Miller was a dissenter. One that once had been at the head of a conspiracy to remove the Mythrar from power. But their fight was shortsighted and underdeveloped, allowing the Mythrar to squash his resistance with ease.
Koniva had opted to give Miller a second chance to comply. It had taken some convincing, and kidnapping his wife and son, for him to agree. Landry wasn't fond of that type of compliance as it rested on the blade of a knife. If something were to happen to the collateral and they found out, it was just a matter of time until they resisted. Then there would be nothing left but to eliminate the threat, ending their usefulness for good.
Landry stepped away from the main console and assessed the crew. Some of them were plants, sent by the collective for this moment. Others were here under a sense of duty. Those too stupid to realize they were helping the Mythrar by doing their jobs. Then there was a final few that, like Flannigan, would refuse to do the Mythrar's dirty work, regardless of the reason. They had rooted most of those out during the opening minutes of his occupation of the CIC, though he was sure at least a few of them were still around.
Best to keep this order discreet, he thought.
It took him all of two seconds to come up with a solution. Not wanting to tip his hand, he strolled around the bridge, taking time to assess each station as he passed. Occasionally he'd stop at a terminal to talk to its operator, to give the impression that he was just doing his rounds. But it was a ruse. He needed to make sure the others wouldn't question anything when he delivered the message.
"Admiral Austin, a word?"
Austin perked up at the mention of his name. The man was a regular, everyday, kiss-ass. willing to do anything necessary to further himself and his career. Landry wondered what Austin's loyalty had cost the Mythrar. Likely it was something as simple as a position of power, possibly at the helm of one of the flagships.
"Send word to Captain Florence of the Odyssey. Tell him now is the time."
Austin glared back at him quizzically, as if the task were beneath him. He may have been a rear admiral for the NEC, but the rank meant nothing to the collective. To the collective, petty things like rank and station meant nothing, only service.
To his credit, the man gave Landry a quick nod. "I'll send it at once."
Landry scanned the room, making sure nobody was trying to listen in before leaning in to Austin's ear. "Relay the same message to the Clinton, Omaha, Miami, and the Phoenix. It must be discreet. If the rest of the fleet catches wind of this transmission, our plans will be over before they start."
Austin regarded it and smiled as if he were being entrusted with a grand secret nobody else could know. Little did he realize, most of the people in this room already knew the plan. Austin was being entrusted with this part only to test his loyalty. If the message got out to the intended targets without incident, Austin was loyal to the cause. If it didn't… Well, if it didn't, then Alvarez's blood wouldn't be the only one to spill today.
Landry left Austin to his task and returned to his terminal. The rest of the room regarded him as he passed, only to return to their job immediately. They were the loyal ones, having summoned the rest of the fleet without question. Willing to sell out their species for a common cause.
While the number of ships summoned would mean more losses to the Mythrar fleet, it would also mean fewer ships for them to face in the coming months, when the Mythrar fleet focused more on the mop-up operations than on conquest.
"Sir, I'm noticing something weird with the defensive array. It's like someone is trying to take control." A woman in the rear corner of the room said calmly from her station. "Should I enact countermeasures?"
Landry stroked the stubble on his chin. He had a good idea who was trying to take control of the defensive satellites orbiting the station. Since he'd made it clear he wasn't going to get involved in the battle, someone had used them in his stead. Enacting the countermeasures would allow them to remain inactive for a time, at least until someone could break the encryption. But if he let the perpetrator take temporary control of the array, it would allow him to play his hand at a time that would prove devastating to the NEC fleet.
"No," Landry replied. "Have the countermeasures ready, but refrain from enacting them until you hear my command. They can play with our toys for now."
The woman nodded before turning back to her station.
So this was their game, take control of the defensive array to raise humanity's chances in the fight. Little did they know, the array wouldn't be as helpful as they'd thought. In fact, when the command that he'd passed through Austin reached its intended targets, the defensive array would be the last thing on their minds.
They had no idea the NEC was playing right into the Mythrar’s ambush. By allowing the heavy cruisers to move ahead, they were willingly separating themselves from the rest of the fleet and ahead of dozens of smaller vessels. All it would take was some terrible targeting to cause part of the NEC lines to buckle. Once that happened, the flagships would move in and demolish the fleet.
Chapter Thirty-Five
New Earth Sector
Bridge, NECS Reliant
"Defensive array is online. Do you have a preferred target?" Richards said. The man's hair was disheveled as if he hadn't groomed it in days. Wellard suspected that might have been the case, as he'd been hard at work at his station for hours, trying to get the encryption for the satellites just right.
"Set them on the closest enemy target for now. If something changes, you'll be the first to know." Wellard regarded Richards with a nod.
Having the defensive array up and running was a blessing. With the loss of the station's impressive array of weaponry, any extra they could milk from the satellites was a bonus.
It didn't take the satellites long to assert their dominance. The first enemy ship exploded in a dazzling burst of light that took out a nearby ship with it. Soon the satellites had changed targets and were pounding on another vessel nearby.
"Open a channel with Admiral Parks."
"Channel open, sir," McRee noted as the image of the admiral appeared on the main screen.
"Wellard, your man got the defensive grid online. Now we might stand a chance."
Wellard nodded. "I suggest we pull back some of the smaller ships. Have them focus on the rest of the Mythrar's front line while some of us move to engage the flagships before they can hit us first."
"I'm not sure that's wise. Engaging the flagships now would divide our fleet. We need to eliminate the wrecks first, then the main line."
Wellard pursed his lips. He wanted to press the issue on the assault. Prove to Parks that his plan was the best, but doing so would set a poor example for the rest of his crew. They needed to know you should follow your superior's orders without question, even if you didn't think it was the best course of action. If Parks was intent on destroying the Mythrar's front line, he intended to get it done as fast as possible
"Fine, I'll swing the Reliant hard port, hit the targets away from the satellites."
"I'll order the other heavy cruisers to do the same. Then we can hit the flagships with everything we have."
If they wait that long, Wellard thought. He remembered the Battle for Entropa well. How the flagship held its position until its advantage was clear. By that time, the fleet had no other choice but to react. It allowed the smaller vessels to do a number on the combined NEC and Xandar fleets while they focused on the flagship. It had taken a suicide run from the Endeavor, complete with its new Alcubierre drive, to destroy the flagship.
This time around they didn't have that option. If they were going to survive, they had to find another way to take the flagships down.
"Sounds good. Wellard, out." He waited for the signal to end. "Ensign Price, swing us around hard port. Take us on a path that will allow our weapons crews to do the most damage. Wilson, order all fire teams to target on the remaining wrecks. Priorities are those with active weapon systems then those that are damaged."
"Unders
tood," Wilson replied.
"Midshipman Ritter, I have a task for you."
"Sir?" she questioned.
"I need you to focus your scans on the lead flagship. When it comes time to engage the vessel, I want to know everything about it. Specifically, I want to come up with better firing solutions than we had last time."
"Will do." Ritter turned to her console and entered the commands to start the scans.
The Reliant turned hard, putting the starboard side of the ship in line with the Mythrar line. As it did, the starboard weapon teams opened up with their complete array of weapons. The lights from a dozen lasers and the flares of twice as many cannons streaked towards the closest ship. Compared to the others in the line, it was in decent shape. It was missing a section of the hull under its belly, but everything else seemed to be intact.
Sensing the assault, the ship turned away, as if it were trying to hide its exposed innards from fire. But Wilson was too fast for them. He ordered the weapons teams to adjust their assault vector, compensating for the turn.
The ship belched fire and debris from the already massive hole before a blast seemed to tear it apart at its seams. Then as suddenly as it started, the ship was gone, leaving an expanding debris field in its wake. Just as quickly, the weapons teams focused on the next ship in line.
The surrounding scene was much the same. One by one, the blips representing the Mythrar ships blinked off the display, each one adding to the amount of space debris in the system. At their current pace, they could engage the flagships in less than fifteen minutes.
Wellard jolted in his chair as an explosion rocked the Reliant. He pulled up his console as two more blasts erupted on the ship. "What the hell is hitting us?" he demanded.
"It's the NECS Odyssey."
"What the hell is Florence playing at?"
Wilson shrugged. "He's not the only one, Captain. The Clinton, Omaha, Miami, and the Phoenix are also firing on our fleet."
Things had just gone from bad, to remarkably worse.
Chapter Thirty-Six
New Earth Sector
Cockpit, X-71 Fighter
Fireball twisted through the expanding debris field from one of the Mythrar light cruisers as he locked onto his next target. The fighter banked hard to port, narrowly missing a beam from an NEC ship.
For a fleeting moment, he was back in his element. A place where he could allow the pains of his life to fade to focus on survival. It was the way of things during battle. Each target he destroyed was one less that could destroy him or his friends. That was the important thing. Not his survival, or even winning the battle. He wanted to make sure his friends got to see another day.
Fireball pushed forward on the yoke, mimicking the maneuver of the enemy drone. He waited until the mass of the ship was in his targeting reticle before pulling the trigger. Rounds streaked away from his fighter, most missing the drone at first while Fireball adjusted his course. Then a round tore into the drone, ripping off a wing. It sent the drone into a death spiral, right into a Mythrar cruiser.
No sooner than the drone exploded, he switched to the next target in line. His problems seemed to disappear as he lost himself in the thrill of battle. While he hated fighting, he was glad to have the distraction.
In a way, this had become his life. Long periods of reflection followed by short sprints of action. The problem was that the reflective periods seemed to grow longer and the action periods shorter. The constant grind on his emotions was dragging him down. It was getting to a point where he had to break himself out of his rut. Otherwise, he'd end up doing something he might regret.
Bringing the next target into his sights, he unleashed another volley of fire before turning to the next. He continued to tear through the drones with ease. Outside of Switch, and a handful of other pilots still alive from his time on the Endeavor, he had more experience against the drones than anyone. He knew how they flew, how they reacted to the battle, and their targeting preferences. For the most part, the drones only seemed to focus on the fighters in their way. They seemed interested more in the capital ships than the fighters they belched into the void.
That suited Fireball just fine. If they wanted to leave him alone, he wasn't about to complain.
An NEC fighter streaked by his cockpit. He wondered if it was Switch, or if it was a pilot from another ship. With all the commotion on his radar, it was impossible to make out any specific units, let alone people, in the mess. It also made it damned near impossible to target anything ahead of time. I'm glad I didn't sleep through the manual targeting class like a few of the others. Others, he suspected who were long dead.
Each target he destroyed only fueled his growing rage. More and more he wanted nothing else but to make the Mythrar pay. Pay for sending people to kill his friends. Pay for finding their home after a century. He even wanted them to pay for attacking them back on Earth during the first war. They were the scum of the universe.
For their crimes, they deserved something far more horrible than death. Perhaps a century of pain and torture at the hands of those they'd enslaved back on Earth. No, even that would be a pittance for what they had done, but humans weren't capable of living long enough to see a suitable punishment through. So a quick death at the hands of his fighter would have to do.
Fireball pulled back on his yoke hard as he blasted another target to bits. The view of the battle shifted until the massive Mythrar flagship was dead center on his screen. For a fleeting moment, he considered attacking the vessel. His meager weapons would do little to damage its hull, but the mass of his fighter was much different. Commander Bremerton had done something similar with the Endeavor. Only the Endeavor was a much bigger ship than his little X-71. Not only that, the Endeavor had the advantage of its new Alcubierre drive which allowed it to close with the ship before it could be destroyed.
Still, if the opportunity presented itself, he was willing to try. Anything to ensure as many of his friends got to survive as he could manage.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
New Earth Sector
New Earth Station
Walker stopped at the end of the hall as Adams and Phillips searched around a narrow corridor. The rest of the Marines held their blasters at the ready, in case a threat was to surface from one of the rooms.
Jason watched the squadron with a delighted glee, though he was careful to keep his emotions bottled inside, lest he give away his true intentions. He was sure the team was taking them the long way through the station, to get him worked up. But little did they know, the delay was working in his favor. Soon the final preparations would be complete, and when that happened, there was little a whole platoon of Marines could do to sway the tide.
"Clear," Adams said from the front. Walker stood, and the rest of the unit followed. Jason remained on his knees. If they were intent on dallying along, he intended on making the trip take even longer.
"Commander," Walker said, almost impatiently, "we're waiting on you."
Jason held his position a minute longer before pulling himself up to his feet. One of the nearby Marines, Hogan, if he remembered correctly, gave an audible sigh. It took everything to keep from grinning.
"I'm sorry. I'm just not used to moving like this." Some of the Marines shot him a disgusted look, but Walker eyed him with something like pity. But, to be fair, it could have been something else. In their short time together, he had found it difficult to get a good read on the sergeant. At first, he appeared to be a textbook Marine, complete with the same habits and mannerisms. But the longer they were together, the clearer it was that he was nothing like the others.
Walker stepped to Jason and helped him the rest of the way to his feet. "It's OK, son. The boys aren't used to being in space during battle. I think they're in a hurry to get off the station." He allowed Jason to take a step on his own before stepping up alongside. "Half the boys have family down there. Norton's family is in Delleron. O'Neill, his parents used to live in Strangrad. Last I heard they moved down
to Cheagra, that little city on the southern coast of Somaji."
Jason forced a smile. "I understand." He dusted off his clothes as he walked. If he was willing to force an argument, he might have suggested they take a direct path to the shuttle bay or perhaps make their way to the main lift. There were numerous ways for the squad to take that would've gotten them through the station, yet even now they seemed determined to take the scenic route. He let the slight go unnoticed and instead, offered Walker a thoughtful nod.
They continued through the station at a snail's pace. Hardly fitting for a unit in a hurry, he thought. Twenty minutes later, Adams raised his arm, bringing the team to a halt once again.
Walker dropped to a knee before reaching out and pulling Jason down with him. "There's a team of agents up ahead. Eight from the looks. They're escorting someone off the station."
"The vice president?" Jason asked, though he didn't believe it to be true. Landry's plans required him to remain on the station. Other precautions had been made in case of catastrophic damage, but for now, his task was to remain true and coordinate the efforts of the collective from the CIC.
There was the odd chance that he wasn't aware of any new orders. He had been forced to mingle with Captain Wellard's Marines, after all. More time had passed since he'd started this trek through the station. It was just as likely new orders were waiting on him.
Walker shrugged. "Don't think so. After Alvarez, I doubt they'd leave him so unguarded."
The information piqued his interest. If they weren't escorting Landry off the station, he wondered who they had. Perhaps they’d found someone else to pin Alvarez's murder on, the poor fools. They could spend the next century looking for the culprit without realizing he was almost under their noses.
Jason waited for Walker to move forward before leaning into the middle of the hallway. Just at the edge of his vision, he could make out the form of a person wearing an NEC uniform.
Defiant (The Mythrar War Book 4) Page 11