Seaman turned to DiAntora. She inclined her head as if in acknowledgment of what was to come. “The captains are with us,” she said in an assuring tone. “Every one of them.”
“What about Second Fleet?”
DiAntora’s eyes narrowed. “Admiral Lin Phaq is still ignoring our hails, as are all his captains.” She took a deep breath. “We tried.”
Seaman could do what needed to be done without Second Fleet, but Lin Phaq’s help would go a long way in stopping Moldark from annihilating the planet. “Then it’s time we get this done. Open the fleet-wide channel.”
DiAntora looked at the comms officer.
“Right away, Captain,” replied the officer.
As soon as Seaman saw his face in the main holo, he began. “Attention all personnel of the Republic Navy’s First Fleet. This is Commodore David Seaman aboard the Solera Fortuna. All hands, battle stations. I repeat, all hands, battle stations. This is not a drill.
“Third Fleet, under the command of Admiral Kane, also known as Moldark, has ordered all ships in all fleets to stand ready to implement Article 99 against Capriana Prime. That is not an order we will carry out. Moreover, it is an order we will resist with force.
“I am ordering a full-scale assault on any ship that engages in hostile activity against Capriana Prime. Target weapons systems and engines before life support and communications. I want these ships disabled with minimal casualties. But we will destroy them if necessary. Marine divisions are awaiting orders to board and retake ships as able. Talon squadrons are standing by. Command attack authorization level alpha. I repeat, this is an alpha-level command attack authorization. Mystics helps us all. Commodore out.”
Seaman stared at a man twice his years in the holo display before the transmission ended and the screen went blank. There was no precedent for what he was about to do—for what any of them were about to do. But then again, no commander had ever issued an Article 99 against Capriana Prime or any other planet in the quadrant. It was a measure saved for unanimous senatorial approval during extreme and highly specific wartime scenarios. Some argued it wasn’t needed at all and fought vigilantly to have the article banned. But, as with most governments, once a measure was on the books, it was tough—if not impossible—to have it removed. Bureaucratic ink had a way of sinking into the desk that laws were signed on.
“Captain,” the sensors officer said. She was a young female Nuromin named Teloni. “The Labyrinth’s forward LO9D cannon is fully charged and ready to fire.”
Seaman clasped his hands behind his back as an image of Moldark’s Super Dreadnaught filled the holo display. He knew this decision was coming: Issue a preemptive strike or wait for Capriana to take the first hit? One meant instigating a multi-fleet conflict, while the other meant hundreds of thousands of civilian lives lost. In the end, however, Seaman knew which he would choose. He was paid to give his life—civilians weren’t.
Blaster fire would be the quickest option for disabling the Labyrinth’s forward LO9D cannon. But Seaman knew Moldark’s shields would be up, which would stop the Fortuna’s blaster rounds—but not guided ordnance. “Take out that cannon, Captain. Fire torpedoes.”
“Aye-aye, Commodore,” DiAntora replied. “Weapons, target that LO9D with torpedoes, three birds.”
“Target acquired, Captain,” the weapons officer said.
“Fire.”
Three small icons appeared on the fleet map as the torpedoes streaked away from the Fortuna. They skirted several ships before leaving First Fleet’s ranks and charging into Third’s. For a moment, Seaman felt hopeful that the ordnance would find their mark. Third Fleet wouldn’t be expecting this, and he hadn’t given them a reason to believe First Fleet would refuse the Article 99 order.
Anti-missile blaster fire streaked across the holo display. Several Frigates attempted to shoot down the torpedoes.
“Captain, we’re being hailed by the Limitless Reach, Jericho’s Triumph, and the Trifecta.”
“Ignore them,” DiAntora said.
“All ships are raising shields,” Sensors Officer Teloni said.
“The torpedoes will get through,” DiAntora replied. The words were barely out of her mouth when one of the torpedoes exploded on its way toward the Labyrinth. Seaman double checked the fleet map. The icon blipped out.
“Two torpedoes remaining,” the weapons officer announced.
“Come on,” Seaman said in a whisper.
“Sir,” DiAntora said. “Now that our strike has been detected, the chance those torpedoes will be rendered ineffective is over 86%.”
“We only need one to make it,” Seaman said.
A second torpedo blinked off the map. It appeared as a small fireball against the Labyrinth’s backdrop as defensive fire ripped through its housing.
DiAntora took a quick breath. “Sir, I recommend we—”
“Wait.” Seaman put a hand up, then lowered his voice. “Come on.” His eyes moved between the fleet map and the holo feed, willing the tiny projectile toward its mark.
On the map, the last torpedo’s icon disappeared under the Labyrinth’s hull. For a split second, Seaman thought the torpedo had been shot down. Then a bright explosion flared under the Super Dreadnaught’s bow.
“Direct hit,” Teloni said. “Target eliminated.”
A bridge-wide sigh of relief was shared as Seaman turned to DiAntora. “Your ship.” He stepped aside and called up separate holo displays so as not to distract DiAntora for her job of commanding the Fortuna.
As DiAntora began calling for shields and ordering new targets, Seaman started receiving tactical information on all ships in the fleet. He commenced by ordering the Dreadnaughts to form a semi-circle between Third Fleet and Capriana. If Moldark wanted to eradicate the planet, then he would have to get through Seaman first. He tapped the category of ships and then drew a line to the intended position, finishing with a tap of the Execute Command button. Acknowledgment icons went down the dialogue window as the carriers fired up their main thrusters, including DiAntora’s, which came in the form of a verbal response behind him.
“On our way, sir,” she said.
Next, Seaman ordered the fleet’s ten Battleships and twelve Battlecruisers into two equally mixed groups—one to stand at the orbital north of Third Fleet, the other to orbital south. The result was a blockade for the enemy to fire through should they wish to carry out the Article 99 attempt. His fingers grouped the ships and then drew more lines through the holo display’s shimmering light before hitting the execute prompt.
The Destroyers and Frigates he tasked with more aggressive runs, inserting them like Boresian corral dogs to apply pressure on any attempts for Third Fleet to avoid his blockade. What the smaller ships lacked in capacity and resources, they made up for with stronger shielding, allowing them to take a beating while getting their anti-ship munitions closer to their targets. It meant putting more sailors in harm’s way, but there was too much on the line not to be bold. If anything, Seaman hoped the abrupt maneuvers would make the other commanders think twice about carrying out any proposed attacks against the planet.
Seaman brought up his communications menu, selected his pre-recorded transmission to Second Fleet, and sent it again. Maybe now that First and Third were engaged, their commanders would view and reply. This was no longer a game of what-if scenarios—this was happening in real time. Sailors and civilians would die today—fewer if something were done sooner than later. It was time to pick a side and take off the gloves.
“Fleet shuttle detected coming from the planet’s surface,” Teloni announced.
“Designation?” DiAntora asked.
“Stiletto-class. The Peregrine.”
“Moldark,” Seaman said to DiAntora. She nodded.
He looked back at his map of icons and grabbed his chin. Even though his fleet outnumbered Third, they had the advantage of a large target—both the planet in the background and a plethora of ships in the foreground. For Seaman, it would be a battle of con
tainment; for Moldark, it was a race.
“I’m detecting more LO9Ds above standby capacities,” Teloni added. “I’m marking targets on all five carriers.”
Now that Moldark was off the planet, it seemed he wasn’t wasting any time in attacking the surface. With the enemy ships’ shields rendering immediate blaster fire ineffective, torpedoes and Talons were the best options.
Seaman tapped three torpedo-class categories from his munitions list and selected all highlighted ships equipped with the desired weapons. Then he assigned values to each LO9D target option and hit Auto Assign, allowing the AI to allocate combinations with the highest favorable outcomes. Seaman double-checked the assignments and tapped Accept.
Once those were sent, he called up a command prompt to scramble the Talon squadrons. First, he had to manually override the system, which took priority of all Talon assignments from strategic fighter command. With SFC hosted on the Labyrinth—a position he’d held not so long ago—there wasn’t a way to order First Fleet’s fighters without bypassing command priority.
Seaman entered his passcode, held his breath, and then exhaled as the system confirmed he had wrested control from the Labyrinth. Whoever had replaced him at SFC, apparently they were too new to refuse the action. Seaman brought up the fighter assignment and tactical maneuvers overlay, and then doubled down on the LO9D targets, allowing the AI to auto-assign First Fleet’s squadrons to them. The AI would calculate attack vectors, compensating for both distance and speculative resistance. Satisfied with the assault plan, Seaman hit Execute, and then accompanied the order with a verbal command to the carriers.
“Attention all carrier commanders, this is Commodore Seaman. Scramble all squadrons. I repeat, scramble all squadrons. Squadron configurations and target assignments dispatched.”
Behind him, DiAntora echoed the order to her airwing commanders and forwarded Seaman’s plan of attack. The commander acknowledged, and DiAntora replied with the required status update. Seaman appreciated her diligence even though she could have just as quickly replied to him personally. But protocol was in place for a purpose, and Sekmits were anything if not perfectionists.
Within moments of the Talons appearing on Seaman’s tactical map, Third Fleet replied by launching its own squadrons.
“Sirs, enemy fighters launched,” Teloni said from the sensors console.
Both DiAntora and Seaman nodded.
“I see them.” Seaman tapped the Alert icon on all enemy fighter groupings as a precaution. The designation was redundant, but he knew from experience that the pilots wouldn’t mind. Plus, First Fleet couldn’t afford to lose this fight—Capriana couldn’t afford for them to lose this fight—so there could be no mistakes.
“LO9D amidships on the Labyrinth, preparing to fire,” Teloni said, her voice tight.
Seaman turned to the woman. “Where are our torpedoes on that cannon?”
“The first wave was taken out, sir. And the second—” The officer’s eyes double-checked something. “Also gone.”
“That can’t be.” Seaman scanned his own map, clearing everything but the Labyrinth and the torpedoes from the Fortuna. But both the first and second waves had been terminated during his ship assignments operations. He added the squadrons assigned to the Labyrinth, but they were still several seconds away from maximum effective range.
“The Labyrinth is firing,” Teloni shouted.
Seaman watched the main holo display in horror as a bright ball of light built under the Labyrinth’s belly, followed by a long energy streak that burst toward the planet.
Seaman’s efforts had been too late.
“No,” he roared, stepping toward the display. His heart sank, his hands balled into fists. “It can’t be.” He watched in terror as a bright spot appeared on Capriana’s largest island. Even from this height, the shockwave was visible, sweeping outward toward the ocean. “Mystics—what has he done?”
26
“Lieutenant Magnus, how nice to see you again,” Bosworth said from atop the central Rhino’s cockpit. He looked like an overripe pangfruit stuck in a Quinzellian miter squirrel’s nesting hole, ready to burst if he tried any harder to squeeze through.
Magnus looked to his right and left. They were surrounded by nearly four companies of well-armed, highly trained Marines. Even if Granther Company could take out half of these Marines, the risk of civilian casualties was far too high between Awen’s parents and Jules. Plus, the Rhino’s M109s increased the chances that any resistance would end in a bloody mess.
“What do you want, Bosworth?” Magnus yelled.
Bosworth looked down his gut and into the cockpit. “I can’t hear him.” There was a brief pause. “No, I don’t want to walk out there. Drive me closer, you fools.”
The Rhino’s repulsors applied some forward thrust, and the APC hovered closer to Magnus.
“Keep going, keep going,” Bosworth said with a disgusted tone. The APC continued to crawl until the ambassador raised a hand. “That’s enough.” But the drivers clearly didn’t respond fast enough for his liking. “I said, that’s enough. That’s enough!”
The repulsors reversed, and Bosworth’s torso disappeared in a swirl of sand. When the dust finally settled, the ambassador—atop his Rhino—was even with Magnus. The two stared at one another’s mechanized versions of their biological selves.
“What do you want, Bosworth?” Magnus repeated, now close enough for the ambassador to hear.
“You have something that belongs to me,” Bosworth replied.
“So you got our care package?”
Bosworth scoffed. “Oh, that? Please. I knew you weren’t ever going to send the child.”
“And yet, from what I understand, you still sent several Marines to their deaths by investigating.”
“But I had to, you understand, in the off chance you actually sent the child. I’ve met stupider people.”
“Ouch,” Magnus said with a tone that might accompany rubbing his arm—had he been able too.
“No, you can have the girl, and so can Moldark for all I care.” Bosworth pointed past Magnus. “I want my lovely scientists.”
Scientists? “You want the dau Lothliniums back?”
Bosworth nodded. “Call me sentimental, but I’ve grown very attached to them.”
“Or attached to what they can do for you.” Behind him, Magnus could hear Azelon’s shuttle approaching. He glanced at his HUD for confirmation.
“Trivialities,” Bosworth said. “You have them, and I want them back.”
“Sorry to disappoint you and the boys here”—Magnus gestured to the Marines—“but they’re going with us. Seems like you got all dressed up for nothing.”
“The ship is landing now,” Azelon said to Magnus as Bosworth shielded his eyes from flying sand.
“Thanks, Azie.”
“But that’s not all,” Caldwell said, his voice filled with concern. “We have hard confirmation that a LO9D cannon is preparing to fire on Capriana.”
Magnus had a flashback to Oorajee, where he nearly died from a low orbit cannon round. The blast had cost him his eyes.
“You copy, Magnus?” Caldwell asked.
“I read you.”
“Get out of there, son,” said the colonel. “Now.”
“The dau Lothliniums,” Bosworth said with a sneer. “Or we open fire.”
“Bosworth, listen,” Magnus said, taking a step forward. Maybe—just maybe there was a chance he could talk some sense into the ambassador. “Moldark is preparing to fire on Capriana. You’ve got to get out of here.”
Bosworth laughed, and his jowls shook when he did. “You think I don’t know that, Magnus? I’m the one who helped formulate this plan.”
“And did it include you being down here as his LO9Ds powered up?”
Bosworth chuckled some more and then wiggled his arm in the air. “You see this?” A silver bracelet locked tight around his pudgy wrist. An LED blinked, and the device appeared to have a small touchscreen. “This
is my insurance policy. Moldark and I have a deal.”
“I hate to tell you, but I think he ripped you off,” Magnus said.
“This little gem keeps fleet cannon fire away from me. Anyone without a bracelet, however—take, for example, oh, I don’t know, say, you—well”—he patted his belly—“they’re out of luck.”
“Then I don’t see any incentive to give up the scientists since you’re not going to give me your little magic bracelet.”
“No,” Bosworth said. “But I will give you this one.” He produced a second bracelet from his inside breast pocket and flicked it back and forth.
“Nah,” Magnus replied. “I’m rather partial to the one on your wrist. Something tells me it works better. So, if you give me yours, then maybe we’ll talk.”
“No more talking. The dau Lothliniums or I open fire.”
Magnus opened his mouth to reply. But he couldn’t. A bright light appeared in the sky directly above him, washing the beach in broad daylight. But it wasn’t the sun—Magnus had seen this blinding glare before.
It was LO9D fire.
Magnus wanted to tell everyone to take cover. He wanted to ask Azelon to move the shuttle back. But there wasn’t time. In the split second the thoughts went through Magnus’s mind, the orbital round pierced the core of Proconsul Tower some four klicks away. It was as if a shaft from the sun bore into the building, ignited every floor, and then shoved the contents outward.
Gigantic billowing fireballs erupted at the top and moved down, detonating level after level until the entire structure was engulfed in flames and blew apart in a giant shockwave that rippled through the city. A beat later the force of worlds colliding knocked Magnus’s mech into the sand. His ears rang, and his vision filled with objects flying over his head.
An ocean wave struck his shoulders and washed over his helmet. Magnus activated the auto-stand mode in his HUD and felt the mech’s AI take over. A quick scan determined that the pilot, Magnus, was in nominal condition. Then the unit rolled over, pushed itself up to its knees, and stood. Control reverted to Magnus, and he looked around to gain his bearings.
Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6 Page 191