“I did, ma’am. And with great reluctance, I must respectfully disobey and continue on present course.”
“Why are you doing this, commander?”
“Ma’am, I can’t jump to hyperspace with the fleet and docking with the Resolute will cost you crucial time you don’t have. If those frigates get through to you, nobody is going home. I can delay them long enough for the fleet to jump. It is the only way to ensure the Marines get off planet. With my utmost resp—my utmost love, the Astoria must continue on course to intercept.”
But for the ambient noise of the ship’s engines, silence reigned on the bridge as Mako and Erskin understood the moment for what it was. Finally she nodded. “Very well, continue with your mission. Godspeed, commander.” She cut the transmission.
Mako dropped his heavy head for a moment. He’d made the right choice, but he still had his crew to consider, along with the families they would leave behind. We swore an oath, every one of us. Time to make good on it.
“We are coming about, sir,” reported the weapons officer, Lt Grable. “We’ll be in attack profile in thirty seconds.”
“Position for starboard broadside and put us in line with our fleet, Lieutenant Stiles. Direct all power to starboard shields and offensive weapons.” Mako got his first visual on the Union frigates, one of them minorly damaged and lagging just behind. Ravens must have gotten to it. He considered his options. Go for the easy kill? No, take down an undamaged one.
“Enemy ships are targeted and locked,” Grable reported.
“Concentrate fire on the center ship’s bridge. On my mark…” He waited until the enemy frigate’s bridge superstructure was completely visible. “Fire!”
The railgun and particle cannons that studded the Astoria’s hull unleashed a broadside volley that shook the ship. Concentrated beams of ionized protons flashed with blue-white intensity, coupled with the angry glow of streaking tungsten penetrators as they ripped toward the enemy frigate.
Two of the three frigates opened fire a moment later, sending back bolts of energy and hypervelocity projectiles. The deflector shields shunted most of the rounds, but some managed to punch through the overloaded energy screens, striking the ship. The rounds imparted lethal levels of thermal and kinetic energy as they tore into the Astoria, piercing the plasteel and nanocomposite armor, vaporizing metal and flesh. Alarms sounded as the ship lurched violently to port at each hit. Those at standing workstations tumbled across the floor. Mako barely remained in his command chair.
“Sir, we’ve lost our forward stabilizers.”
“Damage control is reporting hull breaches in crew quarters and life support.”
“We’ve lost power to aft weapons systems, rerouting auxiliary power.”
“Shields are at less than twenty-percent.”
As the crew struggled to keep the ship operational, Mako again gave the command to fire. After a slight delay for the guns to readjust aim, they released the volley. A brilliant flash could be seen in the distance as the enemy frigate reeled under the sleet of energy bolts and tungsten projectiles.
More enemy fire battered the Astoria, and this time Mako wound up on the floor.
“We got her, sir!” Grable shouted as Mako scrambled to rise.
On screen, flames poured from the doomed frigate’s bridge as the ship nosed downward, its firing ceased. The crew shouted and cheered even as they continued to take fire, the shield now practically worthless, unable to keep pace with the Union barrage.
We might be able to bag another. Deep down he doubted it.
The Astoria rocked again under another thunderous salvo, the forward superstructure erupting in a pyrotechnic flash, control panels on the bridge sparked from the overload.
“Artificial gravity is offline.”
“Shields are down, captain.”
Smoke now hung in the air, thickening by the second, as the familiar pull of gravity disappeared. Crew members activated their magnetic boots in response. A dozen red damage warnings flashed on the holo-screen. They had perhaps a minute until destruction. More like thirty seconds.
“Inform the crew that anyone wishing to abandon ship may do so.” The bridge crew escape pod waited mere meters away.
Of the men and women around him all remained at their stations, while similar scenes repeated themselves on the decks below.
“Not happening, sir.” Downing chuckled. “We’re here to the end. It’s been an honor serving with you.” Others echoed the sentiment.
“All of you as well.” Mako gave his final order. “Direct fire on the undamaged frigate.”
The frigates struck first, the impacts sending crewmembers flying about the bridge. The deafening boom, blinding white light, and flesh-melting heat hardly registered for Kyle Mako.
***
Rizer relaxed somewhat once the lighter escaped surface anti-aircraft range, but his apprehension returned as they approached the fleet. Nose pressed to the window, he watched the burning Deliverance battle three frigates as damaged Alliance cruisers moved to aid her. When the Deliverance’s heavy cannons vaporized one of the frigates, jubilant shouts filled the cabin, accompanied by whistles. Most didn’t have room to clap, packed in asshole to elbow. Rizer shouted with them, though his ominous dread did not abate. We aren’t out of this yet.
The gray bulk of the Resolute appeared in the window. A long line of dropships extended to her hull, awaiting landing. The carrier was plainly damaged, though the fire had been extinguished. I hope she can still jump. Rizer had no idea of enemy naval strength but figured this might be the advanced guard. Either we get out or we’re done for.
“Fuck, this wait is killing me.” Leone fidgeted, breeching the limits of her personal space.
It might kill all of us. He didn’t have to say it.
Even Bach kept quiet on the subject. Perhaps the literal pain in his ass had distracted the consummate fatalist. Blood from his leaking buttock created a small, slippery puddle, so the wound might be more than superficial. He leaned heavily on Rizer and Leone.
Minutes passed like months. Not even on Forge had Rizer felt time pass so sluggishly. But soon the Resolute’s hull filled every window. Seconds later, the lighter hovered in the dropship hangar.
There a writhing press of Marines in sooty, battered armor was jammed in amongst the dropships. Some gesticulated as they shouted orders, while others milled about waiting for someone to give them an order.
“God damn,” Leone barely dared whisper.
“A fucking madhouse,” Rizer muttered.
Last on, first off, Doom Squad’s three survivors disembarked from the lighter before any of the other Marines.
A Navy lieutenant in skins, standard shipboard battle dress, pointed to the left over and over, his arm a mechanism. “Clear the bay! Head to the briefing room, deck AA14! Jump in under five! Let’s move!” he shouted as spent soldiers filed past.
Other Marines passed Rizer and Leone, who trudged along with the burden of Bach. Past the lieutenant, they encountered no personnel giving further directions to the briefing room, so they followed the other Marines.
Rizer spotted several wounded Marines being loaded onto small hover trucks to take them to sickbay. Generals Hella and Brox, along with some of their staff, supervised the process.
A captain, in scorched black and thoroughly dented power armor, knelt above a severely injured private who had an IV bag feeding into his arm. Rizer recognized them.
“You just hang in there a few more minutes, son,” Capt Carr said to PFC Duran as two med bots lifted the stretcher.
“You’d better live, Duran,” Rizer said as he approached. “You’re not a boot anymore.”
Duran slowly turned his head, gasped a laugh at the sight of Rizer. “Aye aye, corporal.” The bots loaded him up.
Capt Carr stared at them, momentarily stupefied by their appearance. “Thank God you three made it. I was hoping to see more of Murder up here.”
“How many made it, sir?” Rizer asked.
“Counting you three?” Carr snorted in disgust for everything that brought them to this point. “Less than a dozen that I’ve seen so far. We gotta move. Get strapped in for the jump.”
Hella approached, followed by a hulking master sergeant. The general exhorted med bots and corpsmen to get the wounded loaded faster. “You two.” He strode to Rizer and Leone, pointed to Bach. “Get that Marine loaded up with the wounded; jump is imminent.” He squinted at Bach’s ass, shook his head. “Don’t want to be sitting down when we blast off, Marine.”
“No, sir!” Bach emphatically shook his head.
Rizer and Leone got his reeling body moving toward a cart, with Carr following. A faint rumble echoed through the hangar, vibrated the deck.
“Shit, we’re taking fire!” Hella roared. “General Brox, take command down here. Rocco, assist the general. I’m going to the bridge. It’s time we got the hell outta here!”
The next explosion shook the deck, bowling half the room from their feet. Rizer and Leone nearly fell as well, almost lost control of Bach.
Leone shook off her nerves. “Shit, that hit was close!”
And if the jump drive is hit… Rizer cut off that thought as they helped Bach onto the truck. “I hate long goodbyes.”
“Good thing we don’t have time for one.” Bach grunted as they laid him face down on a stretcher. “Pray for me, Marie.”
“You know it, pal. I’ll even light a candle for your sorry ass.”
“No pun intended, I’m sure.” Rizer released Bach to his fate. “Catch you soon, buddy.”
Carr said, “Let’s move.” He led the way through a maze of passages to a cavernous auditorium used for mission briefings, with seating for several squadrons of pilots as well as support personnel. All seats featured jump harnesses.
Rizer, Leone, and Carr crammed their armored bodies into three seats in the last row of empty chairs and strapped in.
“Dupaul gave the order for orbital strike,” Carr said.
“Yes, sir, I heard the transmission.” Rizer turned enough to study the man’s haggard face.
Carr grimaced and shook his head. “It should have been me, but Hella ordered me off Verdant and Dupaul volunteered to stay, perhaps the most selfless act I’ve ever witnessed.”
Rizer agreed, to a point. He’d witnessed many selfless acts over the last few hours. “He’ll get the Medal of Valor for it, sir. His family will know he died a hero.”
“Yeah. I’m sure that chunk of metal will bring them great solace.”
***
Borland hung back as her flock of Ravens flew single file into the Resolute’s hangar. No Mantas appeared on scope, but she’d received reports of several squadrons headed back to their carriers for hot reload. Of course, those were the least of her worries. The frigates had reached striking range. The Resolute’s bow shield stopped several cannon shots, but two made it through.
Dammit! The countdown, T-minus 1:31, displayed on her HUD now meant nothing. Under fire, Admiral Erskin would jump at damn near any moment.
The instant the last of her fighters entered the hangar, she accelerated to follow, disregarding SOPs of maximum landing speed and minimum approach interval.
The Resolute’s flight control officer came on the radio. “Wave off, Raptor leader! You’re coming in too hot.”
“Really? You guys gonna wait around for me? Just keep the damn door open!”
The jump prep order must have been given just then, for the hangar doors began sliding shut. She had perhaps fifteen seconds before they denied her access to the belly of the beast.
“Asshole! You better hope those doors close faster!” Because I’m gonna deck your ass if I make it!
Flight control responded by repeating the original message. Comfortably aboard ship, he could afford to remain calm. He finally panicked when she zoomed within five hundred meters. “Pull up, dammit!”
The doors had nearly closed, the space now too narrow to fly through horizontally. And she was indeed coming in too fast to turn back. Fuck it, better to crash in there than die out here. At least she might survive the crash.
Borland rolled to vertical, shot through the gap with perhaps a meter to spare altogether. Activating reverse thrusters, she tried to get the Raven back on keel, but with the sudden deceleration, her harness dug in and jerked her body. The Raven wobbled through the air past parked fighters, headed straight for one in midair that flight control had snagged with the tractor beam.
You stupid fucks! But she’d expected as much, having noticed over the years that non-combatants rarely broke with SOP.
She flew just beneath the fighter and deployed her landing gear. That collapsed when she slammed into the deck, raising a shower of sparks. Air traffic control bots and ground support personnel scattered as she slid toward Raptor and Viper’s parked Ravens. Flight control screamed into her ear as she tried to slow down with sheer force of will or, failing that, wishful thinking.
Predictably, neither method worked.
Borland gritted her teeth in the final moment before collision with another Raven. Her head whipped forward on impact, though the harness held the rest of her stationary with unyielding rigidity. That would bruise. She bit her tongue. Icepick pains shot through her neck.
Safe, she sighed, leaned her head back against screaming nerves as damage alarms sounded in her ears. Then she remembered: she had no time to relax.
She popped the canopy, began making her way from the cockpit with assistance from crash-rescue bots. Her fighter’s fuselage was scorched from laser blasts and dented by flying debris. Her nose smashed in during the collision. How the hell did I make it?
A bot pointed toward a nearby door. “In there, ma’am, you need to strap down, emergency jump protocols in effect!”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” she muttered, heading for the door. She started running when another shot pounded the Resolute.
***
All personnel on the Resolute’s bridge sat at their workstations, strapped in ahead of the jump. All hangars were sealed. The jump drive waited, online and primed, ready to go. Another round snuck through the bow shield and shook the ship, destroying a maintenance bay, according to the damage report Erskin received moments later.
God dammit! She had hoped the killing was over, but it would continue for a few more moments. And at my own hand.
The Resolute couldn’t jump without the damaged area sealed off, meaning those who had survived the attack would perish during the jump. She had no choice. With dread reluctance, she pressed the prompt to seal and lock all doors leading to the area.
“Aft shield at ten percent, ma’am,” said her defense officer.
No more. “Engage jump drive. Send the order to the fleet.”
“Engaging jump drive!” her engineering chief responded. A warning claxon sounded, echoing through the ship.
“All hands prepare to jump. Three, two, one, jump!”
The jump engines cycled for a moment before kicking in, plastering the crew into their seats for roughly a second before the inertial dampers could compensate to protect the crew and cargo from being crushed by the tremendous acceleration of the jump. The stars onscreen elongated, blurred, disappeared, their brightness mixing with the darkness of space into a mottled gray. The incoming fire alarm ceased. With a brief buffeting of g-forces, the ship continued its acceleration.
“Stretching into hyperspace.”
A powerful energy field enveloped the ship as space stretched around them. The ship entering the sub-region of space known as hyperspace, where the laws of general and special relativity could be circumvented, allowing the ship to jump vast distances at the expense of prodigious amounts of energy. The jump was completed within seconds. On screen, the Resolute appeared to be traveling through a swirling, flashing, gray and white vortex, bound for a perfectly black void they would never reach.
Re
lieved Erskin caught the foul odor of adrenaline sweat leaching from stressed bodies on the bridge. I smell as bad as any of them. Probably worse.
Though they had eluded death, no one celebrated their escape. Defeat. The word would hang around her neck for the rest of her life.
Having already lost hundreds of sailors, the next and final blow cracked the foundation of Erskin’s faith in her own leadership. The Deliverance hadn’t jumped; she found out why a second later from her comm officer. “Captain Hubbard called in just before jump, ma’am. His drive was disabled. He vowed to fight to the last man.”
“Good God,” she whispered, shaking her head. Over two thousand personnel crewed the Deliverance, all dead or soon to be dead. If only I had given the order sooner.
“You could have done nothing more,” Aaron Hella said from behind her, too muted for others to hear.
“Sir,” she said, rising, “good to see you in one piece.” Even if worse for the wear.
He wore grimy skins and had the gray, dusty face to match. Blood stained his uniform, though none of it appeared to be his. “We would all be in pieces if it weren’t for you. Good work, admiral.”
“If only I could have done more.”
“You did more than anyone could have expected. More than I’d hoped.” He would’ve known his words restored her spirit.
And now I have to break his. “General, we need to speak in private. We should adjourn to my quarters.”
He nodded. “Very well.”
“Admiral Hale, you have the bridge.”
Erskin briefed Hella on the tattered state of Sixth Fleet while they walked to her quarters, keeping the conversation on business; the rest had to wait. They reached her quarters too soon for her liking. She tried to remain neutral, keep her bearing, but her countenance cracked the instant the door slid closed.
“Aaron, I…” She couldn’t deliver the news, at least not now.
She didn’t need to. The grim look of fierce determination, Aaron’s usual expression, fell slack, downright drooped. He suddenly looked more his years than ever. “I hear what you’re trying to tell me.” He shook his head, looked away from her, eyes squinted.
War's Edge- Dead Heroes Page 48