The whole time Xiont and I were talking, Umpernilli and Pallish kept looking my way. Mainly Pallish. After the twentieth or so time I was about to say something to the angular corporal when Lt. Burian sat up straight and his hand snapped up to his ear.
At the same time, Pilot Arnold shouted down, “Gravitational fluctuation. Someone’s dropping out of condensed space travel.”
After a moment, the pilot switched on the holo-display, giving everyone a view of the Behemoth class transport. “Well, isn’t that special,” he said. “They decided to arm her to the teeth.” From his controls, he adjusted the holo-display. “Well, lookie there. They slapped on some armor plating. Covers most of the hull.” After hearing a few Marines groan, the pilot asked, “Any wagers down there as to whether our itty-bitty rotary cannon will penetrate, or just plink off of that?”
Chapter 29
Everything went well for the first fifteen minutes of the behemoth class transport Jormungand’s approach. Switching through my com-set’s channels, I listened in. Radio communication between the dock and the approaching transport seemed brief but professional. The corpses floating in space didn’t appear to surprise or concern Jormungand’s captain. Why would it? With four tri-beam laser turrets, two on the portside, one facing forward and the other aft, and a mirror arrangement starboard, that gave them ample offensive firepower. I counted at least eight dual-beam pulse laser mounts for close defense against missiles, fighters, attack shuttles, and breaching pods. But what concerned me most was the dorsally mounted cannon that appeared to have a 360 degree horizontal and 180 degree vertical axis acquisition and firing arc. Both McAllister and Thrall Blue Gray Blue Blue Nineteen identified it as a Primus Crax auxiliary energy beam cannon.
I wondered how much of the behemoth transport’s cargo area had been dedicated to housing nuclear reactors to power the additional weaponry, especially the A-Tech cannon. If they had A-Tech targeting and A-Tech sensor arrays as well, we were beyond warp screwed.
I strapped on my helmet, deciding that if they had a complete suite of advanced sensor arrays, the ambush would’ve been detected already. Matching advanced targeting sensors with the advanced cannon seemed like a better plan, for them…
Still, that they’d armed the behemoth transport meant stealthy missions requiring close proximity to ships, orbital colonies, or planetary objectives was out, at least for the Jormungand.
“Detaching from umbilical,” Pilot Arnold announced. That meant wired communications had been severed. With strict radio silence except for dock systems sending to the closing ship and simulating normal activity, the next message would announce the balloon going up.
“With their unanticipated firepower,” Arnold said, “orders are to execute Secondary Assault Plan D.”
I had to stop and think about that change. Closing my eyes, I recalled the alternate plan from reading the mission brief details. Instead of two waves, with fighters and attack shuttles leading, breaching pods were to follow right on the first wave’s tail rather than launch after a five minute delay.
Lt. Burian stated the obvious. “She has more firepower than the Bizmith Orbital Dock and this dead-in-space freighter combined. If the add-on ion cannons fail in their objective, the tin can sheltering us’ll be Swiss cheese. And soon after Mr. Grim Reaper’ll be around to retrieve my life’s little claim ticket. And all yours, too.”
He was right. The task force would take at least twenty minutes to arrive once the recall signal was sent. Maybe longer. During the Silicate War, it took a Crax frigate twenty-four minutes to cold start its engines, but experience told me they could do it faster. And if they’d been prepping, twenty minutes for the cavalry to arrive might be too late.
A minor shockwave reverberated from the floor grate up through my boots. My seat’s construction allowed it to absorb the jolt caused by explosives shearing open the Iron Oxen’s hull to provide the ion cannons a field of fire.
“That’s our signal,” Pilot Arnold said. “If you’re not buckled in, now would be the time.”
Everyone but the Bahklack double-checked. The Chicher gave a quick visual inspection to assure himself that the hexagonal crate remained secure.
With a few thumb tapping commands via his remote, the lieutenant shifted the holo-projection to give a split view. The Iron Oxen’s cargo hold’s doors began opening while the ion cannons advanced their muzzles beyond the newly shorn portholes. The view of the closing Jormungand diminished in size. Her main engines and starboard side maneuvering thrusters flared to full power.
A slight jolt announced the ion cannons releasing their first blast. Sparkles of white gouted from the exposed cannon muzzles even as they recoiled back within the confines of the freighter’s hull.
Each ion blast streaked toward its target like a giant had hurled a fist full of sparklers, old-style fireworks, at the enemy freighter. The lighting effects weren’t necessary as ship targeting systems automatically detected origin, hits, and misses. The psychological effect of being fired upon by an enemy, even if the particular vessel you occupied wasn’t the current target, carried weight. Thus, the sparkling lights were included because nobody enjoyed witnessing their side taking fire, even if it missed.
The Oxen’s opening salvo streaked past, both shots missing by narrow margins.
Not good. Either they rushed their shots, have poor tracking and targeting sensors, or both.
Two of the Bizmith Dock’s three turrets must’ve gotten a targeting solution as they fired next. One pair of dual beam defense lasers struck aft, but failed to penetrate Jormungand’s armor. The second pair also failed to penetrate but managed to rake across one of the transport’s forward mounted laser turrets.
Fighters and attack shuttles exited the Oxen’s hold as we took off. “Hold on to your seats, gentlemen—and women!”
I guess he counted Blue Gray Blue Blue Nineteen as a woman, along with McAllister.
The enemy transport didn’t turn but pressed forward.
By the time we exited the cargo hold, the ion cannons fired again, but not before the Jormungand’s remaining forward firing lasers opened up. The tri-beams tore through the bay holding one of the ion cannons, and burned deep into the old freighter’s bowels. One of the ion cannon’s blasts struck the closing behemoth transport in the nose, sending a shower of arcing sparks along its front. Before the signs of the cannon’s strike diminished, three small vessels—Primus Crax fighters—rocketed from a portside bay.
Whereas the Crax fighters I’d seen before were wedge-shaped, these looked like two small pyramids stuck onto opposite sides of a slightly larger sphere. They looked odd, but fast. Faster than any fighter or attack shuttle I’d ever seen, even Umbelgarri.
Almost immediately the trio of Primus fighters began pelting the Oxen with streams of emerald energy in five round bursts. Each pyramid had a turret. Six energy streams hammered the Oxen, zeroing in on the hold housing the remaining ion cannon.
Everyone was watching the holo projection of the battle, just like me. Even the Bahklack appeared to have a look of concern, the way its stalk eyes followed the Primus fighters, excluding everything else.
The lieutenant asked, “What say you, Pilot?”
“Well, I’m glad I’m not a fighter pilot. Which means I’ll probably live about ten minutes longer than them.”
The orbital dock and the Oxen had launched everything. That meant nine fighters, eleven attack shuttles, and twenty-four breaching pods.
O’Vorley glanced at me, eyebrows raised in concern.
I commented to him, and anyone listening, “Emerald is fast becoming my least favorite color.”
“Mine too,” said Smith.
“Okay, passengers,” Pilot Arnold said, “enjoy the ride and the light show. Ignore the jinking, or at least hold your stomachs, as I try a little evasive maneuvering.”
The original plan called for breaching pods to follow the fighters and attack shuttles in. The fighters’ job was to engage any enemy fighters.
Terran were anticipated. The attack shuttles were to silence any self-defense batteries the behemoth transport might have and follow up by taking out her primary thrust engines, and then engage any Primus Crax frigates that might emerge from the transport’s cavernous cargo hold. Two of the breaching pods were to latch onto the Jormungand and keep her crew occupied until reinforcements arrived. The rest of us were to attach and cut our way into any Primus Crax vessel that was in the hold, the second the doors opened, or were blown open by canister mines launched from some of the attack shuttles.
Private Umpernilli asked, “Will that work, Lieutenant?” A look of concern mingled with dismay filled is eyes. “The jinking?”
Lieutenant Burian returned the question with a grim smile. Rapping his knuckles against the metallic hull plate behind him, he said, “She’s nimble as a hippopotamus navigating an obstacle course. That data point should suffice to draw a reasonable conclusion.”
As if to emphasize the bad turn the engagement had taken, the Jormungand’s eight dual-beam pulse laser mounts opened up, peppering us with long range fire and giving our fighters one more thing to worry about, a minor distraction with respect to the incoming destructive scheme of things.
My com-set switched to Bizmith Dock Command. “Execute Beta Six.”
That was all I heard before our fighters launched their short range missiles and opened up with their pulse lasers, hoping to pound through the enemy’s defensive screens before being shredded themselves.
There was no hope of out maneuvering or outrunning the enemy.
Spear-wielding Neanderthals charging Nazi SS troopers firing MP 40 submachine guns.
Within seconds, emerald fire turned five of our fighters and their pilots into shattered bits of debris. Only one Primus fighter sustained damage in the exchange.
Before the Primus fighters could fire on their second target, two silver beams struck and penetrated the screens shielding the undamaged Primus fighters, crippling them.
Pilot Arnold said, “That, gentlemen, came from the replacement def-sats, apparently constructed with an Umbelgarri upgrade.”
“Might’ve executed that release decision sooner,” grumbled Sergeant Smith as we watched the opposing fighters close to knife-fighting range. The combination of missiles and pulse lasers finished off all three Primus fighters, leaving two surviving fleet fighters, one severely crippled with engines flaring out.
“You’re right, Sm—Sergeant,” I said. “Should’ve played that ace in the hole sooner.”
Our breaching pod, Turbo Crank, swayed in its trajectory as we closed on the oncoming behemoth transport. The best ‘jinking’ the pilot was able to perform.
“Even if we get there,” McAllister muttered, “this ill-conceived calamity can only lead to catastrophe.”
“You’ve been wrong before,” Smith suggested before winking at me.
She rolled her eyes.
“I’ll just be satisfied if our breaching equipment cuts through,” O’Vorley said.
“One disappointment at a time,” McAllister replied.
The thrall’s computerized translation interrupted McAllister as she took a breath, saying, “The Masters have provided Monn-Gorrium Mwa Moon monomolecular saws to the human caste of allied followers. Data shows one is installed on this vessel designed for controlled rupture to deposit hostilities against the Masters’ Swamp Nests World Destroyers. Co-enemies of the human caste of allied followers. The Masters’ designs are superior to the Swamp Nests World Destroyers metallic alloys.”
It was obvious, in all of the excitement, the crab alien had dispensed with trying to frame his phrasing for clear translation.
One of the Bizmith Dock’s lasers found its mark again, but failed to do more than superficial hull damage. In response the Jormungand’s forward laser battery took out one of the upgraded def-sats.
The behemoth’s Primus weapon hadn’t moved. I doubted it was a mockup. Maybe the ion cannon’s strike had disabled it. With that in mind, I said to no one in particular, “They recovered awfully fast from the ion cannon strike.”
The eleven attack shuttles each launched a pair of missiles. If they made it past the self-defense pulse lasers and found their mark, the nuclear warhead blasts should knock the crew around a bit. Without an atmosphere to carry the shockwave, I didn’t think the carbon-coated depleted uranium pellets alone would penetrate the armor. But they might find some cracks and vulnerable systems mounted on the outer hull, like pulse beam laser turrets, sensors, and communication arrays.
Across from me, Umpernilli said in an unsteady voice, “It would be easier on us if there weren’t any Crax ships in the transport.”
That sounded uncharacteristic of a Colonial Marine. Maybe they were scraping the bottom of the barrel for recruits.
“It’d be a monumental misallocation of assets if the behemoth transport was stuffed with something like cotton balls, Private,” Lt. Burian snarled. He leaned against his straps, toward Umpernilli. “I’m sure Capital Galactic renegades slapped on armor and military grade lasers, and a Primus energy weapon just for that. What about the bodies of the dock’s crew jettisoned into space for no important reason? Possibly akin to scattering hundreds of rose petals to honor the arrival of Humanity’s greatest enemy?” He leaned back and put his hand to his ear.
My thinking was that I didn’t want Private Umpernilli covering my back. Meeting Kent’s eyes, I knew he felt the same. McAllister? With that sneer, what stopped her from spitting I’ll never know.
The enemy shot down all but two of the missiles. The transport’s turret gunners knew their business. One of the missiles detonated against a dorsal section, scarring it just forward of the mounted Primus weapon. The other must’ve had a proximity fuse as it detonated portside, just aft of the ship, damaging one of the main thrust engines.
I wished my com-set had the codes to decipher the attack shuttles’ communications.
The Jormungand came on despite the surviving def-sat taking out the transport’s remaining forward lasers. She sloughed off the attack shuttles’ raking pulse laser attacks, destroying four of them with her own pulse lasers in the process.
As soon as the attack shuttles passed and began to form up with the two fighters, the behemoth’s armored cargo bay doors blew open. They literally detached and tumbled away. That’d leave the ship’s vulnerable interior exposed.
Just as fast, two spherical ships—Primus Crax frigates—emerged from the bays. One portside, the other starboard. It appeared they were using maneuvering thruster power only. At least for the moment.
“That’s our cue,” Pilot Arnold said. The Turbo Crank’s swaying evasive maneuvers ceased as he gave full power to thrust engines.
O’Vorley, sitting between Umpernilli and McAllister, leaned over and asked, “How long until reinforcements arrive?”
I shrugged. “Five, maybe ten minutes at the earliest.”
“Look at that,” Private Xiont said, pointing at the holo image.
Like popcorn in a hot kettle, emergency life pods ejected from the behemoth transport.
Private Villet, the communications specialist, said, “She couldn’t have been damaged that badly.”
“I agree,” said the lieutenant. “Mighty fast recovery from the ion cannon.”
Smith shouted up to the pilot, “Is her trajectory carrying her where I think?”
Arnold was too busy coordinating with Command to answer.
Various types of shuttles, from short range inter-solar system to long range condensed space capable joined, the last few emergency escape pods fleeing the behemoth transport. Who’d pick up those that couldn’t escape under their own power? If we won the day, they’d become prisoners, probably executed for treason. If the Primus Crax survived, would they pick up any of the certain-to-be desperate humans?
The Bizmith Orbital Dock fired with all she had, striking the closing transport in the nose. She absorbed the lasers and even the def-sat’s energy beam that had the angle. The silver
beam lanced into the exposed cargo area, tearing at the internal structure and systems.
The attack shuttles could’ve given chase and taken out the suicidal transport’s engines, but it wouldn’t alter her momentum. She had more than sufficient maneuvering thrusters to keep her on course. Instead the attack shuttles looked to the mission’s objective, and their own survival. They launched their second volley of missiles at the Primus frigate nearest the swarm of breaching pods, then chased them in.
The Jormungand’s imparted momentum carried the Primus frigates along with it. They focused their thrusters on moving away rather than directly opposing their trajectory. One angled away, perpendicular as could be managed. The other, our intended target, perpendicular as well, but at a slightly depressed angle compared to its partner.
Thrice the size of a patrol gunboat, the frigates were thought to have limited range compared to Primus capital ships. Even so, they were armed to the teeth.
Pelting from long-range pulse laser fire, the attack shuttles demonstrated that the Primus had raised their defensive screens. How much we’d find out. Were those easier—faster—to power up than weapons?
Then the Primus frigates opened up. The behemoth blocked the farther frigate from engaging anything but the fighters and attack shuttles. The second frigate followed suit, ignoring the breaching pods and the missiles and went for the two fighters and seven surviving attack shuttles as well. At the same time they both fired maneuvering thrusters to retard their momentum, presumably so that the Jormungand wouldn’t remain between the frigates and they could offer each other direct line-of-sight fire support. And they wouldn’t be engulfed by the collision that was to come.
Emerald energy shot from the spherical frigates. It reminded me of tracers—tracers that blotted every fighter and shuttle from space.
Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2) Page 28