Cry of War: A Military Space Adventure Series

by R. L. Giddings

  The whole process was starting to take its toll on Bayas’ health. It had manifested itself initially in an inability to sleep. He was lucky if he could get a couple of hours a night, but the stress of feeling that he was constantly under surveillance was proving too much for him. He’d lost weight and there were dark patches under his eyes which added a good ten years to his appearance.

  It didn’t help that he was starting to feel side-lined at work. And it wasn’t just him. His whole department seemed to have suffered since Sunderam had taken over, pouring all his resources into the engineering side. Twice in the past week, the department had been shut down to make ‘energy savings.’ It would make anyone feel uneasy.

  So, while her husband was adamant that he still wanted to press ahead with the project, she still wasn’t convinced. Morton strongly suspected that the reason he’d agreed to go along with this was because he felt indebted to her. And while it was true that if she hadn’t agreed to marry him, he would have surely been executed, Morton didn’t want him to embark on something that he wasn’t wholeheartedly committed to.

  Which was why she was concerned that she might be pushing him too hard. He was a scientist after all, his rank more a reflection of his high status within the Empire than any indication of military prowess. He wasn’t used to dealing with this kind of pressure. She had to accept that, while she liked him a lot, admired him even, he wasn’t a very robust individual.

  So when he suggested that she accompany him to the temple to mark the end of the Resilience festival, she had agreed without a second thought. She was surprised how relieved Bayas appeared to be as a result of her acquiescence. Bayas, like a lot of Yakutians, held deep religious beliefs so it clearly meant a lot to him to have his wife accompany him to the temple. She thought back to what Hermendal had said about how difficult it would be for him to prosper in his career if he was seen to have a disobedient wife. In order to ensure that everything went well for the festival she had asked Tanziat to take her shopping for a new outfit and she’d come back with an ash grey dress complete with a dark red wrap-around cape. When she’d shown it to Bayas he had been overwhelmed, taking her hands in his and kissing them repeatedly, though she wasn’t sure whether this was motivated more by relief than genuine affection.

  The temple lay at the ship’s epicentre and could be approached from any one of four separate walkways. They had arrived early in order to get a decent spot in the queues but even so they had to wait nearly three hours just to get through the main gate. As they had waited in line, they had been approached by tradesmen peddling a variety of wares. One of these was a garland salesman selling garlands of orange, blood red or a mixture of the two. It was only then that Morton realised that her cape matched the blood red petals almost exactly. Bayas bought a red garland for himself and an orange one for her and then had held her hand tightly as they prepared to go inside.

  The temple’s interior appeared to be constructed of marble and, though she knew this to be impossible, the effect was no less impressive. The temple was full of thousands of people, many of whom were engaged in prayer while others were lighting candles to the various effigies or simply burning incense.

  In fact, there was so much incense being burned that a permanent cloud of it hung in the air, filling her nostrils with its bittersweet perfume. Added to this, the sheer number of people crushed into such a comparatively small space was driving up the temperature, making it insufferably hot.

  After a while, the combination of factors started to have an effect on Morton who began to feel light-headed. Recognising her discomfort, Bayas found a spot for her tucked away behind one of the columns. He left her there while he went off to find her a chair.

  While he was gone, she pressed her face against the cool stone. It might not have been as refreshing as real marble but it helped to give her some relief. When Bayas returned a few minutes later with a stool, she was already starting to feel better but sat down at his insistence.

  “Perhaps we should go,” he suggested, pointing back the way they’d come though from his expression it was clear that he felt conflicted.

  “I thought you wanted to see the shrine?” she said. He’d been keen to spread some petals at the feet of the goddess. His mother had died two years earlier and he’d very much wanted to make an offering in her memory.

  “They look to be packed in over there. I think we’ll leave it. Come back another time.”

  Only, after today’s festivities were over, the statue of the goddess would be locked away for another year.

  She took his hand and pulled him to her. “No, its fine. You go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

  “Really?” his eyes shone with excitement. “But are you sure?”

  “Absolutely!” it was not as though she could go with him. Women weren’t permitted inside the octagonal gate and she would have to wait outside anyway. “I’ll be fine.”

  He was about to protest when a young boy appeared carrying a tray into which were inserted cups of refreshment. Bayas stopped the boy and handed him some credits. He took a cup for himself and two more for Morton. She drained the first one without even thinking.

  “Now that’s sorted, you can go off with a clear conscience.”

  Bayas backed off and gave her an awkward wave before disappearing into the throng. Morton held a cup in either hand, sipping from each in turn. She sat like that for about ten minutes, watching the general melee of the supplicants but she couldn’t completely relax because of the reaction she was receiving from some of the other supplicants. Eyes widened at the sight of a woman alone in the temple and a number of the men simply stared openly at her as if they might be able to drive her away. She hadn’t considered how much attention her presence would warrant and was seriously considering going to wait outside when a young naval officer came over to her. A casual glance at his uniform was all it took for her to see that his allegiance lay with the House of Desolation.

  She wasn’t sure whether he was there to assist her or to escort her out of the building. In her present state, she didn’t much care which so long as she got some fresh air.

  “Are you looking for someone?” she asked.

  “Actually, I am. I’ve been sent to find you.”

  Morton pinched the bridge of her nose and looked over in the direction of the main shrine hoping to see Bayas, but she was to be disappointed.

  “You’d like me to leave, is that it?”

  “No, not at all. I wondered if you’d like to accompany me to the vestry,” he indicated an area over on her left. There were a number of smaller shrines scattered along one wall and in the middle of them a dark wooden door.

  What was going on?

  Had she offended someone? Made some stupid cultural gaffe?

  As a woman, she was always going to have to be careful.

  “I’m waiting for my husband,” she said, almost wincing at how insipid that made her sound. “He won’t know where to find me if I disappear.”

  “We’ll get a message to him. It’ll be fine.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he came over and lightly took her arm, helping her to her feet. While she was still a little unsteady, she couldn’t help but feel slightly foolish as she was escorted through the crowd, the affiliation markings on the young man’s uniform helping to cut a swathe through the thronging crowds.

  It was only as they approached the door that she experienced a small pang of disquiet. If she went with him through the door, she would effectively disappear. There was no one around who would even acknowledge her departure. She looked around to see if there were any other women around who she could at least make eye contact with but there were none. Just crowds of men, all of whom seemed preoccupied. Too intent of what they were doing to even spare her a look.

  The next moment, the young officer was standing with the door open, waiting courteously for her to step inside. So she did, his earnest smile enough to persuade her.

  There were a number of other officers insid
e, some of them quite senior, standing around in groups smoking and drinking. They paid Morton and the young officer scant attention, only moving aside with great reluctance. In felt more like an officers’ club than part of a temple. Once they were through this room, they went down a corridor and up a short flight of stairs.

  On the next floor, they entered a dimly lit room, the walls lined with colorful vestments. There were several officers standing around in silence and there in the centre of the room sat a senior officer having his feet washed by one of the priests.

  Sunderam.

  *

  The Naked Spur sustained only minor damage in the first enemy attack. Normally, this would have been a cause for celebration but the fact that this had come at the expense of eighteen of their defensive missiles could not be overlooked.

  Neither Molly Maguire nor Blackbeard had started out with much in the way of defensive ordnance and they certainly didn’t have enough to be covering for other ships. As a line of defence, it was unsustainable.

  In response to this attack The Naked Spur launched four long range missiles of her own before instructing Hudson and Santiago to do likewise.

  “He’s taking a hell of a risk with these smaller vessels,” Winterson pointed out. “And, for what? They’re not going to cause him much, if any, damage and they risk him retaliating against them directly.”

  “Hopefully, they’ll have enough sense to make a run for it once they launch.”

  “Even if that’s their intention, do they have the speed or the maneuverability to support such a move?”

  “I have to admit, I hadn’t thought about that, admiral.”

  This was a rare confession on Vincenzi’s part and for some reason it discomfited Winterson more than it should have done.

  “You’re too concerned about this blasted firing pattern of yours.”

  Vincenzi held up his hands. “Guilty as charged.”

  “You think they’ll press ahead with it? I mean, both of them?”

  “Well, Kerrigan hasn’t put a stop to it. Not yet at least. I sent Marquez a request asking for any data.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “More than happy to oblige.”

  They had to wait another two hours before the two ships deployed their missiles. The number of missiles was exactly the same as before, only their deployment was different.

  Neither man was watching the screen. Winterson watched Vincenzi who was studying the available sensor information on his tablet. No one was expecting any great revelations, but they were hoping for something.

  “Marquez isn’t hanging around,” Vincenzi said. “Santiago’s already accelerating away.”

  “She’s a sprightly little ship, that one,” Winterson said. “I went over her specs. Those Fairline engines of hers have quite the kick.”

  “I wish the same could be said for the Hudson.”

  “She’s a haulier through and through. It was to be expected.”

  Vincenzi shrugged, the reality of the situation just starting to come home to him.

  There was little that was remarkable about Santiago’s missile deployment but it was satisfying to watch as each missile struck the exact same spot, separated by a regular nine second interval. And although this had the effect of creating a much stronger ripple effect than the one, they’d identified earlier, the shields still held.

  But when Hudson’s missiles arrived, also targeting one precise spot but spaced at seven second intervals, the results could not have been more different.

  The ripple effect started after the third impact but by the sixth it had started to stretch the shield out of shape.

  And then, it wasn’t there anymore.

  “What just happened?” Winterson said.

  Almost as if they’d heard him, one of the deck crew said, “Captain, according to this, a section of Tyr’s shielding just went down. Sector K-7. Repeat. K-7.”

  Vincenzi immediately cut the audio and then turned to the admiral.

  “What do you think we should do, sir? Talk to Kerrigan?”

  “No, hopefully he’ll see the potential in this himself.”

  Vincenzi smiled wryly back at him. He seemed unconvinced by Winterson’s arguments. Then, suddenly, he was pressing a finger to his ear bud.

  “Admiral, I’m getting word that Tyr has launched.”

  “What are we looking at?”

  “Forty-seven missiles. Only the attack vectors are different. Sorry, let me just check this.”

  Vincenzi’s cramped tablet couldn’t provide him with the same level of detail as the bridge’s work stations but that didn’t stop him trawling through the data feeds until he had what he needed. When he was satisfied, he passed the tablet over to Winterson.

  He said, “It looks like they’ve woken the sleeping giant.”

  Winterson checked the information twice before saying anything.

  “Eighteen missiles targeting Santiago but twenty-eight targeting the Hudson. Are you sure this is right?”

  “I’ve checked it against Blackbeard’s scans. They’re saying the same thing.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Schwartz stood over McNeill as he completed his latest course plot. Normally, they’d rely on the ship’s computer for this sort of work but with their long-range scans out of action, Schwartz was keen for all operational decisions to be carefully monitored.

  McNeill lifted his head and furrowed his brow. “Everything’s fine so far. If Thor has spotted us, they’re doing their best not to react.”

  “How long do you think before they do pick us up?” she asked.

  “At a rough guess, I’d say when we get to within ten million klicks. Maybe a little less. But with our current energy expenditure, they’d have to be blind not to see us.”

  “And then what?”

  “If they’ve got any sense, they’ll make a run for it. No point hanging around once they’ve been spotted. The only reason they’re keeping their speed down now is because they don’t want to draw any attention to themselves but, once their cover’s blown, they’re just going to go for it.”

  “And you think we’ll be able to catch them?”

  “You’d better ask Lieutenant Commander Khan about that,” he said giving her a knowing smile.

  “Yes, Fin, but I’m not asking him, I’m asking you. C’mon.”

  “Apologies,” McNeill said. “You’re right of course. I don’t pretend to know everything, but this is all going to come down to the reaction time of Thor’s crew and the attitude of her captain. If they detect us at, say, anything over eight million klicks and their acceleration is as good as we’ve been led to believe, then they’re going to leave us for dead.”

  “And what if it’s nearer five million and they’re a little slower off the mark?”

  “Then we should be able to hang with them for maybe an hour, maybe less.”

  Since their clash with the Loki, their power output had dropped considerably. Not that either one of them saw fit to acknowledge that.

  “And then what happens?”

  McNeill seemed suddenly embarrassed. “Khan hasn’t spoken to you about any of this?”

  “No, he hasn’t. Why? Should he have?”

  “Well, yes. It’s important.”

  Schwartz folded her arms, so that they perched awkwardly on her stomach.

  “Mister McNeill, are you keeping something from me?” she said in mock seriousness. “Well, are you?”

  “It’s the forward engine,” he said, looking at the floor. “It’s worse than we thought. Much worse. Khan suspects that if we start pushing it, there’s every chance that it could go critical.”

  “Oh!” Schwartz stepped back from him, dropping her arms to her sides. “I see. I’d mentioned it to the captain but was hoping we might get away with it.”

  McNeill nodded. “Well, with a little luck, we still might.”

  “So our plan hasn’t changed then?”

  McNeill was suddenly uneasy.

  �
�Not that I’m aware of.”

  They looked at one another for several seconds, both of them, no doubt, reflecting on the extent of the other’s knowledge but neither of them wanting to say anything further for fear of seeming disloyal.

  After a while, Schwartz went back to her post feeling confused.

  *

  They were approaching the ten-million-kilometre mark and there was still no sign that Thor had registered their presence.

  Schwartz stood with Whaites and his team, reviewing the various weapons packages that were available to them. Eighty-seven missiles might seem like a lot but, when you were used to firing salvos of between fifteen to twenty-five missiles, that wasn’t going to get them very far. Particularly, as some of the missiles bore low yield warheads and had previously been held back for that precise reason.

  “How do you intend to factor in the data we received from The Naked Spur?” she said.

  They’d gone over the information Commander Vincenzi had recently forwarded to them and both agreed that it looked extremely promising.

  “Regarding the shields?” Whaites said. “To be honest, I’m not sure. Everything I’ve read so far about their encounter with those other Da’al ships has been equal parts exciting and infuriating. On the one hand I’m desperate to try and use their data in order to exploit their weak spots but at the same time I’m thinking that these are two very different ships we’re dealing with here. For me, Tyr presents as a heavy cruiser type while Thor is up there with the big battle cruisers. And that’s obviously why Tyr chose to sacrifice herself in favor of the larger ship. She’s got a much better chance of pulling this off.”

  “Yes, but the principle of locating their weak spots has to be the same, surely?”

  “I’m not saying it isn’t. But it’s going to be damned difficult to replicate those results on the battlefield. And you’ve got to remember, The Spur was monitoring the effects of a bombardment from those other ships while we’re completely on our own. We’re not going to have the luxury of making test shots in order to ensure we’ve got the distances right.”