Flint had, on more than one occasion, been told that there were times when taking no action was the best response to a situation. However, sitting back and watching events unfold wasn’t in his nature and he wasn’t about to change now.
“So, when RL Moseley reaches the vault, he’s going to run a blast simulator, decide upon the exact combination of overstressed ternium and ingar and then he’s going to send a remote command to the reactor to set off the explosion,” said Maddox.
Fredericks gave a burst of laughter. “I reckon all that talk about simulators was just RL Moseley trying to make us feel better about his suggestion.”
“You thought that too?” asked Becerra.
“I know the type,” said Fredericks. “I doubt he has any intention of simulating anything. He’ll have what he needs up in there in his head. Or that’s what he’ll be telling himself.”
“I’m trying to convince myself you’re wrong,” said Flint.
“And those efforts aren’t working,” said Fredericks.
“Not much.” Flint sighed. “On the plus side, we won’t have to wait those few minutes for the simulator to complete.”
“It’s not too late to call this off, sir,” said Maddox. “You’re the most senior officer. Whatever you say is what goes.”
“Do you believe we should call it off, Commander?” Flint watched carefully for her reaction.
“One part of me wants to run for the hills, sir. That doesn’t mean I think it’s the right thing to do.”
“We’ll stick to the plan,” said Flint.
“Oh crap,” said Garrett. “One of the outer monitors has detected an unknown object at six million klicks from Tibulon.”
“Are we in its sensor sight?” asked Flint, jerking upright in his seat and grabbing the controls.
“No, sir, it’s blindside and with no visual line to our position.”
That, at least, was something.
“What is it? Find out!”
“I’m scanning constantly for ternium waves and I detected nothing,” said Fredericks in puzzlement. “The first enemy ship produced no recognizable signature either, so I’m convinced this is a second Kilvar warship.”
Flint was convinced as well. Once the Tibulon monitors obtained a lock it would remove any element of doubt.
“The outermost satellite has a visual,” said Garrett. “This second warship is smaller than the first – I estimate it at thirty billion tons.”
“Twice our mass,” said Fredericks. “And then some.”
Garrett put the feed onto the bulkhead. The inbound warship was coming head-on to the satellite, so the vessel’s overall shape wasn’t clear. From the front, it looked like a diamond, which gave Flint an approximate idea how it would appear in profile view.
“Nothing in our databanks matches it,” said Becerra.
“Kilvar,” said Flint. “Why’d they have to turn up now?”
“We’ll catch two in the reactor blast instead of one,” said Maddox. “Maybe we should be happy this second ship turned up.”
“I’d rather the enemy presence remained at one, Commander.” Flint bared his teeth. “This doesn’t change anything. We wait and when RL Moseley is ready, I’ll order him to blow the reactor.”
“There’s signal strength degradation on the link to the outer satellite, sir,” said Garrett. “The link is about to drop – I think the second Kilvar warship has done something to its power source. And…that warship has now vanished from the sensors.”
“It’s entered lightspeed,” said Flint. “Let’s hope they’re heading for the surface facility, rather than coming on patrol duty.”
“Scanning for hostiles,” said Becerra. “All clear so far.”
The Tibulon satellites located the second warship a couple of seconds later. It was half a million klicks over the planet and on a course that would take it straight to the refinery. Flint breathed a sigh of relief.
“Sir, the Langinstol has requested a channel!” said Becerra, rising from her seat.
“Accept it!”
“It’s Captain Vazox – he wants to speak.”
“Bring him in – open channel.”
“Captain Flint, explain the situation,” said Vazox without preamble.
Flint ran through the recent developments, including the arrival of the second Kilvar warship, while Captain Vazox listened so quietly the only indication of his continued presence in the channel was the green link light on the command console.
“I believe your annihilator and the Loadout are the only survivors of the initial engagement, Captain Vazox,” Flint concluded. “My own ship is undamaged, but our ternium drive was affected by an enemy weapon and it is no longer close to maximum output.”
“The Langinstol suffered no weapon impacts and we have regained a portion of our output.” The Daklan made a rumbling sound that might have been laughter or might have been a demonstration of fury. “Ideally I would not take my warship into battle.”
“Do you have lightspeed capability?” asked Flint.
“Yes. At a push we could enter a low multiple for a short time.”
“How low and how short? Nobody knows what will happen when the reactor blows. It might destroy the enemy spaceships, it might also take out the vault. Or it might do something we aren’t expecting.”
“I will place my money on the latter,” said Vazox. Once again, he made the noise of laughter or fury. Or maybe it was madness. “Once the blast has receded and your vessel is on the enemy’s horizon, I will order a short-range transit to the facility and together we will deal with what remains.”
“The Loadout should go first, Captain Vazox,” said Flint. “If the enemy warships are intact and invulnerable, there is no reason for us both to be destroyed.”
“That is not how it works in an alliance, Captain Flint. When you are on the horizon, we will come.”
Flint knew when it was time to argue and when it was time to be grateful humanity had allies as committed as the Daklan. “If there’s a second engagement, it needs to go better than the first.”
“Time will tell,” said Vazox.
The channel went dead, leaving Flint with a reminder of what it was to deal with an officer who knew exactly how to act in the face of adversity.
“I have RL Moseley on the comms now, sir,” said Becerra.
“Open channel,” said Flint.
“Captain Flint?” asked Moseley. “We’re almost ready to send the relevant commands to begin the ingar-ternium combination, but my colleagues and I have reached an impasse.”
“Why do I feel I’m not going to like what you’re about to say, RL Moseley?”
“We believe this is a decision for the most senior officer to make,” Moseley continued. “Essentially, we have two possible scenarios. The dangerous scenario and the less dangerous scenario.”
“Can’t you settle for the middle ground and then just blow the reactor?” asked Flint.
“If only it were so easy, Captain. The two variables over which we disagree allow for no middle ground. Assuming our calculations are correct.”
Flint had always been a fast learner and his mind raced ahead to the likely outcome of the conversation. “You’re about to spend the next five minutes feeding me speculation, before giving me a choice that I have no way of making an informed decision on. Is that a reasonable prediction as to my immediate future, RL Moseley?”
The channel remained quiet for approximately half a second. “Yes,” said Moseley.
“In that case, let’s go for the dangerous option.”
“The dangerous option it is, Captain. It’s the one I would have chosen myself.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Moseley had the tremendous ability to not hear the things he didn’t want to hear, and he didn’t answer the question. “I will initiate the reaction.”
“How long until it blows?”
“The reactor warmup process lasts eight minutes and then the reaction will begin.”
>
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“The reaction will take between one and two minutes to reach a critical stage,” said Moseley. “That is the moment the expulsion will happen. I can’t give you a precise number of seconds.”
“We’re dealing with two enemy spaceships now.”
“I know – Lieutenant Vance told me. Still, one, two, a hundred. The more the merrier when the blast goes off.”
Flint could only shake his head in wonder at the man’s unfailing cheerfulness. “Let me know when you initiate the warmup. We have backup from the Langinstol and we’re planning to sweep whatever’s left of Tibulon when the explosion fades.”
“We started the warmup about twenty seconds ago, Captain,” said Moseley. “When you agreed to the dangerous option, I gave a hand signal to my colleague and she began the process.”
“Good of you to let us know,” said Flint. He cut the channel and took a deep breath.
“I can’t help but like him a little bit. Quite a lot, in fact,” said Maddox. “At the same time, I can’t stop imagining what it would feel like to wring his neck.”
“The military needs as many RL Moseleys as it can lay its hands on,” said Flint. “I’m just glad I’m not dealing with him every day of the week.”
A frantic gesture from Lieutenant Becerra caused him to turn.
“We’ve lost another monitoring satellite, sir,” she said. “And other one is showing link degradation.”
“How many remain in a fully operational state?”
“Three.”
“They’re going to shut them down,” said Flint. He swore. “That’s going to make our lives a whole lot tougher.”
“Only if the enemy change position, sir,” said Maddox.
“Another satellite is now affected,” said Becerra. “That leaves two.”
“And we’ve got a few minutes before the reactor blows,” said Fredericks.
“And if you haven’t already realised, we’ll lose comms to the people in the vault when the last satellite does down,” said Garrett. “If there’s a problem with the reaction, or a delay, we won’t know about it.”
“The fog of war,” said Flint. “You either accept it and get on, or you let the blindness destroy your rational thought.”
“I remember that lesson as well, sir,” said Bolan. “They’re still teaching it.”
“That’s because it’s important,” snapped Fredericks with unusual anger.
“We’re not changing anything,” said Flint. “Lieutenant Garrett, speak to the comms team on the Langinstol and then contact whoever’s listening in the vault. Make them aware we’re about to lose comms to the surface personnel.”
“On it,” said Garrett.
Moments later, the final two monitor satellites were afflicted with the same power drain. They shut down quickly, which made it clear that the Kilvar weapon was far more effective against smaller ternium units than the multi-billion-ton modules found in most fleet warships. Flint filed the information away, in case it would be useful to the alliance’s propulsion scientists.
“Three minutes and the reactor warmup should be complete,” said Fredericks.
It was the warning Flint had been waiting for. Three minutes was enough for the crippled Loadout to cover the 120,000 kilometres separating it from Tibulon, with enough leeway to complete a leisurely half-circuit of the planet before arriving moments after the blast.
That was the plan, anyway, and certainly Flint wasn’t looking to arrive early to the party. Ideally, the blast would occur and he’d turn up at the refinery to discover an intact vault and two wrecked spaceships. The cynic in him didn’t think it would be so easy.
Requesting maximum power from the Loadout’s engines, Flint gritted his teeth at the discordant sound produced by the unrefined ternium. The velocity gauge limped upwards and peaked at 785 kilometres per second.
“Might want to slow it down a touch, sir,” said Garrett.
“We’ll reach Tibulon first and then I’ll reduce speed,” said Flint. He double-checked his figures. Tibulon was roughly Earth-sized and its circumference was 38,000 kilometres. The distance from his intended orbital arrival position to the facility was 16,000 kilometres, which was twenty- or thirty-seconds flight time, depending on how fast he decided to make the approach.
“I’ll reiterate that our reduced output means we can’t fire the particle beam, sir,” said Maddox.
“Thank you, Commander, I’m aware.”
“One minute and the reactor should begin the ingar-ternium combination,” said Fredericks. “Then another one or two minutes until it goes up.”
“We’re on target to reach the refinery in three minutes and thirty seconds,” said Flint.
“I’m maintaining a channel to the Langinstol, sir,” said Becerra. “I’ll advise them the moment we’re within a thousand kilometres of the detonation site.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Flint, making a correction to the Loadout’s heading which brought it into a gentle curve towards the planet. He intended to approach the refinery at an altitude of fifty kilometres, to deny the enemy sensor visibility for as long as possible.
Assuming they aren’t in pieces by then.
Tibulon’s grey, rocky surface was the only sight on many of the Loadout’s sensors. From this low altitude, loose stones and snaking cracks were sharply visible on the forward feed, while the underside feeds were a blur of sombre colours.
“The reactor warmup should have completed, sir,” said Fredericks. “We’re just waiting for the explosion. Or expulsion. Whatever the hell it is.”
“Between one and two minutes left,” said Flint. “Reducing velocity.”
A grinding beneath the floor and behind the walls greeted his attempts to decelerate. Still, the warship slowed, albeit with unmistakeable reluctance. Flint had piloted a variety of craft before this one and he was already adjusting to the reduced output, though having to deal with it was exceptionally galling.
For thirty seconds, Flint piloted the heavy cruiser so low across the surface of Tibulon that a single misjudgement would cause the warship to tear a stark furrow into the age-old stone. Bleak plains, dusty basins of dark rock and sloping escarpments of scree appeared on the underside feeds and then were gone – features a hundred million years in the making vanishing as quickly as they appeared.
“I’m detecting seismic waves on the planet’s surface, sir,” said Garrett. “I’ve traced the origin point back to the facility.”
“Thirty-five seconds for the reaction to go critical,” said Fredericks dryly. “Let’s hope that’s the last misjudgement RL Moseley makes.”
Only to himself, Flint admitted he wasn’t feeling confident. However, the die was cast and it was time to commit.
“Lieutenant Garrett, signal the Langinstol and let them know we’re beginning our approach.”
“Yes, sir.”
Flint’s grip on the controls was firm, but a cold sweat had formed on his skin and his scalp prickled. With its propulsion grumbling and strained, the heavy cruiser Loadout accelerated towards its destination.
Chapter Eleven
“At our current velocity we’ll have visibility on the surface facility in the next fifteen seconds,” said Lieutenant Garrett.
Flint swore under his breath and tried to predict what he was going to find at the end of those fifteen seconds.
“Nothing in the air,” said Becerra. “The Langinstol’s range is too extreme to for them to detect precise movements on the planet.”
“The Kilvar didn’t run,” said Fredericks.
“Is that a good thing?” asked Lieutenant Bolan.
“We’ll soon find out,” said Flint. “Ready on the weapons.”
“Hellburners ready, sir,” said Maddox. “The range will likely be too short for the lightspeed missiles.”
“Fire on sight. Lieutenant Garrett, signal the Langinstol.”
“Transmission sent,” said Garrett.
“
Enemy warship detected!” yelled Becerra.
The words hadn’t fully left her mouth when Flint spotted a dark shape on the forward feed. It rose slowly above the planet’s curvature, either too damaged to accelerate hard, or unharmed and in no hurry at all.
“That’s the smaller one,” said Garrett. “No sign of the primary warship.”
“Hellburners locked. Forward clusters one to three fired: uppers one to three: fired. The lightspeed missiles won’t lock,” said Maddox. “Let’s see if the hellburners are enough.”
The ejected missiles accelerated across the planet, leaving trails of orange as they streaked for the target.
“Unload everything available, Commander, not just the hellburners!” ordered Flint.
“Railers set to auto-track, drones deployed. Our altitude is too low for the shock burst.”
With no other targets, the railers locked onto the enemy warship, and pulverising floods of gauss slugs followed after the missiles.
“Come on!” said Flint.
The range was low and the hellburners should have impacted in moments. Instead, the strangest thing happened – when the missiles came within eighty kilometres of target, they slowed drastically and suddenly to a fraction of their expected velocity.
“What the hell?” said Flint.
A hellburner missile’s propulsion section was incredibly potent, yet these ones had dropped to a velocity lower than ten kilometres per second. It wasn’t only the missiles – the railer slugs were affected too, and their heat traces slowed to a crawl. The muzzle velocity of a railer was still far faster than that of an on-boost hellburner, and the white lines overtook the orange, pummelling the enemy’s outer plating. While the slugs wouldn’t penetrate a warship’s armour, they had the potential to knock out a few warheads as they exited their launch clusters.
Whatever was happening, the Kilvar ship was caught up in it as well and it accelerated sluggishly, as if it was mired in a dense, glutinous liquid that gripped its hull and prevented it from gaining speed. Orange missile trails banked to follow, while Flint’s brain tried to unravel what was happening.
Dark of the Void (Forged Alliance Book 1) Page 11