Shadow Strike

by P. R. Adams

  But what could have enabled the captain to make such a dramatic change? He had to be up against inherent limitations. All weapons systems—including spacecraft—were balancing acts. Mass, heat, energy, speed, lethality, comfort, range, cost, delivery time…

  Adjusting tactics wasn’t just a matter of being clever and agile. A gun built to fire single shots couldn’t be turned into an automatic simply because the user realized the need for the change. It took modifications, time, resources. There was no way the ships had been re-engineered in the week since they’d disappeared.

  She needed more signals, more signs of where the enemy fleet had come from. That meant a broader sweep, which took time to process.

  While the scan painted on her screen, she connected to Devry. “Gillian, the Clarion is on its way.”

  “On its way?”

  “I want it between you and the missiles.”

  It sounded like Devry was talking to someone. “We don’t see it.”

  “The Clarion?” Dammit, Patty! “It had to adjust course. It’s probably doing some hard maneuvers. What matters is, I’m bringing some other ships into your area.”

  “Helm saw the course changes.”

  “I think we’re getting closer to finding these ships.”

  “You better hurry. Those lock-ons are getting more consistent.”

  “You have any railguns and point defense weapons available?”

  “Enough to deal with a few missiles, sure. We’re getting several locks.”

  “All right. Don’t give up.”

  The screen finished updating, and Benson spotted two more trails. The ships really were spread out wide.

  She twisted around to get Halliwell’s attention. “You remember the way we drew ships from the Azoren fleet when they were ambushing the Home Defense Fleet?”

  “I guess. Sure.”

  “They came at us as a group. Slow. Straight on. Tight-packed. No signals ship. Nothing to specifically block or intercept or counter communications. Nothing really to counter our sensors beyond—” She waved at the console. “—this stealth technology.”

  “Okay.”

  “Every time we encountered them, it was that way: All the ships seemed to be dedicated warships.”

  Stiles looked up from her display. “That’s a dangerous composition.”

  “Not if every ship you have is basically the same, and they’re all single-purpose in design but also self-sufficient. Whether you’re sitting at eight or twelve vessels, your fleet is still functional.”

  “But that means your ships have to have a lot of extra functionality.”

  “Redundancies in function. It’s not efficient for our design, but it seems to be effective for them.”

  The lieutenant glanced at the console. “I guess. I can’t see them, so I’m not really—”

  “I know. But what if they’re working against that design now?”

  “What?”

  “The way they’re spread out, the way they’re maneuvering and selecting targets. It’s different. They’ve been able to take down shields when they’ve hit. It’s like they’ve increased their capabilities despite losing ships and taking a beating.”

  “They upgraded somehow?”

  “Not upgraded—changed.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. But they’ve shown they can modify shields and weapons capabilities if they don’t use their stealth technology. Those individual systems are using the same energy output, turning some of those systems off frees up energy for the other systems. You push some of that to another ship, and you end up improving the rest of the fleet’s fighting effectiveness.”

  Stiles squeezed her lips together. “You mean like our model of fleet? You think this captain changed the Azoren fleet to match our model to make them more effective?”

  “Or they’ve come up with something that’s an improvement on their own approach.”

  Halliwell pointed to the screen. “What’s that?”

  Lines traced across the display. Ten more.

  Missiles.

  Headed toward the Kolkata. And the Clarion was nowhere in sight.

  Other ships had maneuvered into the area. Lights flashed across the screen as the Pandora’s sensors detected weapons fire from three ships, all targeting the missiles. One even scored a hit.

  But the missiles continued to close on the damaged vessel.

  Another stream of flashes tracked back to the Clarion, now maneuvering toward the missiles. But it wasn’t following the course Benson had sent. It wouldn’t get to a point where it could physically intercept any of the missiles.

  Scalise had disobeyed a direct order.

  Devry connected. “Faith, we can’t outrun those missiles. Not with the damage we took.”

  “Reactor’s still having problems?”

  “And shield generator. They’ve nearly got the cable run, but we won’t have the power online in time.”

  “You’ve got other ships en route. Change course—”

  “I know. We are. The Marie Belle’s going to try to get between us and the missiles.”

  Marie Belle? Commander Lo? “They can’t handle half what the Clarion can.”

  “Commander Lo knows that. We’re all counting on taking a few more missiles out of the sky.”

  Benson muted. “Brianna, can you break lock-on now that we see those missiles?”

  Stiles shook her head. “They’ve got simpler targeting systems. If we got closer, we could try to fry the systems of one or two, but from here, we’re not going to be able to keep our scrambling signals on them.”

  All the Pandora’s maneuverability and its acceleration capabilities were useless at the moment. It lacked weapons. It didn’t have the sort of armor or shields to sustain multiple missile strikes, and it was too small to protect a ship the size of the Kolkata anyway.

  Devry’s voice nearly made Benson jump. “Faith?”

  “Sorry.” Benson adjusted course to try to get them closer to the missiles. “We’re going to try to take a couple of the missiles out.”

  “With the Pandora?”

  “We can try to knock out their targeting.”

  “How many will that take out?”

  Benson bowed her head. “One. Maybe two.”

  “You should’ve sent the Iwo Jima in. It could’ve handled the hits.”

  “I’m not so sure. They’ve changed something around. Their weapons are more effective.”

  “You’re not cheering me up, Faith.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Another of the Azoren missiles stopped tracking the Kolkata, but the ship still had no shields. Its point defense arrays weren’t going to stop all those missiles. Without shields, any strike on a damaged section was likely to penetrate, and any penetration would produce fire. More systems would be taken down, making any subsequent hits even more damaging. It was the one thing missiles excelled at in combat.

  And these missiles were drawing really close to the Kolkata.

  Benson muted. “Brianna, how long before we can try to hit a missile?”

  The GSA officer ran through a couple interface layers. “We can try now.”

  A red globe appeared around the closest of the trailing missiles. A much lighter globe appeared around the next closest.

  Stiles tapped a button.

  Nothing happened.

  Then the globes disappeared from the missiles.

  The closest were seconds out from Devry’s ship.

  “What happened?” Benson’s heart raced. The missiles were getting too close.

  Stiles’s brow knotted. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re too far out.”

  She tapped the buttons again, and the globes reappeared, this time a little more solidly. Then they faded.

  And the missiles drew closer.

  “That’s some sort of countermeasure system.” Benson tried to remember where she’d seen something similar. Training. Port Zeta. The mini-subs. Trying to detonate mines remotely. But those co
untermeasure systems had left a unique trail of their own. “They’re targeting us, or they’re interfering with our beam somehow.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. You want me to get Parkinson up here?”

  “No!”

  Another ship moved closer to the Kolkata: the Marie Belle! It was too far out to stop the first couple missiles, but it was on course to intercept the rest.

  Which would be too much for the old ship.

  Halliwell tapped Benson’s chair. “I thought you said they didn’t have things like signals ships.”

  She knuckled her brow, trying to fight off a headache. “They’ve changed things around. Brianna, see if you can find where their signals are coming from.”

  Lights flashed on the big display as weapons fired at the missiles; one winked out.

  But there were still too many others. It was too much, too deadly of an attack.

  The first missile struck the Kolkata, and the ship’s damage report flashed to life. Data scrolled up, paused—

  Then the second missile struck.

  And the damage report flashed again.

  There were casualties. Definite casualties. People Benson had sent into harm’s way.

  One of the missiles disappeared, and the Marie Belle’s damage report screen opened.

  Another missile, and the screen failed.

  Then more missiles struck—three, four, five.

  A missile veered off, but another struck the ship.

  Text flowed through the damage report, which had flashed through yellow to a deep orange and now to red.

  Then the last missiles struck, and the damage report went dark.

  And the Marie Belle disappeared from the display.

  28

  With the Marie Belle’s disappearance, it seemed to Benson that the entire bridge had grown dimmer. What had been welcome familiarity when she’d taken her pilot seat now felt like unearned comfort and safety. The cushion was a luxury held by the elite Sargota railed against, a protected haven for a craven commander. What had been a modestly annoying hum quieted against the screams of the dead crew.

  A salty tear kissed the commander’s lips. “I killed them.”

  Halliwell’s hand was on her shoulder. “They died trying to save lives, just like any of us would.”

  Not Scalise.

  The hand squeezed tighter. “Those people gave their lives for a purpose.”

  “I know.” Benson sucked in a breath. “We’ll make it worthwhile.”

  But nothing would ever be worthwhile. The deaths were pointless. The Clarion could have survived the attack.

  She connected to Parkinson. “Chief, something’s wrong with this system.”

  “What system? The ship’s full of systems!”

  “The SCS.” She so wanted to punch him.

  “What? What’s wrong? Everything’s showing green down here.”

  “Chief, I’m telling you that the system—”

  Lights flashed on the giant display as sensors tracked enemy weapons fire.

  Benson’s communicator buzzed. She didn’t have to look to know who it was. “Hold on, Chief.” She muted Parkinson and accepted the other call. “Gillian, we’re working on it.”

  “Working on it? Faith, my ass is out there, and it’s getting blown up!”

  “And the Marie Belle went down trying to keep you alive. We’re working on it.”

  “Well, work faster!”

  Devry killed the connection.

  She has every right to be mad.

  Benson generated new evasion maneuver paths, bringing the fleet closer to the damaged ship as quickly as possible. Then she sent a connection to Okoye.

  His face was frozen in a sour glare. “Commander Benson? Is something wrong with regular communications channels?”

  “I wanted to talk to you personally.”

  “That’s something best done at a bar. After all of this is over.”

  “Commander Okoye, maybe it hasn’t sunken in yet, but at the rate things are going, the only drinking we’ll be doing after this battle will be in hell.”

  “I never pictured you as one for Khanate teach—”

  “Dammit! Could one of you for just one moment set your egos aside and listen?”

  Okoye blinked in response.

  “Barry, we’re losing this battle! We can’t get lock-on, they’ve destroyed the Marie Belle, and they’re going to take the Kolkata out of the sky if we don’t change things now!”

  “And what would you recommend I do with the Iwo Jima, Commander?”

  “How about you start by getting your ass into the fight? I haven’t seen a single shot from your ship.”

  “Shoot at missiles? The odds of hitting—”

  “Stop it. Stop it! I’ve sent you new maneuvers. I want full burn. I want you between the Kolkata and enemy fire, and I want that now. I hate to put it this way, but I’m in charge.”

  Okoye’s face was calm, impassive. “I will follow your orders, Commander.”

  “Thank you.”

  She connected to the entire fleet. “All vessels, this is Commander Benson. You have new maneuver commands. The enemy is focused on the Kolkata. Now is our chance to stop the Azoren. If you think you have a shot, take it. If your shields can handle a hit meant for a crippled ship, take it. Stand together. Benson out.”

  Spots danced in front of her eyes. She unmuted her connection with Parkinson. “Chief, a week ago, we were tracking these ships fairly consistently.”

  Parkinson groaned. “I know that.”

  “We’re not seeing them now.”

  “I’m telling you that I’m looking at the system, and it’s all green. Diagnostics says everything is there and running.”

  “Well the diagnostics are wrong.”

  “Diagnostics can’t be wrong. This system is nothing but hardware and software. If the checkout says everything is running—”

  “Software! Why didn’t I think of that?” Benson brought up the captain’s logs.

  Stiles glanced at the sensor display. “Thought of what?”

  “It’s not just this captain. It can’t be. He might have changed things around, but we should still have him. What we’re doing should be working.”

  More flashes of light appeared on Benson’s display. There were hits on the Kolkata. Text flowed in the damage report window.

  We’re losing it, just like with the Marie Belle.

  The logs opened, and Benson scanned through to the point where the crews were taken down to Kedraal. Someone was looking over her shoulder: the GSA officer.

  Stiles bit her bottom lip. “You think something’s wrong with the system?”

  “It has to be.”

  Parkinson growled, “It’s not. Something else is wrong.”

  “Chief, you’re supposed to be a genius.”

  Halliwell snorted. “Just ask him.”

  Benson waved the comment away. “This isn’t user error. When something suddenly stops working, what’s the first thing you ask yourself?”

  After a heartbeat, Parkinson sighed. “What’s changed?”

  “Yeah, and—” There! The day after everyone was sent down! “And I’ll tell you what’s changed: When everyone was carted off to Port Malia, you know who came aboard the Pandora?”

  “Probably whoever was on watch. I mean they were unsupervised and—”

  Benson rolled her eyes. “Gadreau.”

  “Gadreau? The big ape?”

  “Chief, reset the system.”

  “Reset? Why?”

  “Because Gadreau sabotaged it.”

  The engineer chortled. “Gadreau couldn’t—”

  “Do it. Now.” She spared a glance at the communicator screen. Parkinson had on one of his pouts.

  “Reset it to what?”

  “I don’t know. The baseline. Factory default. Whatever.”

  “I’m telling you—”

  “Either you do a reset, or you put Petty Officer Kohn on. I know he’ll follow o
rders.”

  Parkinson’s cheeks turned red. “I’ll reset it.”

  Parkinson kicked a spanner across the engineering bay deck, narrowly missing Kohn’s feet. The petty officer glared, then retrieved the tool. Parkinson was absolutely certain of one thing at that moment, and that was that he hated Benson. Give someone distinguished graduate. Give them a ring from the Academy. Let them grow up with the best education in the Republic, and you were guaranteed one thing: They would develop a know-it-all attitude.

  Kohn set the spanner back in the toolbox tray and wiped his hands on his grubby coveralls. “What’s that about?”

  “Nothing.” Parkinson plopped back into his seat. It smelled like Gadreau, like one of the giant gorillas that hadn’t survived the devastation on Earth and hadn’t quite come out of the repopulation cloning attempts on Kedraal the same.

  “You were arguing with the captain?”

  “Keep your nose out of it, Chuck. This is grown-up stuff.”

  The petty officer craned his neck back toward his own workstation. “You see what’s going on out there?”

  “Sure. A whole bunch of nothing—ships flying around in space. Study up on hard sciences, okay? Space battles like this, it’s a lot of energy being wasted and not much else.”

  “I’ve been watching the sensor feeds. They blew up the Marie Belle.”

  “Yeah?” A heavy weight settled in Parkinson’s gut. He knew some of the people on that hunk of junk. One of the engineers had been in the bunk above at Port Malia, an old geezer but pretty sharp and funny. “You mean crippled?”

  “Blown up. No signals coming off of it. Probably all hands lost.”

  “Shit.”

  “They’ve done a lot of damage to the Kolkata, too.”

  “Really?” There was a really pretty engineer on the Kolkata. Parkinson had nearly hooked up with her after they’d been released from their prison.

  He swallowed. Where had his certainty gone? He’d been so sure.

  The SCS interface glowed on his workstation display. It had been working before, then it just stopped. Did that make even a little bit of sense? If he set aside his stubborn certainty, did it?

  No.

  He poked through the interface, fingers shaking. The commander was right. Why else would that moronic Marine captain come aboard if not to take a steaming crap all over everything?