Vindication

by Ken Wolfson

  Adrian's expression broke her heart.

  "What's our flight time to the jump shelf?" he said. Old coping mechanism; throw himself into his work so he forgot about the emotional trauma, lest it ruin his combat effectiveness.

  "Twelve hours to the slingshot, fourteen more to the shelf," Grissom said. Adrian grabbed another water bottle and took a long drink. The seats had catheters and recyclers, which eased the discomfort of prolonged high-g acceleration. Any bruising or internal organ damage could be repaired by some healing stims from the hospital.

  "Righteous has got the better propulsion system, correct?" he said.

  "Aye, she's got the new DI-Kap Mark V plasma drives, capable of reaching 100 gs," Technical Lieutenant Dogger said. Adrian winced; those engines were fresh off the export freighter. "We're mounting fucking Apollo-II drives. Nobody even makes Apollos anymore."

  "And we max at 90. Tarly will put the thruster into the red and attack either during or after the slingshot," Adrian said. And she'd be throwing nukes around. She wanted him dead.

  "Which one?" Cage said.

  "Well, we'll be more vulnerable during the slingshot, but it'll be too easy for us to put the slip and get an unbreakable head start into open space. After, and they'll have twelve hours to gun us down. I'm going with after." That's what he'd do if he wanted a target dead then and there.

  The hours passed in mutual heat, 100,000 kilometers apart. Grissom and the navigation department pulled off the slingshot flawlessly. Righteous and her group did the same.

  "Righteous group's acceleration has increased to 70g," Grissom reported.

  "Match them," Adrian said. The acceleration clambered up past 65g.

  "That's the best she's got. Sorry, sir we left some stuff behind at Vykhor," Grissom said through his beard, dragging his face down. TACNET threw up different scenario projections for Righteous' intercept time. The result was clear; Vindication wouldn't make it to the jump shelf without a fight. Indeed, as the hours ticked past, the range closed; Grissom counted down by thousand kilometers.

  "Hostile torpedo launch from both CVs, no radiological signature," Amelie declared at sixty-thousand kilometers.

  "Full power to the main weapons grid," Adrian said. He saw the power levels dip as the railguns opened up. A wall of 40mm slugs rose up to greet the uninvited guests.

  On TACNET, both hostile carriers' blue signatures blossomed like flowers as they launched fighters.

  "FICOM, initiate full combat launch. We've got a long, stern chase ahead," Adrian said.

  “Fighters up,” Amelie said.

  He imagined Cross and her jockeys immersed in flight suits, nervous sweat mixing with the impact fluid that extended their tolerance up to 30:1. As their fighters idled in the launch tubes IVs pumped stimulants into their blood to make them hyper-aware and keep them conscious during high-g maneuvers. They were running their tenth pre-flight check. Any malfunction could kill them on launch.

  Their crew chief gave them a thumbs-up and green lights flare. The pounding of their hearts drowned out the pain of their hands white-knuckling the throttle. Then the electromagnetic rails fire and 0-100g acceleration slammed them into their seat, digs the five-point harness into their ribs. The launch tube raced by, and they're flung through open space. And already a swarm of fighters was bearing down on them, each flown by a pilot they'd been flying alongside hours ago.

  The double carrier strike broke across Vindication's perimeter, and her Knights rose up to meet them. TACNET blurred red and blue; Furies whirled through the middle while the slower Jotunns held formation around the perimeter. A wing of blue signatures broke free, FLICOM cried a warning, and several hundred atlatl torps accelerated to terminal velocity.

  "Come on," Cage said, and highlighted them for destruction. Point defense fire, aimed by computers but guided by human gunners, followed. At this range it wasn't enough. Adrian felt the impact in a faint shudder of magnetic feedback, and displays dropping.

  "Barriers at 80, 70, 65 and holding," Amelie said. "Negative hull penetration."

  The assault retreated back to its mother carriers, leaving the Knights masters of the perimeter. "Start the recharge cycles," Adrian said.

  Both battlecruisers moved up with interceptor support and opened fire. Jabbar swung out to rake their dorsal barriers while Lillard dipped below to hit the ventral fields.

  "We're taking fire from multiple vectors. Engineering can't stabilize our barriers," Amelie said.

  "Those BCs only have a few squadrons screening. Let's kill them," Cage said, already calculating the torpedo launch.

  "Negative. They're just a screen; we can tank their fire for now," Adrian said. The carriers had to be reduced. Every bombing wave would chew another chunk out of his defenses. "Time to go on the offensive. All Jotunn wings and Furie wings argo and charlie will drop three thousand kilometers dorsal wards, then turn and burn along vector zero sigma two two. As soon as they're in range, target Endeavor exclusively. Cage, fire mission on Endeavor, and continue torpedo salvoes until target is disabled."

  Cage studied the flight path. "You're looping them around to hit Endeavor from the flank?"

  "Two carriers will eventually overwhelm us. Righteous alone we can delay long enough to reach the jump shelf. So we focus on the weaker Endeavor," Adrian said.

  "Yes, sir," Amelie said. "You understand that we're leaving ourselves exposed?"

  "They'll make it back," Adrian said. He wasn’t sure, but there was no alternative.

  "Yes, sir," Amelie said. Blue and red signatures moved across TACNET. Endeavor’s interceptors were supporting the battlecruisers. The Knights blew by them, Cross' Jotunn on point. The fibos split by wing to maximize their vectors, and then red-lined their thrusters on their attack runs. The carrier-launched torpedoes piled into the melee.

  Thermal sensors pointed at the carrier spiked as several hundred torpedoes overwhelmed her barriers and hit armor.

  "Righteous' fibos are launched and CBDR with fighter escort," Amelie said.

  "Have the Knights strafe Endeavor on the return thrust. Cage, next salvo is a full load of nukes," Adrian said.

  The Knights pivoted in space, pointed their thrusters back towards Tollyon and fired. Their velocity dropped to zero, then rose in the other direction, back towards home. With sheer balls they rushed through Endeavor and her returning fighter screen, heedless of incoming fire from both. Several craft intersected in quick, messy explosions that pulverized both pilots to the subatomic level.

  Then the nukes hit, and Endeavor disappeared under a cloud of static. When she emerged, sensors showed several hull breaches across her hangar decks, and resonating EMP charges going across her barriers. Not a knife to her heart, but an uppercut to her jaw. Cage continued firing, and while only a few torpedoes per salvo hit armor, their damage added up. Geiger counter readings spiked. Endeavor's acceleration cut fast.

  "Good run, FICOM. Get back here to cover our exposed asses," Adrian said.

  "Hauling ass, Actual," Cross replied through gritted teeth. They barely made it. The deck shook underneath Adrian's boots.

  "Barriers at 30 percent, multiple penetrations," Amelie said.

  "Hull breach frame 2-e," Lieutenant Pask called out. They couldn't enact repairs moving at such acceleration.

  "Copy. Perform space reloads; now we hit the battlecruisers," Adrian said.

  Within two more runs, both battlecruisers drifted aft with total navigation kill. Jabbar lost power and launched escape pods. Lillard kicked on her maneuvering thrusters and limped away. Only Righteous remained. Adrian checked their course; they were two hours out; six hours had passed in combat time.

  "Range is ten thousand kilometers. I just might win this race," Grissom said.

  "That's the distance my stomach has fallen," Cage muttered.

  "We're being hailed by Righteous. She's using the white flag protocol," Sare said.

  Adrian didn't want to talk. But if it delayed Tarly, he'd do it.

  "Put h
er on intercom," Adrian said.

  Static crackled over the loudspeakers as the comms connection cut through the jamming.

  "Adrian, you have one chance to live and save your crew. Power down your reactors and surrender unconditionally. Emoche Hulle has granted you one chance for clemency. It's more than hundreds of thousands of your comrades have." So there it was, official confirmation of her treason.

  They'd tried to kill him. And what about his crew? He was a famous name; he might get away like nobles sometimes did, but his crew were out of the spotlight.

  "That's generous. He sent my own crew to kill my daughter and I on the Anchorage," Adrian said.

  "The Prophet’s order was to take you alive. If some idiot enlisted disobeyed, that's not my concern. I'm a noble born, and I take orders seriously. Now both of you are coming home with me."

  Good; she didn't know Alyssa was trapped on Tollyon. She had a chance. Adrian pushed that relief to the back of his mind before it interrupted the combat zone. He had to probe Tarly first.

  "I always thought you loyal to the armada. How did he convince you to commit the worst offense?"

  "You can't see the picture from down there. Let me tell you, for I've got a clear view up here. The United Systems is finished. Its been 40 years and just as many people are starving as before the rebellion. Emoche will build us the world The Founder wanted, including the little people like you," Tarly said.

  “Really, why did you join him?” Adrian said.

  “If I serve him, I get my title back. Our prophet appreciates the strong. That’s why he’ll let you and your bastard live when you surrender here,” Tarly said.

  His daughter, who Venko had stolen away, and the traitors had tried to kill. Maybe Alyssa was dead on the Anchorage, her corpse puffed up beyond a stick figure, eyes boiled to vapor in her empty sockets, and swollen purple from burst blood vessels, drifting through the vacuum. Maybe she was still alive and cowering in a dark corner, choking on scorched air while the explosions drew near.

  "You know, I just wanted to retire and be a father, not get stabbed in the back and fight another fucking war," Adrian said.

  "And I just wanted to live up to my father's dreams for me, to rule our house and all its lowborn tenants as the great lady he saw. I got stabbed in the back too, by my own blood, and now Emoche is going to fix it. Once he does, our grievance will be at an end. What say you?" Adrian rolled his eyes.

  "My lady, you should know. A Commander of the United Systems doesn't negotiate with traitors."

  He drew a finger across his throat. Sare killed the communication.

  "Full strike on Righteous. Cage, firing solution, full nuclear."

  The fighter wings came out simultaneously.

  "Yes, sir," Cage said. "Sir, I've got half a salvo of nuclear warheads left in the magazines."

  "Launch them. Don't worry about after this fight; just survive here," Adrian said. Righteous was superior in the barriers and armor, and hadn’t been crippled by Wendago. The outcome of the fight wasn’t in doubt.

  Hundreds of blue signatures crossed the seven-thousand kilometers between their carriers. As they were entering torpedo range, Righteous launched her own fighter wing. Blue bombers and red interceptors crossed paths in space. Autocannon fire was exchanged, and a few ships from either side splattered, but both wings were moving at too high a velocity to peel off their attack vectors and dogfight.

  Again, Berics made her attack run. She wove through the point defense grid and loosed her shot, the rest of the Knights following behind. Hundreds of conventional torpedoes detonated on the opposing supercarrier's narrows. The nuclear missiles landed seconds later. Static blotted out Righteous's signature.

  A couple hundred red Jotunn signatures emerged and dove on Vindication. The interceptor screen rose to engage. Righteous's interceptors punched a hole and her Jotunns raced through to launch. There was nothing Adrian could do but watch the torpedoes throw themselves into his point defense grid, and hope his defenses were enough.

  "Last salvo of chaff away," Cage said and launched. "This had better—"

  Screaming metal and thunderous explosions ate the rest of his words. Adrian's head was whipped so far backwards his spine wrenched, despite his seat's collar. Agony raced up his back. Had he broken his neck? No, he could still feel his arms pressed into his seat.

  Sparks showered the bridge. Clouds of black smoke followed. With a roar, a beam crashed through the ceiling. Sare went splat into his seat. Gravity pressurized blood sprayed against the back wall. An arm flopped out of the debris.

  As quick as it started, the broadside stopped. Screams rang through the bridge. People Adrian was supposed to protect died.

  "Status report?" Adrian said.

  "Barriers at 10%, hangar bay 7 is breached," Amelie said. All crew in bay 7 was dead. EVA suits didn't protect their bones from being pulped in the hurricane of explosive decompression. "We don't have enough armor left to handle a brawl."

  And Righteous? Adrian looked to TACNET. A cloud of superheated gas burst from her rear. Her running lights flickered but held steady, and she barreled on without heed.

  "Helm, ETA until FTL?" Adrian said.

  "Jump shelf is 15 minutes," Grissom said. His beard trailed behind him in its braids, rings glinting in the spotlights.

  "Begin preparations," Adrian said.

  "Copy. Spools are spinning up."

  Righteous' drives flared, and somehow, she accelerated again. On TACNET she slipped inside the dotted line that was PD grid range. Cage didn't wait for the order to fire; he punched in targeting data and barked a command. The supercarriers hosed each other down at thousands of 40-millimeter rounds per second. Minimally effective, but satisfying.

  "Knight fibos are reloaded," Amelie said.

  "Launch and engage."

  Both CVS’ signatures blossomed with hundreds of Jotunns and those accelerated to attack. The PD grid and Furies on defense stopped most of the incoming, but not all. 20 torpedoes slipped through and smacked Vindication across her nose. With her barriers a flicker, the impact was devastating.

  "Sir, there's an emergency in the radio nest," Cage said. Despite the high-g maneuvers, he was crawling about the bridge on Velcro handholds to cover several stations.

  "Situation?" Adrian said.

  "A power surge ignited an electrical fire in the radio nest. It reached flashover in seconds. Firemen are just tackling now. Survivors from my—our technical are unlikely.” Adrian's only reaction to the burning demise of possibly dozens of specialists was a nod. There had been, of course, numerous fail safes to prevent such a disaster. Yet in warfare, nothing was certain. And they all were expendable.

  They reloaded. In the CQB of >5000km fighter-bomber flight times were inconsequential.

  "Righteous launched another attack run—not sure we'll survive it!" Amelie said.

  "Commit all ships and EWAR to the fibo's flight path. Stop them before they can launch torpedoes," Adrian said. His interceptors and fibos combined into the dogfight as EWAR drones sprayed digital corrosion. It worked; the fibos were scattered. A few squadrons made individual attack runs, but these were swatted by the point defense batteries with ease.

  "FTL spools operational. I'm starting the clock," Grissom said. A digital clock folded down from the ceiling and counted down from 240. Grissom and every officer who could began the chant.

  "Lord Hallard, he the founder, guide us straight and true, hold our warp tunnel steady against oblivion. Lord Hallard, he the founder..."

  Righteous recalled her scattered squadrons for reload.

  "Recall all craft and brace." Adrian gave the order. This was the gamble; if Vindication couldn't jump before the torpedoes landed, she was dead. And he wasn’t sacrificing his fighter wing to save the carrier. Without them, she’d get a slower death.

  Righteous launched her final attack run.

  "60 seconds, just need to finish our chant," Grissom said.

  "Egress now!" Adrian cried.
/>   "Sir, without..."

  "We're dead already! Take some fucking initiative and jump to FTL!" Adrian drew his sidearm. The torpedoes raced through point defense fire, taking losses.

  "FTL engaged!"

  Grissom shoved down the giant titanium lever on his station. Adrian was deafened by the scream of tortured electronics. He fell from his seat into darkness.

  Part II: Adrian's Run

  Chapter Ten: No Easy Day

  Marves 30:

  1st Day of the War

  Adrian opened his eyes to see the crumbling ceiling illuminated blood red. Those were the battery powered emergency lights, which meant the power grid was down. Tendrils of black smoke curled across his vision and drifted back off through the flickering displays as a single alarm drilled into his skull.

  The air stank of melting plastic and dead bodies wrapped together into a horrible jack of all stenches, assaulting every sensory receptor in his brain. At least the crush of high gravity had faded, leaving him with plenty of throbbing bruising up and down his body. Fear crept through his body, using the pain as an opening.

  Were they dead?

  "Crew, report?" Adrian said. He breathed down the black smoke, burning his lungs.. He looked about the bridge. His crew was sprawled about on the floor or in their seats, twitching faintly. Amelie was on her back under her desk, eyes shut. Grissom was slumped face-down on his desk, blood trickling from his ears, hands still gripping the FTL lever. Both their chests rose and fell faintly. What was that alarm?

  Adrian stood. His sprained left ankle flared pain and folded, dropping him to his knees. He concentrated on the pain, pushed it to the back of his mind. Then he stood and put his full weight on it. It held.

  The alarm came from his console. He bent over and read.

  WARP TUNNEL: STABLE

  CIRCUIT BREAKER STATUS: TRIPPED, ALL LEVELS

  EMERGENCY BATTERY LIFE: 12 HOURS

  REACTORS:

  OFFLINE

  OFFLINE

  CRITICAL INTEGRITY FAILUIRE

  OFFLINE

  REBOOTING SEQUENCE