“I’m all ears, Lieutenant.”
Kroll didn’t have a plan and he didn’t say anything else. The other members of the crew were similarly quiet. Griffin maintained course towards Glesia. The ships of AF1 were ahead of the Broadsword and they scattered once they came near the planet, firing constantly and without hurting the enemy. In despair, Griffin watched the Sekar pick them off with its disintegration weapon.
Any chance of getting the enemy to play ball seemed remote, while the consequences of failure were all too easy to imagine.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The losses mounted and the enemy flew at a medium speed, always managing to keep one or more of the AF1 warships in sight. A small positive was that the disintegration weapon had a cooldown which prevented it firing many times in rapid succession. Even so, it was doing enough. The incredible success of Conway’s mission was already tarnished and Griffin hated the feeling of impotence.
His luck held out and Captain Isental was similarly blessed. The two spaceships raced into a high orbit of Glesia, just as the Sekar battleship vanished from sensor sight around the planet’s curvature. With so many warships in orbit, the comms and sensor data were reliable, allowing every ship to know the movement of the enemy.
“We’re going low,” said Griffin. “I’m setting a course for Refuge 9.”
“Looks like a stormy night tonight,” said Dominguez.
“That’s all of our ships in Glesia orbit,” said Kenyon. “Now we’ve got to keep ahead of the enemy long enough for Admiral Yeringar to come up with a plan.”
“What about the death pulse?” asked Griffin.
“There are no orders, sir. I guess Admiral Yeringar is more concerned about escape.”
“He’s got a lot of spaceships to look after,” Griffin replied. He grimaced. The best officers could evaluate fleet-sized battles far better than Griffin ever could. His skills were honed for the small scale and he’d learned not to underestimate people like Admiral Kolb and now Admiral Yeringar. They knew how to handle situations like this one.
“Admiral Yeringar is working on a dispersal pattern,” said Kenyon. “Individual warships are to leave orbit once certain positional criteria for the Sekar battleship have been met.”
“What quantity of ships does he estimate will escape?” asked Griffin.
“Seventy-two percent based on known data, sir.”
“We’ve got ninety-five warships left in AF1.” Griffin sighed heavily. “I guess it’s better for some to get away. Make doubly sure that Admiral Yeringar is aware the Sekar can follow into lightspeed.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve disseminated our latest protocols on lightspeed travel.”
“Thank you.”
The Sekar battleship was halfway around the planet by the time the Broadsword was at the Refuge 9 facility.
A stormy night tonight.
The words, spoken by Dominguez only a short while ago, triggered an idea. On the underside feed, a huge ice storm was clearly visible as a swirling pattern of greys and whites. From an altitude of five hundred klicks, it looked almost serene.
“What’s the sensor penetration to the surface?” asked Griffin.
“Not good, sir. I can make out the Refuge 9 surface building, but that’s only because I know it’s there.”
“We’re going in,” said Griffin.
“I can guess what you intend,” said Dominguez. “We don’t know how good the Sekar tech is, sir.”
“We’re going to find out.”
“The enemy’s current orbit won’t bring them anywhere close to Refuge 9, sir,” said Kenyon.
“You’re going to sweet talk Admiral Yeringar into helping out.”
“I am?”
“We need to draw the Sekar this way.”
“That’ll mean exposing our ships.”
“Or firing from over the horizon at the last known target data. It’s inaccurate but it might piss the Sekar off enough that they change course.”
“I’ll speak to him now, sir.”
While Kenyon did what he could to convince the Revingol’s comms team that Admiral Yeringar needed to hear him out, Griffin took the Broadsword lower towards the storm.
“Captain Isental wants in, sir,” said Lieutenant Murray. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to hide in the storm and shoot the battleship as it flies past. If everything works out, they’ll come down for a closer look.”
“Copy that, sir. I’ll let him know.”
Isental knew an opportunity when he saw one and soon the Gradior was alongside the Broadsword. The two cruisers descended rapidly. At an altitude of fifty klicks, both ships were engulfed in the upper reaches of the ice storm. Safely on the bridge, Griffin felt nothing and heard nothing. Even so, the sight of the howling winds on the sensor feed was enough to make him shiver.
“How low are we going?” asked Shelton.
“Two hundred meters.”
“That’s low.”
“Admiral Yeringar has agreed to your plan, sir,” said Kenyon, his voice laced with excitement. “However, he has limited patience for additional losses.”
“I understand. We need to know when the Sekar ship is close.”
At two hundred meters, Griffin brought the Broadsword to a halt. Captain Isental positioned the Gradior a few hundred meters to starboard. The conditions outside were appalling and Griffin didn’t envy the soldiers who were out there with only a combat suit to protect them.
“The surface building is about ten klicks east, sir,” said Shelton. “Let’s hope the enemy aren’t carrying incendiaries.”
“I’m more worried that Hass-Tei-112 didn’t tell us the truth about the death pulse range.”
Minutes passed and Griffin waited anxiously for an indication that the Sekar ship was heading his way. Whatever method Admiral Yeringar employed, the first attempt failed and the enemy craft orbited the planet a thousand klicks to the south.
“It’s travelling fast, sir,” said Dominguez. “Maybe they’re taking a nibble at the bait.”
“Let’s wait and see.”
The battleship’s next orbit took fifteen minutes, during which it destroyed one of the spaceships assigned the task of leading it to Refuge 9. Griffin closed his eyes briefly, dreading a comms message from Admiral Yeringar calling it off. The channel stayed quiet.
“Battle network positional reports suggest the next orbit is going to be right over our heads, sir,” said Kenyon. “ETA, two minutes.”
They were the longest two minutes of Griffin’s life. He kept his eyes glued to the instrumentation in front of him and it seemed as though everyone was holding their breath. At one minute fifty, two Fangrin light cruisers raced across the skies overhead. The storm was too strong for the Broadsword’s sensors to see the spaceships directly and it was only the battle network data that gave away the Fangrin’s position.
“It’s coming,” said Kenyon.
“Get ready.”
“Born ready,” said Kroll.
The Sekar battleship came at an altitude of eight hundred klicks. It was invisible to the sensors, but the positional data from the battle network was precise.
“Lieutenant Jackson. Fire.”
The Broadsword and the Gradior fired simultaneously. Plasma missiles sped upwards, unimpeded by the ice and wind, their propulsions leaving a stark glow that was rapidly lost from sight. The moment the warheads were on their way, Griffin piloted the Broadsword a few hundred meters from its launch position. Captain Isental did likewise.
“Audit reports from the missiles report eighty-five percent successful detonations, sir,” said Jackson.
“I am unable to obtain a sensor lock on the battleship,” said Dominguez. “I’d like to promise that it can’t see us either.”
“It’s still moving, sir,” said Kenyon.
“We’re reloaded.”
“Fire again.”
Another wave of missiles went after the first and once again Griffin took the Broadsword aw
ay from the launch position. Within seconds, Jackson confirmed the successful detonations.
“Come on, take the bait,” said Griffin anxiously.
“It’s stopped, sir!”
Griffin’s eyes moved to the bank of sensor feeds at the same time as a perfect cube of Glesia’s crust, approximately eight hundred meters to each side, turned into powder and exploded into the storm like a vast grey fountain. The quantity of dust seemed impossibly large and for a short while the Broadsword was completely sensor blind. Then, it cleared, the particles carried away by the rushing winds.
“Crap,” said Shelton.
“The battleship is coming lower, sir,” said Kenyon. “It’s right over our position.”
“If we move, it’ll make us easier to spot,” said Shelton.
“The enemy are at a fifty-klick altitude. The battle network might lose sight.”
“We’ll get hints from our own sensors by then, sir.”
“Where’s the death pulse?” asked Griffin.
It didn’t come. The Sekar battleship descended into the storm and Dominguez got a ping off its hull.
“Thirty klicks up, sir.”
Griffin didn’t want to give away his position, but he preferred to move rather than stand still. He tugged on the controls and the Broadsword accelerated sideways with a grumble of propulsion that would be easy for an enemy to detect.
A second section of Glesia detonated outwards and the Broadsword was covered in dust once again. Griffin didn’t release the controls and he kept the spaceship on its existing course.
“Seven klicks from the surface facility,” said Dominguez.
“The enemy ship is charging something,” said Shelton. “I don’t know what it is. Lieutenant Kroll?”
“I don’t recognize it.”
Griffin didn’t think there was much time left. He’d misjudged the enemy’s capabilities and they were packing more than just a disintegration cannon. Whatever was coming, Griffin suspected it wouldn’t leave much behind after the Sekar fired it.
A vibration rolled through the Broadsword. The strength of it was enough to make Griffin cry out like his entire body was being crushed in a vise. The vibration persisted for three or four seconds and then it ended abruptly.
“What the hell was that?” gasped Kroll.
“Death pulse,” said Griffin, trying to keep the pain from his voice. “It went off.”
The words came before his brain had caught up. When he realized, Griffin yelled for Dominguez and Shelton to get him concrete information on the enemy warship.
“Checking, sir,” said Dominguez. “I couldn’t keep the sensors in focus during the pulse.”
“Please,” Griffin muttered.
“There!” shouted Dominguez. “It’s heading straight for the surface!”
The death of its crew shouldn’t have necessarily brought the Sekar battleship to the ground, but down it came. It struck the surface of Glesia nose-first, crunching into the rock at low speed but with tremendous weight. A huge crater formed at the impact site and cracks snaked out in every direction. The rear section of the spaceship crashed down moments later, extending the initial crater and creating new fissures in the rock.
Onboard the Broadsword, less than two thousand meters away, the crew could only watch it happen. Griffin kept his hands on the controls in case he was required to make a rapid escape. He was certain the Sekar were dead.
The seismic activity lasted for many seconds after the battleship was settled and the aftershocks continued for longer still. Griffin opened a channel to Conway and was relieved to find the other man alive and well.
“We took out their battleship, Captain Conway.”
“What about the Raggers, sir?”
“They ran away. It may be they come back. That’s something for Admiral Yeringar to think about.”
While he talked, Griffin kept his eyes on the enemy warship. It was colossal, yet even at this close range it was impossible to make out individual details on its hull. To Griffin’s eye, it was like the entire vessel was wrapped in a shroud which defied the normal behavior of light.
“I’d like a pickup, sir.”
“The Iron Cell made it through the engagement. I’ll make sure it comes your way.”
“Thank you, sir. We’ll look forward to it.”
Griffin closed the channel. Something big had happened here. He was convinced the aftermath was going to require some unravelling. Not only that, the Raggers would have an interest in the crashed Sekar battleship. It was going to be difficult to keep that prize out of the hands of those lying bastards.
And the death pulse. A weapon that could kill Raggers and Sekar alike. Logic suggested the technology was limited, else the Ravok would have fitted one on every spaceship. Griffin sighed – each hard-fought victory brought new promises and new difficulties. He was certain that plenty of both lay ahead for the Unity League.
With reluctance, Griffin acknowledged the realities of humanity’s future.
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Refuge 9 (Fire and Rust Book 5) Page 23
