The Right of the Line

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  Svetlana nodded, forcing herself to think. The enemy starfighters had entered engagement range too, spending themselves recklessly to target the human ships. They were slashing away at her defences, weakening her before the bigger ships arrived to finish the job. She had to admire their determination, although she knew the virus’s host-bodies didn’t really have any sense of self-preservation. The remainder of their fleet followed, the missile freighters picking up speed ... she gritted her teeth as she realised they meant to ram any targets of opportunity. The virus was spending its starfighters and ships like water, but it might just work out in its favour. Svetlana was unable to either run or fight without exposing her fleet to catastrophic damage.

  “Texas is taking heavy damage, Admiral,” another aide said. “She seems to have been singled out for special attention.”

  She’s a battleship, Svetlana thought. She would be a priority target whatever happened. Or ... is she being targeted because she’s a flagship?

  “Give her what cover you can,” she ordered, shortly. The neatly-organised command groups had been shot to hell. Admiral Weisskopf’s subordinates were going to be scattered, if Admiral Weisskopf was dead or out of contact. Hers wouldn’t be much better. The virus was aiming to smash datanet groups and ... the hell of it was that it was succeeding. That shouldn’t have been possible. “And start rotating the command datanets. I do not want a general collapse.”

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  Svetlana forced herself to think. Her ships needed time, time they weren’t going to get. They needed to close the range to bring their heavy weapons to bear, but ... by the time they closed the range, they were going to be badly weakened. She rather suspected she’d lost control of the system. The virus was going to either drive her out or force her to stand and die ... she shook her head. Thankfully, they’d evacuated most of the population. Zheng He wasn’t so important that she had to die in its defence.

  They can’t hit us with another swarm of missiles, she told herself. And that means there are limits to how much firepower they can bring to bear on us.

  Another carrier - a converted freighter - vanished from the display. She barely heard the aide informing her that the Belter ship was gone. The reports were an endless liturgy of disaster: ships damaged, ships destroyed, entire squadrons of starfighters wiped out ... she put the dismay aside and forced herself to think clearly. She’d lost the battle, almost as soon as it had begun. She needed to save what she could.

  “Undamaged capital ships are to form up on Invincible and prepare to retreat,” she ordered, keeping her voice calm. She’d wondered, in the privacy of her own mind, how Admiral Weisskopf had lost the battle at Falkirk. She knew now. “Damaged ships are to hold the line.”

  A dull tremor ran through the ship. An aide looked up. “Direct hit, section seven!”

  Svetlana ignored it. “Relay the orders,” she said. “And inform the next in line that he may inherit command.”

  The display updated. Two more destroyers vanished, their icons blinking out. There would be time to remember - later - that the icons represented metal ships, crewed by flesh and blood crewmen. Sentiment had never been encouraged in the Russian Navy, but she’d always tried to remember her crewmen weren’t machines. She cursed her weakness, a second later. She needed to make hard decisions. She couldn’t do that if she became afraid to sacrifice a single life.

  Hold the line, she told herself. The enemy attack had been powerful - and shocking - but it was a conventional attack now. Hold the line and hope that they break over us.

  ***

  Richard stared at the hatch, utterly unsure what to do. He knew he should go to sickbay, like he’d promised; he knew he should report himself unfit for duty. But the alarms meant the ship was under attack, under attack in the middle of a friendly system! Nothing short of utter desperation would have prompted the captain to order his starfighters to launch immediately. And Richard’s subordinates didn’t know what had happened to him. They’d assume he was still in command ...

  And the confusion could get them killed, he thought. He opened the hatch and ran down the corridor, heading for the flight deck. I have to take command, or all hell will break loose.

  He tried not to think about what he was doing as he passed through the intersection and raced on. Confusion raged all around him as the crew rushed to battlestations, some rushing supplies from one compartment to another while others took up position to repel boarders, fingering their weapons as if they expected to see the enemy at any moment. The lights brightened slightly, a grim reminder that the virus couldn’t survive for long without a host-body. Richard hoped the precaution would be enough to prevent mass infection. The entire crew couldn’t don spacesuits without a major drop in efficiency.

  “She’s ready to fly, sir,” a crewman called. He gave Richard a quick thumbs-up. “Just don’t crash into an asteroid.”

  Richard blinked in shock - Monica had said the same thing - and then dismissed it as coincidence. It had to be a coincidence. The rest of his squadron were hurrying to their fighters - he caught a brief glimpse of Monica, her short blonde hair instantly recognisable - and readying themselves for battle. He felt a pang of guilt, which he quickly suppressed. He’d have to explain himself later, when the battle was over, but until then ...

  “Prepare for launch,” he ordered, as the starfighters were moved into the launch tubes. He checked the live feed from the ship’s sensors and swore. There was a massive enemy fleet bearing down on the MNF. Something was wrong about the positioning, but what? It took him several seconds to realise that the fleet clearly hadn’t come from Margo. “Give them hell ...”

  He glanced at the display as the catapults shot the starfighters into space. They didn’t have any specific orders, not yet. Standing orders were to cover the carrier, now the former CSP had been called forward to cover the remainder of the fleet. He saw a brief twinkle of light with the naked eye, cursing it under his breath as he realised another ship had died. The MNF was taking a battering. Too many ships were already damaged or destroyed.

  Monica bleeped him on the private channel. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Defending the mothership,” Richard snapped. A seemingly-endless wave of alien starfighters were boring their way towards Invincible, targeting their torpedoes on the carrier’s hull. Given a chance, they’d blow the carrier into dust. “Everything else can wait until later.”

  He switched channels before she could respond and started snapping orders to his squadron. They had to break up the alien formation before it entered attack range. He gunned his drives and lanced forward, half-expecting the remainder of the pilots to refuse his orders. If Monica had warned the others, if she’d suggested he was unfit for duty ... he let out a sigh of relief as the pilots followed him. He was going to have to do a lot of explaining afterwards, but - for the moment - he was in command.

  An alien starfighter lunged at him, guns spitting plasma death in his general direction. The targeting wasn’t too accurate, but it hardly mattered. Richard fired back, blowing the alien pilot into dust and evading his wingman’s fire a second before the next alien starfighter was destroyed. Four more alien craft dropped out of formation, trying to drive Richard’s squadron away while the remainder of the enemy ships continued their drive towards Invincible. Richard gritted his teeth and ignored the provocation, choosing instead to engage the torpedo-bombers. They couldn’t be allowed to attack Invincible with impunity.

  If they take out a carrier, we’re in trouble, he thought. A handful of carriers seemed to be missing from the display. We can’t recover fighters without a carrier ...

  “Watch your back,” Monica said. Her voice was very cold. He knew she’d have a lot more to say if the channel wasn’t public. “You have a bogey on your six.”

  “I see him,” Richard said. He flipped the starfighter over, firing as he brought his guns to bear. The alien starfighter exploded. “Don’t let them
get any closer to Invincible.”

  “There’s too many of them,” another pilot said. His voice rose in panic. “I ...”

  The voice stopped, abruptly. Richard didn’t need to look at the display to know that the pilot was dead. It was almost a relief that he barely knew anything about the young man - he couldn’t even remember the man’s name. He’d have to think of something nice to say about the poor bastard, if he survived long enough to hold a proper ceremony ... he shook his head tiredly. It was better not to think about the pilots, not to know them as people. It made it easier when they died.

  Monica was right, he thought, as he chased a pair of enemy starfighters that were throwing themselves at Invincible. They were driving down, swinging from side to side to evade the carrier’s point defence. I really am unfit for duty.

  One enemy starfighter flipped over and came right at him. Richard yanked his starfighter to one side, flashing past the enemy before either of them could do more than fire a handful of shots in the other’s direction. He ignored the starfighter behind him, trusting it would take the alien a few seconds to reverse course and bring his weapons to bear; he hurled himself at the other starfighter, the one that was starting to launch torpedoes right at Invincible’s hull. Richard blew him away before he could unload all of his weapons, silently praying it was enough. Invincible was tough, but her armour wasn’t quite up to spec ...

  But she can take more damage than any fleet carrier, he reminded himself. Invincible had taken a lot of damage since the war had begun. Can’t she?

  “Good shooting,” Monica said. She still sounded wary. “Only another few thousand to go.”

  “We’re not alone,” Richard reminded her. He felt better than he had in months, although he knew it was an illusion. When the adrenaline wore off, he was going to sink back into the slump. And this time, there would be no hope of taking another stim. “We have to give them hell.”

  He broke through into clear space and took a handful of seconds to check the overall situation. The enemy fleet was launching another wave of starfighters – rearmed starfighters - he guessed - while struggling to bring its main guns into range. It looked as if the admiral was organising a counterattack, but the human fleet had already been badly weakened. Too many carriers were gone or crippled. The Battle of Zheng He was shaping up into another disaster.

  Concentrate, he told himself, as another flight of enemy starfighters appeared. Their weapons were already blazing, filling space with deadly plasma bolts. Concentrate on what you’re doing, or die.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Admiral Weisskopf is confirmed dead, sir,” Newcomb reported. “He was on a shuttle when the attack began and ... he didn’t survive.”

  Stephen nodded, curtly. There was no time to mourn. The battle was only minutes old and already within shouting distance of being lost. He watched, grimly, as the remaining starfighters were ejected into space, Invincible quivering silently as her point defence covered their launch. So far, Invincible didn’t seem to have drawn significant enemy attention - a handful of torpedoes were not a serious threat, unless the virus got lucky - but it was only a matter of time until that changed.

  “Bring us about,” he ordered. He hated the idea of retreat, but the situation was rapidly becoming untenable. The fleet’s forward elements were already engaging the alien battleships. “Prepare to fall back on the tramline.”

  He forced himself to think as two more ships dropped out of the datanet. Admiral Zadornov was still in command, but her ship was under heavy attack. Command might devolve to one of her subordinates - possibly Stephen himself - at any time. He’d already assumed command of the rear elements. He didn’t want to split the fleet, giving the virus a chance to concentrate its firepower against one formation and crush it before the other could intervene, but he might not have a choice. They had to preserve as many warships as they could.

  “Alien ships are approaching the planet,” Morse reported. “They’re already engaging the orbital facilities.”

  Poor bastards, Stephen thought. The majority of the facilities had been evacuated, but the planetary government had insisted on leaving caretaker crews in place. He hoped they’d have the time - and sense - to take to the escape pods before the virus blew the facilities to dust. The people on the surface would have to go underground and hope for the best. There’s nothing we can do for them now.

  He dismissed the thought as a wave of enemy starfighters crashed over Invincible, firing a stream of torpedoes towards her hull. A dull quiver ran through his ship as two torpedoes slammed home, alerts flashing up in front of him before fading away as it became clear the damage was minimal. He breathed a sigh of relief as repair crews hurried to the damaged sections. So far, the virus hadn’t realised that parts of his armour were weaker than others. A single torpedo in the wrong place might do real damage.

  “The enemy fleet is pushing us hard,” Arthur reported. “Gunships inbound. I say again, gunships inbound.”

  “Engage them when they come into range,” Stephen ordered. Gunships were larger than starfighters - and considerably easier to hit - but they could carry full-sized shipkiller missiles instead of starfighter torpedoes. They could be nasty customers if their target’s point defence network had already been degraded. “And prepare to reroute the datanet if necessary.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Orders from the flag, Captain,” Morse said. “We’re to begin the retreat now.”

  And leave everyone else in the shit, Stephen thought. He assessed the situation quickly. It was possible that they’d be able to break contact and sneak through Tramline One, retreating further into human space, but unlikely. They were just too close to the enemy fleet to break contact without considerable difficulty. Admiral Zadornov would have real problems delaying the alien fleet long enough for Stephen to escape. But what choice do we have?

  “Signal the flotilla,” he ordered, shortly. “The remaining ships are to form up on us and begin the retreat.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Stephen winced. There was going to be a lot of confusion. All the carefully-negotiated command arrangements had been shot to hell in the last few minutes. A number of officers were dead or missing ... there was going to be a serious argument over who should be in command, once the shooting stopped. He snorted, inwardly. They didn’t have time to argue over who should take command. Right now, survival came first. He watched his point defence pick off a handful of alien starfighters and smiled humourlessly. They could engage in pointless arguments once the real danger was removed.

  “The enemy starfighters are regrouping,” Newcomb warned. “They’re targeting our drive section.”

  “Order the CSP to move to intercept,” Stephen ordered. He couldn’t allow the virus a clear shot at his drives. A handful of direct hits and his ship would be dead in space - or dead. “And move our escorts to cover us.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  ***

  “Admiral, Invincible is breaking formation,” an aide reported. “Her flotilla is taking shape around her.”

  “Good,” Svetlana said. Too many ships were crippled already, but ... if she could get the intact ships out of the line of fire, at least some of the fleet would survive. “Order the crippled ships to form up around us.”

  The ones that can, she added, silently.

  She sucked in her breath as the aliens closed the range, trying to bring their main guns into play. A line of battleships led the way, followed by a cluster of fleet carriers and a single oversized starship. Svetlana felt a flicker of cold excitement as she studied the mystery ship, contemplating what she might be. If she was a battleship, she would have taken her place in the line of battle; if she was a missile ship, she would have shot herself dry by now. And there was certainly no way she was a carrier. The only thing she seemed to be carrying was point defence.

  And that suggests they want her to survive, Svetlana thought. There was no point in building a battleship-sized point defence
starship. The very thought was absurd. A command ship?

  She keyed her terminal, bringing up the live feed from the recon platforms as the battle raged on. The network had been degraded, platforms blasted out of space or simply blinded by the sheer intensity of the fighting, but they could still pick up enough to suggest that the mystery ship was a command ship. It certainly seemed to be heavily protected, lingering behind the battleline rather than advancing forward to deal out death and destruction to the crippled human ships. The virus, which had seemed quite happily to spend entire fleets of starships like water in order to capture relatively minor targets, was behaving oddly. And that suggested ... what?

  “The crippled battleships are to punch through the enemy line of battle and engage the command ship,” she ordered, calmly. It was suicide, but it might buy time for the remaining ships to escape. “I want every crippled ship closing the range.”

  She allowed herself a tight smile. The virus was going to win the day - there was no point in disputing it - yet it had made a mistake. Her ships - the crippled ships - couldn’t hope to escape, but the virus couldn’t stop its forces from closing the range either. It had committed itself to an engagement at point-blank range, instead of standing off and blasting her ships from a safe distance. There was no way it could keep her from ramming her crippled ships right into the teeth of its formation, sacrificing her cripples to win time. It was going to cost her everything, including her life, but it didn’t matter. There was no way she could surrender.