive while it’s warming up?”

  “It’s a good idea, sir, but that’s not how the propulsion is wired.”

  “I guessed as much.” Something was bothering Griffin and he remembered what it was. “The Raggers did the same thing to us on the Fixer back on Graxol-4. They weren’t shutting down the power supply so much as they overloaded the cut-out switches and prevented the power getting where it was needed.”

  “You’re talking about a diamond class carrier, sir. You can’t trip a switch and have everything stop working. If Admiral Kolb says the power’s offline, then it’s something else.”

  “Damn.”

  “And there’s no cutout switch I can jam open on the Hurricane either, if that’s what you were ho
ping.”

  “Can we force the capacitors to discharge into the onboard systems to give us some juice if we get shut down?”

  “I’ll look into that, sir.”

  “You’d best do it quickly, Lieutenant,” said Dominguez. “The enemy ship is changing position. We may have been detected.”

  To Griffin, it felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulder. Now that choice was gone, all that remained was action.

  “Let’s get those bastards,” he said, pushing the control bars hard forward. The Hurricane accelerated with its usual eagerness, but the note of the engines was overlaid with the flexing of damaged alloys. “Hold together,” said Griffin off comms. He accessed the bridge channel. “Fire railguns.”

  “Firing uppers one and two,” said Jackson.

  The railguns thumped and their coils whined. The slugs travelled far too fast for Griffin’s naked eye to detect them on the sensors. He didn’t wait for Jackson to confirm and aimed the Hurricane directly at the enemy.

  “Ultor-VIs, targeted,” said Jackson, “Firing every available cluster.”

  Missiles streaked after the railgun slugs, leaving pinpoints on the forward feed.

  “Two direct railgun strikes,” said Jackson. “Awaiting reload.”

  Green dots representing the plasma missiles sped over the tactical. The enemy ship was a much bigger red dot, surrounded by text indicating its vector and position. It was accelerating and turning at the same time, though not with any urgency.

  “What about the nukes, sir?” asked Jackson.

  “Let’s see what happens to this first wave of Ultor-VIs.”

  “Scanning for damage on the enemy hull,” said Dominguez. “We have closed to eight thousand klicks. No sign of damage.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Griffin sharply.

  “I’ve still got a visual on that flank, sir. There’s no damage.”

  The enemy ship made no effort to avoid the plasma missiles and it launched no detectible countermeasures. The Hurricane’s Ultor-VI’s crashed into its front section, momentarily hiding much of the vessel from sight. The plasma fire hadn’t begun to clear when Shelton repeated what Dominguez had already said.