And I wouldn’t surrender, even if I could, Svetlana acknowledged, privately. There’s too much at stake.
A shudder ran through the giant carrier. “Admiral, they’re targeting our flight decks ...”
“Order the starfighters to prepare to break contact and fall back on Invincible’s flotilla on my command,” Svetlana said. Alerts flashed up in front of her as another shudder ran through the ship. “We’re not going to be able to recover them.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
***
Richard was having a hard time keeping track of the engagement as Invincible and her consorts - a formation that had been thrown together at breakneck speed - slowly started to retreat. The enemy starfighters were concentrating more on crippling the retreating ships rather than trying to destroy them, forcing him to deploy his starfighters to cover the targets as they came under attack. Half the command network seemed to have been shot to ribbons, leaving him unsure just who or what was under his command. Pilots flew with whatever wingmen they could pick up, somehow continuing the fight as organised squadrons crumbled under the pressure. He didn’t have any time to think about anything but killing.
He cursed under his breath as he chased a trio of alien starfighters as they flashed towards Invincible, veering from side to side in a series of unpredictable manoeuvres. One of them flipped over, spinning within the drive field in a manner that Richard had rarely seen outside display flying; the enemy starfighter opened fire, even as he kept flying towards the giant carrier. Richard allowed himself a flicker of admiration for the enemy pilot, although he knew that the virus’s host-body was indifferent to survival. There weren’t many pilots who would have dared to adjust the drive field in the middle of a combat zone. His admiration didn’t keep him from blowing the alien craft into dust. There was no time to watch it die. He had to sweep on to the next one.
Invincible’s stern section seemed to blossom in front of him as he zoomed closer, alerts flashing up to warn him of incoming point defence fire. At such close range, the mothership’s point defence could be as dangerous to her own starfighters as it was to the enemy. IFF was often dangerously unreliable when the safety of the mothership was at stake. An enemy starfighter settled into attack position; Richard took advantage of the brief predictability to blow it away, then target its wingman. The second starfighter managed to launch two torpedoes before it died, although one of them went wide. Richard just hoped it wasn’t programmed to home in on the closest target before its drive section burnt itself out. A torpedo wasn’t as dangerous as a missile, but it was very definitely the fastest thing in space.
“Incoming gunships,” Monica warned. “They’re moving into missile range.”
Richard risked a glance at his squadron display. Four pilots were dead, two more missing ... probably dead. They might just have lost contact with him and been absorbed into another squadron ... he shrugged. Right now, they might as well be dead. Monica’s squadron wasn’t much better. Technically, he should merge the two squadrons into one, but he didn’t have time. All the emergency drills had left out the goddamned emergency. There wouldn’t be a smooth reorganisation when they were taking incoming fire.
“Form up on me,” he ordered. The gunships weren’t using active sensors to target their missiles, but they didn’t have to. Right now, Invincible and her consorts were the largest targets within range. A blind man could fire a missile in her general direction, relying on the seeker head to guide the weapon to its target. Better to take the gunships out before they could launch their missiles. “Prepare to engage.”
The gunships had an ace up their sleeve, he noted coldly as the range closed sharply. Their designers had packed a handful of point defence weapons into their hulls, giving them a chance to punch through the starfighters and get into firing range. They couldn’t put out anything like as much firepower as a destroyer, let alone a battleship, but it hardly mattered. A single hit would almost certainly be enough to take out a starfighter. There were stories of pilots who had survived such hits, yet only two or three of them had ever been verified.
And they have their disadvantages too, he thought, wryly. There was a reason gunships had never been popular, outside a handful of patrol and customs duties. They can’t soak up as much damage as a ship of the line, either.
He jammed his finger on the trigger as the gunship came into view. The enemy ship staggered under his fire, then exploded. Richard smirked as two more gunships followed their leader into death, the remainder launching their missiles in a desperate bid to get their blows in before it was too late. Gunships had their advantages, but at point-blank range they were no match for starfighters. Their attack pattern was weak, too. They’d clearly wanted to get closer before they fired their missiles, trusting in their drives to rush them to their targets before the point defence could sweep them out of space.
“Got him,” Monica carolled.
“What an easy target,” someone jeered. Richard made no attempt to place the voice. “He was a sitting duck.”
“A sitting duck who was shooting his wad at me,” Monica countered. “He was hardly a defenceless duck!”
“Good shooting,” Richard said, before the argument could get out of hand. The last of the gunships exploded, a tiny fireball flickering and dying in the endless cold of space. He glanced at his display. The enemy starfighters were falling back, but he knew better than to think it was a good sign. They needed to be rearmed before they returned to the fray. “Squadron leaders, sound off.”
He listened to the reports, feeling his heart clench. Nearly half of Invincible’s starfighters were gone. They’d picked up a number of starfighters from other ships, but it wasn’t enough to fill the gaps in his roster. He reminded himself, savagely, that he probably wouldn’t have to worry about his roster once he returned to the ship ... then kicked himself, mentally, for even having such an unworthy fault. Monica - or whoever succeeded him - would have to sort out the mess. If, of course, the virus gave them time.
His intercom bleeped. “All starfighters are to resume CSP duties.”
Richard blinked. They could take the offensive, they could give the virus a taste of its own medicine. The virus’s fleet carriers were clearly visible, even if they were on the wrong side of a line of battleships. The big ships were tough targets, but they had problems of their own right now. They were too busy trading blows with humanity’s battleships to worry about flights of starfighters sneaking past them and engaging the fleet carriers ...
He opened his mouth to argue, then changed his mind. They didn’t have time.
“Understood,” he said. Orders were orders. Besides, they needed to rearm some of their starfighters too. He just hoped they could do it before they ran out of time. The virus was winning. It wasn’t going to just let the human fleet wander off. “We’re on the way.”
***
“Admiral, Nevada is closing with an alien battleship. She’s going to ram.”
Svetlana nodded, grimly. The American starship was trading blow for blow with the alien battleship, but both ships were too heavily armoured to take much damage. And yet, the Americans were still closing. The virus’s ship was trying to evade, but the battleship was too big and unwieldy to escape before it was too late. She sucked in her breath as the two starships collided, vanishing in an eye-tearing flare of light. The display updated rapidly as a gap appeared in the alien formation. They didn’t have the time to alter their positions to compensate.
“Take us through the gap,” she ordered. Nevada had died to win them time. Other ships were fighting desperately to stay alive just long enough to hurt the enemy. She was damned if she was going to allow their sacrifice to be wasted. “And point us directly at the command ship.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
She gritted her teeth as the enemy ships, suddenly very aware of the danger, started to pound Brezhnev with every weapon they could bring to bear. Svetlana watched the damage mount up, knowing it was too late. Her ship wasn’t g
oing to survive long enough to be towed back to the shipyard, even if she tried to break off. A destroyed flight deck hardly mattered when the entire warship was about to be destroyed. She watched chunks of armour shredding under the impact, enemy weapons slicing deep into her hull. It was too late.
“Impact in thirty seconds, Admiral,” her aide said.
“Order the remaining starfighters to fall back on Invincible now,” Svetlana said. “Command of the fleet is to pass to Captain Shields.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
“Vanguard is under heavy fire,” another aide called. “Tirpitz is leaking atmosphere ... she’s closing with her opponent.”
She’ll keep the enemy ship busy, even if she doesn’t manage to ram, Svetlana thought. And she will buy us a little more time.
“Impact in ten seconds,” her aide said. He sounded very calm, for someone who was about to die. “They’re engaging us with popguns.”
Svetlana smiled, coldly. The enemy command ship didn’t carry any heavy weapons. A mistake, one the virus would bitterly regret. She doubted she could have reached point-blank range if the command ship had been armed to the teeth. The damage was still mounting up, but ... they could shoot out her drives, now, and the two ships would still collide. They were too close, now, for the enemy ship to escape. Two more battleships rammed themselves into enemy ships, a third trying desperately to bring the enemy fleet carriers under fire before it was too late ... her fleet was dying, but it would buy time. She just hoped it would be enough. She’d underestimated the virus. She hoped her successor, whoever commanded the next MNF, learnt from her mistakes.
Shouldn’t have pushed me into death ground, she thought, darkly. She might not have committed herself if she’d seen any hope of saving her cripples from certain destruction. A more careful engagement might have suited the virus better, in the long run. I had no choice but to fight to the last. And hope my death meant something.
She stood, ignoring the shaking as her ship was steadily torn apart. The alerts were starting to blur together into a shrill tone, heralding total destruction. She clicked it off, watching the display as the alien ship came closer. Five seconds ... three seconds ... one ...
There was a brilliant flash of white light, then nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Stephen cursed under his breath as he watched Brezhnev die.
He knew, intellectually, that the two ships had perished in a tearing explosion. He knew that both crews were almost certainly dead, unless they’d had time to get to the lifepods before a series of explosions tore their ships apart. But it was hard to believe it. The display showed nothing of the force that had shattered two mighty ships. Two icons had simply merged -- and vanished.
“Captain,” Newcomb said. “Command has devolved to you.”
“Understood,” Stephen said. He’d already assumed command of the intact ships. It was a formidable fleet, if he managed to break contact long enough to regroup, repair, and figure out a way to take the offensive or sneak back to human space. “Recall the starfighters - all the starfighters - and parcel them out amongst the surviving carriers.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Arthur looked up from his console. “Captain, the enemy command network appears to have been hit hard. Their coordination is shot to hell.”
Stephen leaned forward, studying the sensor feed. Arthur was right. It looked as if the virus had suddenly lost its command datanet. The webbing that bound its formations into a single entity was gone, each starship fighting alone rather than coordinating its fire with its fellows. It was still a powerful fleet - Stephen would have been wary of his chances in a straight fight, even if he had had time to repair his starships and rest his people - but it was suddenly less effective. It gave him a chance to break contact and escape.
“Prepare to deploy ECM drones,” he ordered. “They’re to cover our retreat.”
He flicked through the displays, considering the various contingency plans. There was no hope of reaching Tramline One, not without abandoning the freighters and the handful of ships that couldn’t make flank speed. Tramline Two was equally pointless, particularly with another enemy fleet lurking on the far side of the tramline. He could play a game of cat-and-mouse within the system for hours, perhaps days, but eventually the virus would run him down and smash his fleet to atoms. He needed to break contact, and do it in a manner that would make it difficult for the virus to follow him.
And that may be impossible, he thought, stiffly. There weren’t many options. We can’t abandon the freighters, or we may as well give up any hope of stopping the offensive short of Terra Nova.
“The starfighters have been recalled,” Newcomb said. “They’re reorganising the squadrons now.”
“Get them rearmed as quickly as possible,” Stephen ordered. The virus was probably rearming its own starfighters too. It wouldn’t be long before it solved its command problems and resumed the offensive. “And reinforce the CSP ...”
“Captain,” Lieutenant Adams said. “I’m picking up new contacts, on a least-time course from Tramline Two.”
“The fleet we saw on the far side,” Newcomb commented.
“And a fleet with a command ship of its own,” Stephen said. He didn’t presume to understand how the virus thought, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t afford a close engagement with one fleet while the other was breathing down his neck. There was no way he could smash even a disoriented fleet before its reinforcements entered firing range. It would be a mistake to let the fleets combine, but ... he saw no way to prevent it. “They’ve solved their command and control problem.”
He thought, fast. “Order the fleet to set course for” - he designated a coordinate on the terminal - “Point Alpha. At Alpha, we will go into cloak and deploy drones to suggest that we’re running for Tramline One.”
“Yes, sir,” Newcomb said. “And where will we be going?”
“Tramline Four,” Stephen said. It would give them a breathing space, perhaps long enough to repair the ships and plan their next move. “We cannot remain in this system.”
His XO didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. Stephen understood, all too well. Their options were very limited. Their ships were too badly damaged to rely on the cloaking devices to hide them, if they remained in Zheng He. And the virus had no particular reason to hold the system. There was little hope of carrying out a series of raids when there was nothing to hit, save for the alien fleet itself. He’d just have to hope they’d be able to repair their ships before it was too late.
Preserve what we can, he thought. And hope for the best.
“Captain, Force Two is altering course,” Alison reported. “She’s trying to run us down.”
“Figures,” Stephen growled. It made sense, if one didn’t care about losses. Force Two might not be able to defeat his ships, but it could weaken them enough for Force One to deliver the final blow. Or ... they could simply maintain contact, making it impossible for Stephen and his ships to hide. They had to keep the range as open as possible. “Keep us on course for Point Alpha.”
He glanced at the stream of automated reports flowing into his console. Too many ships were damaged, too many starfighters blown out of space ... it wasn’t going to be easy to repair his ships and rebuild his squadrons, not with the prospect of another engagement at any moment. His people were working hard to do what they could, but there were limits. He studied the lists for a moment, then put them out of his mind. He’d worry about them later, if there was a later.
The virus needs to keep us from falling back through Tramline One, he thought. It was so hard to be sure. It was basic tactics, common sense, but ... did the virus see it that way? Or was it convinced that the battered fleet was no further threat? It can’t let us fall back on reinforcements, can it?
He cursed under his breath. The virus knew everything about human space ... or, at least, it should know everything about human space. It should be capable of making informed guesses of everything from
production rates to if and when humanity’s allies would take the field. Every goddamned security precaution had melted like snow in the face of an enemy that could turn loyal men into willing traitors. But there was no way to know how the virus would interpret the data. Or how it would react to different threats. Logically, Stephen knew he was right. But would the virus care about human logic?
I have to assume the worst, he reminded himself.
He felt the seconds ticking by as Force Two picked up speed, clearly angling to get its fleet carriers into engagement range before it was too late. Force One was moving too, carefully slipping through the remains of the once-great MNF and heading directly for Stephen’s remaining ships. It was moving with an odd lack of coordination, as if the different ships no longer had a single commanding officer, but it was moving all the same. Stephen silently worked his way through the vectors, calculating possible outcomes. Force One was moving slowly. It was possible, he supposed, that some of its ships had been crippled in the engagement.
The Right of the Line Page 27