Crusade of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  The battlecruiser had been hit a few times, but in an even fight, which it was now, it was more than a match for her ship. She knew that, her entire crew did. She had directed the vessel’s movements, deviated between different evasive routines, done everything she could think of to make her ship harder to hit. The enemy had scored no fewer than four shots within a hundred meters of the vessel, but somehow, they had not hit it again…not yet.

  Still, she knew just one more hit would most likely damage her ship badly, and lead to a quick end. She was already down somewhat on engine thrust, and more likely than not, another hit would worsen that, past the point where she had any real hope of evading additional fire. If it didn’t destroy her ship completely.

  She had taken over the navigation, almost completely. Her navigator was an experienced spacer, but not as much as she was…and she had decided that she had to take control, do everything to bring her people through. She hoped he understood, but she knew whether he did or not, she had to make every effort she could. But she knew all she could do, all she had done, was buy time. She had almost no chance of winning the battle, not as things were. Her only real hope was the engineers working hard, the rehab crew, struggling, trying their best to get the stealth unit working again. That, at least, if it happened, would give her hope.

  Another enemy blast came by, barely seventy-five meters from her ship…and exactly where the vessel would have been without the course change she had just entered. Her stomach heaved again, and this time, some foul tasting bile worked its way up her throat. She bent forward and coughed…but she remained as focused as she could, hand on the controls, entering yet another course change.

  Then, suddenly, she felt something…something strange. She looked at the screen…and she saw that the stealth unit was active again. A few seconds later, she heard the comm, and Lieutenant Hartridge giving her the word. It was active again. Hartridge and her people didn’t really know what they were doing with the sophisticated unit, but they had somehow managed to get it active again…for at least a while. She breathed, deeply, and she decided that she had to make it work. She had to destroy the enemy vessel…while her stealth unit still functioned. For however long that would be.

  She was tempted to take control of the guns herself, too, but she knew the gunners were better at shooting than she was. She focused on the controls, not cutting her efforts at all, despite the realization that the enemy could no longer track her.

  She engaged in random maneuver…but she worked the ship closer, too, trying to give her gunners the very best shots. She needed to maximize her guns, to bring them in close.

  Really close.

  And that was just what she was going to do. She had no idea what was going on down on the planet’s surface, but if her ship was going to contribute, she suspected it had to be soon. She stared at the enemy vessel, jerking her ship all around, but coming in…closer each moment.

  She knew the enemy got an update with each shot her vessel took. So, they would know she was closing, and they would have some idea where she was. She thought about ordering the gunners to cease fire for a bit, but she decided against that. She had to score several hits, probably four or five, at least, and that meant taking every shot possible.

  A moment later, her guns did score another hit, and a few seconds later, the enemy’s fire came back, directly where her vessel had been. But she’d changed the course again, quickly, and her ship was about five hundred meters from the enemy bolts. That was good…but only so good. In terms of space combat, it was absurdly close, and it made her realize the enemy could still win the fight.

  She gripped the controls tightly, still changing her directional movement every few seconds. She’d been a navigator, before her rank advanced to the command level, and she tried to remember everything she’d ever known. But she wasn’t sure what was coming, or even if her taking over control was wise. But she had followed her instincts, and she was going to continue to do so.

  She was just in the midst of another change of course when she saw that her gunners had hit the enemy ship again…twice, in rapid succession. The vessel shook hard, and she realized they had hit it well. But she didn’t realize just how effective the shots were until the vessel slowed, its navigation reduced by almost eighty percent.

  She felt a wave of excitement run through her, the realization that victory might not be far off. The enemy vessel still had some power, of course, and it was still firing at least two of its guns, but there was no question, the odds had swung to even money.

  She focused, tried to concentrate on her job…which was to avoid incoming shots. Her eyes wandered, looking at the enemy ship on the scanners, on her vessel’s firing. Another pair of shots from her ship went by closely…and one of the enemy’s came within two hundred meters of her own ship, reminding her of the deadly danger she still faced.

  But then, another of her vessel’s shots struck the enemy, and its thrust stopped completely. She was excited, and she knew what it meant…assuming her own vessel could survive a bit longer. She had to force herself to stay focused on the navigation, to keep her ship from being hit, even as she left it to her gunners to target the enemy vessel and fire.

  She switched the direction of her thrust again…and again a few seconds later. She was doing everything she could to avoid the enemy’s shots, which if anything, were becoming more vital…more desperate. A pulse ripped by, no more than 75 meters from the ship, but she remained focused, holding back her fears. As much as she could.

  It seemed like hours passed, but she realized it was only seconds. Then her guns scored a hit…and a few seconds later, another. The enemy vessel was helpless, unable to evade with no engine power.

  She watched, trying not to lose her focus on the navigation. She knew it was vital, that it would remain so until there was nothing left firing.

  She jerked her controls, once again changing the direction and intensity of her ship’s thrust, and she did it again, perhaps three seconds later. Then she did it again…and she realized the enemy ship wasn’t firing anymore.

  She stopped her evasive maneuvers, but only for a few seconds. It was entirely possible, probable even, that the enemy ship was badly damaged, that it couldn’t fire anymore. But there were other possibilities, too…short term problems that could be quickly repaired, or even a trick, an effort to get her to do just what she had almost done, to slow or stop her wild evasive routines.

  She entered another series of numbers, and switched the controls yet again, and the ship jerked hard as it changed the direction of its thrust. She did it again and again, perhaps four times…until she saw her guns hit again, dead on. She paused for a moment, looking out at the enemy ship, and then she started to enter the numbers for her next burst. But before she completed it, the enemy vessel vanished, disappearing into a wild burst of energy.

  She stared, shocked, having trouble realizing what she had done. Somehow, she had taken out all four enemy vessels. She had destroyed the entire force…and not another vessel had come up from the planet. She felt victorious, a moment of joy, but then she realized that she had only just survived. She had no idea what had happened to the rest of the fleet, whether it had gone down to the surface to take on the Regent…or whether she and her people were all that was left of the entire force.

  She looked out, her expression changing, from an instant of pure joy to something confusing…and then back to the grim, workmanlike feeling she’d had before. She had accomplished one thing, survived for a time. But she still had a lot to do, all the more if none of her comrades had made it.

  None of that mattered, of course, nor did her prospects of survival. She knew when she’d volunteered that the odds were greatly against the mission’s success, and even more so in opposition to anyone’s survival. She paused, for a few more seconds, and then she turned to her navigator, who would resume his place now.

  “Take us to the planet, Lieutenant. Take us now.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

>   Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

  Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

  Earth Two Date 04.12.63

  Achilles walked up to the front of the group of Mules, just below the entry to the nearest ship. He was surprised, not so much by the fact that many of his people wanted to escape, but by the presence of a smaller group, arguing the very point he had come to make.

  He knew the ships weren’t ready to launch, that the outlets were sealed…but he was perfectly aware that all of that could be changed…from here, even if it was a bit more difficult than it would be from the control center.

  He turned and looked out at the group of Mules. It was large, perhaps half of the total of all his people. And for the moment, they were all listening to him. The room had grown almost eerily silent, despite its vast size and the number of people present.

  “Look,” he said, his fatigue draining from him, even as he strived for any energy he could get. He was about to argue against something he would have been in favor of when he’d been their age, and part of him despaired at the job in front of him. Still, he was surprised that some of the younger Mules were apparently on his side.

  “I’m not going to tell you all that we’re going to survive, that we are going to win the battle…because I don’t know. I will say, almost all the ships we’ve been able to track have been destroyed, or at least knocked completely out of the fight…and that is the Regent’s vessels as well as ours. The fight is close…very close. And despite the losses, the damage to the shelters of some of the Regs…there is a good chance we will prevail.” He wasn’t sure about the ‘good chance’ part, but he was certain, at least, there was a chance. Whether that meant anything, beyond a period of a couple years before the enemy returned, was another matter. But whatever was possible within that period, and it likely wasn’t much, at least for his people, it offered plenty of time to escape.

  And to really decide who got to go…and who had to stay. There weren’t enough spots for all the Mules, not even close, not even with people piled onboard. Some would have to stay behind, at least in the first trip off. But right now, he put that out of his mind.

  “If some of us try to escape, though, we only reduce the chances of that. These ships are known only to us…” And a few of the Regs, he told himself, but left out of what he was saying. “…and if they launch now, they will distract the vessels fighting right here.” He pointed up, signifying the battle still raging around the planet. “We can’t do that…we can’t allow that.” He deepened his voice, made it more commanding…though he realized if the mob wanted to go, he wasn’t going to stop them. “The battle is not lost, not yet. And many of the Regs are still alive. We’re in this together. What will you do if you escape, where will you go? These ships will carry at most, fifteen hundred of you. Apart from deciding who goes and who stays—and you will have to do that—you will be weaker in every way than we are together. Do you really think, if victorious, the Regent will let you be, will just ignore you? Perhaps you will find a new home, even one of those just established…but with or without any Regs there, what are your chances? Better to stay here, to fight on, than to flee.” He wasn’t sure if his words had been effective, if those present, would listen to him. Or if they would storm forward and kill him…before they began fighting each other for the spots available on the ships.

  * * *

  Frette sat on her bridge, quietly, almost strangely so. She had belted out commands, ordered her ships to fight as hard as they could to defeat the enemy. But now, her flagship had taken another hit, a bad one, and it didn’t have any guns left. None.

  She stared at the nearest enemy vessel, barely six thousand meters away, so close it didn’t appear on the normal screen separate from her own ship. But still, she had thrust left, some. And the enemy vessel was almost as badly damaged as hers, with only a single gun left.

  But that would be enough. She understood that her ship might dodge a shot, perhaps two, even at such close range, but if she remained in the atmosphere, she was going to take a hit, sooner rather than later. She still had some engine power left, not much, perhaps twenty percent, but that was a lot at her current speed, almost stationary. She might be able to escape the enemy ship, to get away. Maybe a fifty percent chance.

  There was one other thing she could do.

  She looked at the enemy vessel, and she realized how different things were so near to a planet, how much closer the ship was than any were every supposed to get. She didn’t have the weapons to fire, to try to take out the enemy vessel. But just maybe, she could ram it.

  She looked around the ruins of her bridge, at the empty stations, abandoned when hits raked the ship, when one at a time, her officers were killed, or at least seriously wounded. There were only three people left on the bridge, and by her count, at least seventy percent of her crew was dead or wounded.

  She was ready to die, more than ready…but she wasn’t sure about her survivors, about acting on her own instinct, ignoring the thoughts of the others, younger, with more to live for.

  Assuming we win the fight, that is. And Harmon somehow succeeds in destroying the Regent. She realized as she considered all the things that would have to happen, all that was required for a truly satisfactory outcome, that the odds seemed truly overwhelming.

  But still possible. Could she take the chance, any chance at all of survival, away from her people?

  “Do it. Do it, Admiral.”

  She turned her head, abruptly, looking into the eyes of her tactical officer. She knew what he meant, exactly what he meant, but she just shook her head. “No…I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” She had half expected that type of reply, but from the man who had just suggested that she give the order, that she try to ram the enemy vessel. But this was from the third occupant of the bridge, her communications specialist, seconding her tactical officer’s suggestion.

  “You’re talking about dying…you know that, don’t you?” She spun around, looking at one of her companions, then the other. She felt somewhat foolish even as she spoke the words. She knew there were probably survivors on dead ships, but no matter how she had tried to figure it, at least seventy percent of her spacers were dead, and as high as ninety. She had realized that the battle that had been going on for a full day would be a bitter fight to the end, that most of her people would be dead when it was over…but it was something again to experience it. She would have rather done anything else, and yet she had spent the past twenty years preparing for just the battle she had fought.

  And this…you prepared for this…

  She sat, calm and quiet externally, but falling apart inside. She could direct her crew, most of those surviving, to abandon ship. Some might even make it. But she knew she had to remain, that she had to target the ship on its final path.

  “Go…both of you. Now!” She flipped on her communication device, and she shouted, “Attention all crew…abandon ship immediately!” She stopped, and then she pulled the microphone closer to her mouth, and she repeated. “Immediately!”

  She turned toward her two crew members, who were both still sitting, looking at her with wide eyes. “I said go!”

  “But…you can come with us. The ship can go in on full auto.”

  She smiled, a strange thing to do at present. “No…we don’t even know if the automated systems are still working. One of us has to stay. I’m the oldest…and I’m tired. Go, please…do it for me, one more order to follow.” She looked at her two remaining crew, and her smile gave way. “Please…go.”

  The two officers looked back, and then they stared at each other. They sat for a few more seconds, and then they got up and walked toward the elevator bank. They stopped, about three-quarters of the way there, and they turned together, almost simultaneously. “Admiral…” The tactical officer spoke first, but he only managed a single word.

  Frette looked at him, at both of them, and she said softly, “It’s okay…it really i
s…but you have to hurry. Now, go!”

  She was firm, and the two officers, after another moment of silence, finally said, almost in unison, “Goodbye, Admiral Frette.” They both snapped off a quick salute, and Frette responded. Then they turned and climbed into the shaft leading down—the elevators were all out—and began to climb.

  Frette watched them for a few seconds, but then, though she was still staring, unmoved, something else filled her eyes. Tears. “I will be there soon, Erica…very soon.” Then she turned and directed the engines on full…right toward the enemy vessel.

  * * *

  Clark sat and watched, even as his ship raced away from the approaching enemy, toward Compton’s vessels. He had given the orders to his remaining vessels, commanded them all to do their best to flee, to meet the unexpected reserves, and then to fight it out together. But, as he knew when he issued the orders, some of his ships were slower than others, had more damage to their engine suites. That was true, he realized, for the enemy as well, but there was no escaping the fact that the slowest of his ships would be caught by the fastest of the enemy. They would fight, of course, all his ships would, but they would generally be the most battered of his ships against those of the enemy in the best condition.

  Compton’s force was small, he realized, both in the size of the ships and the number…but they were all fresh, the only fully intact ships left in the fight. And they were already firing, shooting in at long range.

  His ships were firing, too. None of them got fully out of range, though they had surprised the enemy with their quick move. He had been nervous, edgy that none of his ships would reach the fresh vessels, but the quick move, and his ship’s efforts to avoid targeting, to shake themselves around as quickly as their engine statuses allowed, enabled most of his ships to get close…fairly close, at least…to Compton’s fleet.