Vindication

by Ken Wolfson

  "What about the pre-dark age dreadnought?" Adrian said.

  "My sensor techies confirmed that this ship's signature matches the Orion. I trust Adrian on this, much as he's violated discipline. I don't have the ships to screen it," Silver said. Finally someone was listening to him.

  "Confirm the call. I'm sending out a priority request to investigate and deal with it," Nelson said. Adrian gave Amelie a thumbs-up.

  "Copy that. I believe you, Admira,” Serbaya said. “I'll dispatch fighters and dragoons to assault the ship. It appears to be unscreened..."

  "Energy spike—gods, what a blast!" Pask yelled, back on the bridge. Static shrieked, stabbed into Adrian's ears, then cut off.

  "Admirals?" He looked to his bridge for answers.

  "Bogut was just destroyed. Energy flare and gone!" Pask shrieked, despite the close quarters.

  "I understand, Lieutenant. As you were." Then, after a quick survey of TACNET and the diagnostics, he gave his orders. "Fighter wing, resume your assault on Molyneux; your window is still open. Maximum burn."

  "Molyneux's got her own interceptors closing the window. We'll try and bludgeon it," Cross said.

  "Copy. Fire control, send off a volley. Every nuke you've got left to support our fighters," Adrian said.

  Serbaya's last order progressed towards the lost nightmare: twelve battlecruisers, four dreadnoughts, and a thousand Jotunns strong. There was another flare from its lasers, and four battlecruisers disappeared. Adrian counted down from sixty. Another flare, and four more battlecruisers vanished. The remainder routed towards the open planet. Sixty seconds. A third salvo wiped the rest from the skies of Volantis.

  Nelson and whoever now had the banner of fifth fleet dispatched a small armada of carriers and faster attack ships to hit the lone relic.

  The Rayven united and struck that small armada, crushing it back into the main body of the fleet. They were flanked

  "Sir, what do we do?" Cage said.

  "Do your duty," Adrian said.

  Emoche counterattacked his main fleet into the fresh ranks of fifth fleet. Simultaneously, the flanking Wendago threw into Fifth's rear echelons, swarming the carriers. Nelson ordered them to continue the assault. The main Hullen fleet was collapsing, they just needed a push to fall. Whoever was in command of Fifth Mollar didn't respond. The capitols lost cohesion, became individual units firing in random directions.

  Fifth fleet showed their plasma drives to the enemy, and broke orbit.

  "Where are you going? Turn back!" Nelson said. A radio channel crackled, off. "We have the enemy within our reach—turn around and fight like Hallard's chosen!"

  Adrian took off his headset and watched their salvation blue-shift, pursued by Wendago. And with them went the lives of a billion people. His adrenaline rush faded and the old aches returned. What had he fought for?

  All that was left were two depleted fleets and the terrified PDF.

  "Sir, we're going to be trapped in low orbit. All exit vectors are covered and those Wendago are regrouping," Cage warned.

  Be a fucking soldier. “We stay until ordered to leave.” He pulled his headset back on, and got to work sorting out the situation.

  "Admiral Nelson, our position is untenable." Silver voiced the truth on the command channel.

  "I know. Execute the Ithaca contingency. Go to delay defense. Extract all support units and FTL-mobile non-fleet units from Volantis. We're withdrawing ASAP," Nelson said. "Oh, and Commander Huxton, since I know you’re still on this channel, you may execute your evacuation plan."

  "You heard the Lord Admiral. We're evacuating," Silver said. "EVAC course will be set and convoy assignments given out. Extract south towards Violet anchorage and make sure you're ready to go." Adrian cut the connection.

  "Zoey, punch me in to the Lord Governor," Adrian said. She did so. "Vindication-actual, Lord Governor, do you copy?"

  "I copy. There were fireworks in the streets minutes ago. What's going on?"

  "Emoche Hulle has arrived with a pre-dark age dreadnought. The fleet is withdrawing. Order the planetary evacuation." The Volantenes would be panicking in the streets as stream anchors spread the word. Parents would be grabbing their kids from school to get on the nearest transport, if they could get through the clogged streets.

  "I understand. Make sure DUMPTRUCK gets underway; I'll send them a letter of requisition." His voice cracked at 'understand.'

  "I will."

  Adrian radioed Mirra next. "Vindication, Serpentia, DUMPTRUCK is a go."

  "Way ahead of you, sir. I've set course for our drop point. Fleet command's not liking us leaving formation," Mirra said. Alarms rang behind her. Several dreadnoughts on the edge of optimal were taking potshots.

  "Have you received a letter of note from the Lord Governor’s office?" Adrian said. Vindication flew across the planet's blue-white sky, three battlecruisers in tow.

  "There it is, very good. Sir, a question." Aleph anchorage's lights went dark. Now the only illumination along the island-sized hull was from fires burning on internal oxygen, and the lights of shipping fleeing her hangar bay.

  "Go on," Adrian said.

  "Where do we go from here?" There was a quaver in her voice, despite her angry tone.

  "We retreat to a new fortress, and we come up with a new plan," he said. That was a lie; right now he had no authority to strategize for the fleet.

  "Can we beat them?"

  "I don’t know, but we cannot afford to lose to them so we must carry on," Adrian said. "Take DUMPTRUCK and run. Evacuate any House Nessella personnel you find at the. I'll assign Delta 3 squadron to escort you. Don't wait for us whatever happens; your mission is too critical to risk in any delays."

  "Yes, sir. May Mother Winter watch over you, I guess." She ended the call.

  “Comms, make sure fleet command doesn’t need us for anything. Soon as we’re clear of duty, helm interpose us over the rally point. Don’t get close enough to tip off the enemy, but keep within support range.” He could only watch as sixth peeled away from the route, and began the abandonment of the planet.

  With combat ceased for a moment, he pulled up a news feed on his personal comp. Civilians flooded the snow-covered streets carrying suitcases, swords, and children in their arms. They should have been on the anchorages when the fighting started, they were already dead. And those standing defiant to fight, he was so sorry but there’d be none of that.

  Six hours later, Serpentia rose from her berth and burn into the glare of the rising sun, four battlecruisers in tow. There wasn’t time for a goodbye, as immediate a dozen dreads targeted her. Once more, Vindication was alone.

  And over the next few hours Armada withdrew latitude by latitude down the planet. Woe to anyone left behind, as the screaming distress call and glow of wreckage re-entering atmosphere testified.

  "Where's the Lord Governor? Find him!" Adrian said. He popped his flask and finished what little remained. Fuck, he needed a drink bad.

  "Got him. His shuttle is lifting off the landing pad. The governor’s liner, Crusade 1 was shot down from orbit minutes ago, and he's got nowhere to go," Zoey said. Adrian gritted his teeth at the prospects.

  "Confirm he's aboard the shuttle, then tell him we'll take him aboard. Assign interceptors to run cover and put us on an intercept course.” Johnathan's shuttle easily fit in the number one hangar bay. Silver sounded the final call for retreat. Refugees were still streaming off the planet, even as their guards turned plasma up to high burn and departed. At least one liner plunged planet wards, a hole melted straight through by military grade plasma exhaust.

  "All fighters are landed," Amelie said. She wiped her eyes every few seconds to stop her tears. "The blues are hitting refugee ships as they try to leave."

  "Match course with the fleet. We're leaving," Adrian said.

  Volantis receded into a white-grey ball ringed with fire as distress calls continued to wash over every radio and extranet channel. So this was what it was like, he thought, to stand
up high and look down on the masses. To know your actions directly affected everyone.

  Amelie keyed her comp into one of the civilian frequencies and listened the traffic.

  “The Wendago are hitting all up and down the coast, looks like they’re going for the flak towers, our base should be fine. Wait, oh my winter that one’s coming right at us, look at the fucker!”

  “Mom, Dad, I’m sorry I dropped out of high school, I’m sorry I ran out. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you begged me to evacuate, I hope you’re safe with baby Saul up there. To all my vlog brothers, I hope you’re on a ship fleeing far away from here, the demons are coming!”

  "This is Cara anchorage. We have 300,000 civilians and are trying to evacuate, but the blues are blockading us. Where is our help?"

  #

  Chapter Forty-Three: Annihilation

  "Mother, what do we do?" Roland said. The hold of their personal yacht was freshly emptied of people. The refugees had left empty food wrappers and a one-armed teddy bear sitting on the overstuffed armchair

  "Are you sure the fleet has withdrawn?" she said. She sat at the helm, with both hands white-knuckled on the throttle. Roland gripped the radio receiver with sweaty hands and got back on the line. Thrusters were on, pushing the shovel-shaped liner back towards the blue ball that was Volantis at 4g of acceleration.

  "Yes, they've officially pulled out. Only the PDF remains," he said. His mother took a quick look at the sensors. Roland scampered back to peer over her shoulder. They were just passing the last line of pickets now. Beyond this point, the Wendago lurked.

  "The evacuation is clearly still going." Roland squinted and made out railgun flares, faint flickers crisscrossing across the growing white ball that was his home.

  "The blues are shooting everyone. The bastards will kill us if we go back," he said. His stomach churned at the inexorable approach of Volantis. It was like a freight train, and he was rooted to the tracks.

  "We could save a hundred more in here," mom said. Her hand shook on the throttle. Roland wasn't used to this, his mother terrified. And every second, Volantis grew larger. Now it took up a third of the window.

  "Mom, should we turn around?" he asked. He adjusted his black tights. They were warm under his shorts, but now his sweat had soaked them.

  "I..." She took a long, deep breath. "No, we're going back one more time. Get on the sensor sweeps and take lookout for good measure. Make sure I don't hit any debris." Roland shook his head. This idea was all very stupid. "You heard me, do it!"

  "Yes, Mom." He grabbed the sensor station and rolled the magnetic clamps to the window. She pushed the throttle down to 3 g. Roland was planted to the floor as the yacht plowed ahead.

  His doubts were washed away when he opened the airlock and the terrified masses poured in.

  "Children first, then families!" the lone prefect on duty yelled. The overweight mall cop reached out with his stun coil and zapped a squat man trying to duck through in a lady's threadbare cape.

  "We've got the atmosphere for eighty," Roland said to him. He tried to count, but there were too many. They filled every corner of the hold. "There's two bedrooms and a galley in the back right, past the helm. Keep going!" His bed was already ruined from the previous three loads; what did one more matter?

  "That's eighty, stop." The prefect stepped into the airlock. The crowd surged, pushing him to the step. He fired up his stun coil. Women screamed, but he pushed the crowd back. "Shut the airlock and run!" he bellowed. Roland ran to the lever. A spindly woman grabbed his arm to tight her claws dug through his skin. She dragged him back with inexplicable force.

  "My husband's still on there!" she howled. There was a crack, and she fell over. Behind her stood an older, sturdier woman with a metal carrying case in her one arm.

  "Do not be afraid. Mother Winter cares for all. Now get the door, boy," she said.

  "Thank you," Roland said, and shut the airlock. His mother gunned the thrusters. By the time he shoved his way back to the sensors, she was clear of the station arms and in free space. Something bounced off the windshield. He saw a bloated face, black uniform, and waving blonde hair. Roland squeezed his eyes, but that purple face was burned into his memory. She wasn’t the only one. Red-hot wreckage drifted through space. Dozens of ships, he lost count of how many, maneuvered through it. A lone fleet destroyer loomed ahead, all its railguns firing somewhere over the blue horizon.

  "Mom, stick near the destroyer. It'll protect us," he said.

  "You're supposed to avoid the destroyer love; it'll draw their fire away from us," she answered. Then, she turned away and drove for deep space.

  “Oh, right,” Roland said. They formed a rough convoy with the other civilian ships. Some prefect in a corvette was trying to organize things.

  Light flared in the corner of the window. "Debris, Mom, hard stick up!" Roland yelled. She yanked the throttle up. Their tissue-paper barriers flickered as a chunk of armor plating grazed the yacht's belly. Roland saw internal corridors and still-flickering lights race past. He looked about for the source.

  "Holy shit, the destroyer went up." Around the wreck drifted several shredded yachts and a skippy liner, venting atmosphere. Suffocating people hammered at the windows. Mom had been right, as always.

  A young boy in an aviator hat grabbed his shoulder. "Excuse me, mister, but those are fighter bombers," he said. Roland followed his finger, and saw a collection of blue drive-trails.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah, my mommy is an interceptor pilot. She showed me what all the fighter types look like. The bombers have the two big engine signatures. Those are fighter-bombers." Roland studied the data coming off his sensors.

  "I sure hope you're wrong, because they're heading right at us, and there's a lot of them." The boy shook his head. Aw, shit, that was bad. "Mom, I think there's blue fighter bombers coming."

  Saying that aloud was a bad idea. People screamed in the hold. "Go faster!" someone yelled.

  Someone else screamed over Roland's earpiece. A mid-sized cargo hauler gave off a distress signal, and then became shrapnel. A passenger liner joined them in dust. Then, another. A handful of PDF fighters rose to meet them from Cara anchorage, but there weren't nearly enough. Roland saw them out the window. The swirling lights of many engine contrails. And then, one by one, the starburst of other ships exploding.

  "Mom, look out!" he said. She turned their nose towards deep space, and held down the thruster. A skippy liner cut in front of them. "Mom!" She swerved above it and kept burning. A line of lights raced past their nose.

  Tracers. Behind, the skippy liner was raked end to end. Through its transparisteel walls, he saw the air itself burning, and people packed at the windows, going up in flame. He pressed his nose to the windows, looking for where they came from. Two blue engine trails crossed the screen. Roland succumbed to the panic blossoming within his chest. "Mom, run! Come on, they're chasing us!"

  "I'm trying!" The fighter dropped on their tail and closed range with the effortless stroke of its drives. Now he saw it in the flesh, a glowing crescent against the stars, with four engine pods and numerous weapons hardpoints bulging off the main hull. Same as a fleet fighter-bomber, but he'd never seen it from this angle before.

  Roland grabbed his radio. "This is the yacht Kressida, carrying eighty civilians. We surrender. Repeat, we surrender, don't shoot!" Two torpedoes fired off and his passengers shrieked. "Mommy!” his throat seized up and choked his words off.

  White tracers sprayed from outside his view and intersected the torpedoes from a dozen directions. Shrapnel rattled Kressida's hull. Tracers closed down on the fighter-bomber, and it disintegrated.

  Roland clamped his hand over his mouth; the passengers cried out as their deaths passed. A double engine trail crossed the window. Then another, then two, then five, then dozens upon dozens upon hundreds.

  Something utterly massive rolled past. Roland looked up, and kept looking up. He saw black armor slabs outlined by runni
ng lights, lined with autocannon turrets and launch tubes and open hangar bays.

  "Kressida, this is Vindication. We've got you," the gravelly voice said. Roland was distracted for a moment, because heroes were supposed to sound heroic. Then he saw the giant V painted on her flank, and lost all doubt.

  "Copy, Vindication...good luck," he stuttered out.

  "That's Adrian Huxton!" the little boy screamed.

  #

  Chapter Forty-Four: Skies of Volantis

  Junes 12

  72nd Day of the War

  "Space group, your MO is simple. Protect the evacuation, kill the hostiles," Adrian said.

  "Copy. Weapons hot," Cross said. The Hullen fighters weren't expecting opposition. They were flying in loose formation, leisurely picking off civilian ships like berries off a tree. The Knights turned them into a shooting gallery, picking them off in seconds. The blue destroyers were obliterated by torpedo volleys. Cage cloaked the anchorage's space with chaff to make any long-range attacker work for their firing solution.

  "Vindication, I'm not going to lie, I'm pretty thrilled you came back for us." It was same high-pitched man.

  "Cara, Vindication, can you get your people out?" Zoey said.

  "Harbor control estimates we've got enough transports in the hangar and escape pods to get them all off. Can you take a few thousand yourselves?"

  "Yes, we can, just get them into space," Adrian said. His eyes went to the horizon for hostiles. For the moment, every Hullen was occupied and space was quiet.

  "Thank you. Say, since you're alone, what're you going to do if the blues come in force while we're evaccing?" Ask a stupid question…Adrian bit down on a snappy retort.

  "Just evacuate your people. Our hangars are open for your lifeboats."

  "Thank you, Anvil."

  "Serpentia is decelerating and requesting permission to join us," Zoey said. Adrian almost smiled at her blue carrier signature. Someone liked him.

  "Negative, Captain. Tell Major Gorden and her escort to get the fuck out with DUMPTRUCK now!" Amelie barked.

  "Copy.