Call to Arms: Blood on the Stars II

by Jay Allan

  308 AC

  “All right, Blues and friends, this ship we’re after’s got nothing but a handful of fighters left. So, listen up…I want everybody to save their missiles. We take this tiny screen out with lasers and clear the way for the bombers. But we keep our primary armaments in place, understood?” Stockton was leading a hodgepodge of Dauntless’s fighters, about half of his own Blue squadron, with some Greens and Yellows thrown in, almost as if to emphasize the disarray sweeping the battleship’s bays right now. Somehow, the launch teams had managed to switch over Federov’s Reds to bombing kits, but that had left Stockton with a mix of what remained to form an escort.

  He wasn’t worried about the strike. The enemy ship had launched all of eight fighters, apparently the only ones it had managed to recover in the Corpus system before it turned and fled at Dauntless’s approach. His people could blow the meager defensive force away in a matter of minutes, and then Federov’s bombers would have their way open to blast the enemy battleship.

  No, it wasn’t the attack on the battleship that worried him, at least not this battleship. But the other two capital ships moving across the system had him shitting bricks.

  Dauntless had emerged from the transwarp link to find its prey trying to flee with badly damaged engines. The last shot of the primaries had taken the enemy vessel near the aft, and the best the AIs could project, the Union ship was struggling with half thrust at best, and probably a good deal less. But the satisfaction had been short-lived when the long-range scanning reports came in. Two more capital ships were inbound from the Phillos transit point and leading some kind of a convoy. Within minutes, the Union battleships had changed course, and they were heading across the system at full thrust. Right toward Dauntless.

  They’re going to be too late…

  Stockton knew Dauntless could take down its original enemy before it was engaged by the other two ships. Federov’s bombers were like carnivores chasing after wounded prey, and he had no intention of letting even one enemy interceptor escape his grasp to take a shot at the them. But after the first fight was over, all bets were off. His birds and Federov’s would be blown, low on fuel and ready to land…just as the two approaching battleships were sending in their own attack waves.

  He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. Captain Barron would deal with it, somehow. Stockton hadn’t realized how his attitude toward the captain had evolved, from respect to affection…and now to almost limitless confidence. They’d been dead out at Santis, by all rights they should have lost that battle. But Dauntless’s captain had proven the Barron magic still ran in his blood. At least as far as Jake Stockton was concerned.

  “We’re going to deploy in two lines. Evens, maintain your bearings. Odds are to hit five seconds of thrust at 4g on my mark…mark.” He slammed his own throttle back, feeling the thrust as his engines fired. He counted slowly, silently. Three…two…one…

  “Cut thrust now.” He released the throttle and felt the pressure vanish, replaced by weightlessness. “All right, odds, you’re on your own. Break formation and hunt those bastards down. Evens, hold your line. You’re there for anything that gets through.”

  He angled his throttle, kicking in his thrust again as he picked out a target and closed on it. “Evens, use your lasers, but you can launch missiles if that’s the only way to keep them from getting through. Nobody gets to our bombers, you understand? Nobody.”

  Even as he was speaking, he squeezed his finger on the trigger. His laser fired…and again. One of the small circles on his screen blinked out.

  Seven.

  * * *

  “Captain, engineering reports both reactors are now functional at eighty to ninety percent of capacity, however they remain on minimal output per your orders. The engines are fully operational as well. Commander Merton advises against any high-g maneuvers except in an extreme emergency. Primaries are still offline, but all surviving secondaries are active. Dr. Jervis has updated the casualty reports. We have forty-one wounded in sickbay and twenty-three dead.”

  Sara Eaton sat quietly listening to Nordstrom as he read the updates coming into Intrepid’s bridge. Her people had been hiding for days now, and so far no enemy vessels had discovered her. Eaton had been steeling herself the entire time for a report advising her that Union battleships were approaching, but she was pleasantly surprised at the progress her damage control teams had managed. Her acceptance of certain death was giving away to that most dangerous of emotions. Hope.

  The joy only lasted a few seconds before the casualty report brought her back to reality. There had been sharp increases in both the dead and the wounded. She knew that was mostly the figures catching up with the realty that had already existed, the finding of bodies that had been inaccessible before, or more wounded being brought to sickbay and treated. But nearly ten percent of her people were casualties, and that fact weighed heavily on her.

  “Very well, Commander. Continue silent running.” Intrepid was on minimal power generation. Eaton had taken every effort to hide her ship in the massive dust cloud, but she was still amazed that her battleship had seemed to escape pursuit. She’d dropped a spread of probes on the way into the cloud, but she hadn’t dared to activate them yet beyond simple passive scans. Both the pulse to activate the scanning devices and their own operations would make it far easier for any enemy vessels nearby to locate Intrepid. And if the entire Union fleet was still out there, the loss of cover meant certain death.

  “Maintaining silent running, Captain.”

  Eaton stared at the main display. It was mostly blank, with only vague light trails moving around every few seconds. The cloud that was hiding Intrepid was also blinding her. The ship’s passive scanners were functional out to perhaps ten thousand kilometers, which was a brief hop in terms of space combat. Her active scanners wouldn’t have fared much better in the dense, radioactive dust, but even if they would have, she wouldn’t have dared to use them. Running active scans would be like banging a drum, begging any enemy ship within five million kilometers to locate her vessel.

  “Status report from the launch bays?” Intrepid’s bays were a mess, damaged from the battle and overloaded with fighters Eaton had taken in. She’d ordered her bay crews to triage the birds ruthlessly, dumping any they couldn’t repair immediately into space. Most of all, she’d ordered them to find a way to service twice Intrepid’s full complement of fighters, to find a way to refit them all, and to have as many as possible ready to launch. She expected the enemy to find her eventually, and she was sure of only one thing. When they did, they weren’t going to take out her people without one hell of a fight. If she could pull it off, the launch of ninety or more strikefighters would come as quite a surprise to whatever ship or ships finally cornered her.

  “Launch control reports forty-three fighters refueled and rearmed. However, the launch platforms are still crowded with extra fighters. It will be at least an hour before we’ll be able to launch anything.”

  “That is unsatisfactory, Commander. Advise launch control I want fighters on alert and ready to launch in twenty minutes.” She saw that Nordstrom was going to say something, but she beat him to it. “No excuses, Commander. I don’t care what it takes, but I want it done in twenty minutes.”

  Assuming no one finds us in that time…

  “Yes, Captain.” Nordstrom’s tone suggested he still had doubts. But he turned and passed the order down to the bays, silencing the objections of the launch chief as Eaton had done with his.

  “Any reports from Cambria, Astara, or Condor?” The three small ships that had escaped with Intrepid were under orders to run silent, just like the battleship. They were operating under radio silence, exchanging messages with the Intrepid by direct laser comm, and only when necessary. It was a cumbersome way to communicate, especially when the dust in the cloud dispersed the lasers, reducing output by more than ninety percent. But it was almost proof against detection, and therefore the only option for her makeshift task force.


  “Cambria reports all systems at or close to one hundred percent. We haven’t had any update since the last ones from Astara or Condor, but as of their most recent report, both vessels were conducting repairs to their power systems.”

  “Very well.” Eaton almost ordered her exec to send out a transmission, but getting the lasers through the dust cloud was difficult and time-consuming, and she felt she needed a good reason to force her people to make the effort. The commanders of the two ships would contact her when they had any material change in condition to report.

  “Captain, we’re picking up intermittent signals from outside the dust cloud.”

  Eaton’s head snapped around. “Enemy ships looking for us?”

  “I don’t think so, Captain. It seems farther away…massive energy, explosions.” Nordstrom paused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s still a fight going on out there.”

  That’s not possible. The fleet bugged out days ago, and the ships that remained are…gone.

  “Do what you can to amplify the input, Commander.”

  “Trying that, Captain, but it’s still just intermittent signals. If we activated active scanners…”

  “Negative, Commander. We might as well light a flare.” She paused, thinking. “But maybe…” She raised her head, looking across the bridge at her exec. “Yes. Prepare to activate the probes…just the two closest to the signals you’re receiving. Flash comm transmission, and passive scanners only.” The probes were outside of the dust cloud, “hiding,” more or less, amid the battle debris. Their passive scanners would have a better chance of picking up whatever scraps of a contact were coming through to Intrepid.

  “Yes, Captain.” Nordstrom worked his controls. Then he turned and snapped off a series of orders to the communications officer. Finally, he said, “We’re ready, Captain.”

  Eaton almost fired off a series of questions to confirm her people had taken all possible steps to minimize the chances of detection…but they knew their business, and they had her confidence. “Do it, Commander. Activate the probes.”

  She knew even with the greatest precautions, the plan was a risky one. Any enemy ships near the probes would have a good chance of picking up the comm signal. But remaining in the cloud with no idea what was happening outside was dangerous too…and if there was even the chance that friendly forces were indeed out there fighting again, it smacked vaguely of cowardice to remain in hiding, enough to make that choice unpalatable to her.

  “Activating probes now, Captain.”

  Eaton waited quietly for the data to start streaming in. But Nordstrom beat her to it, reading off his report even as she was starting to assess the raw information herself.

  “At least four capital ships, Captain. Two appear to be coming from the Corpus transwarp link. The other two seem to be inbound from Phillos…and there are more contacts behind them.”

  “ID on any vessels? Ours? Theirs?”

  “We are definitely picking up at least one Confederation beacon.” A short pause. “It’s Dauntless. She appears to be firing on the vessel ahead of her. The two other ships are too far out for specific data.”

  “Dauntless?” Tyler Barron’s ship. She’d heard in one report or another that Dauntless was on the way to join the fleet. Reports of what had happened out on the Rim were still sketchy, at least at her pay grade, but it sounded like Barron and his people had fought one hell of a battle out there. And now they get here just in time to walk into an ambush…

  She didn’t doubt Tyler Barron and his crew could beat one Union battleship in a heads up fight, but it looked like at least two more were on the way in. She didn’t have confirmation that the two other ships were hostile, but the direction they were coming from told her all she needed to know. Dauntless doesn’t have a chance…not unless we do something.

  She turned toward Nordstrom, but then she paused. She’d protected her people, kept them alive after she’d led them into the cloud. She’d hated herself for leaving the rest of the fleet behind, but she was grateful for her crew’s lives. Now, she found the words stuck in her throat. Dauntless was doomed without help…but even if Intrepid intervened, the two battleships and their small cluster of escorts would still be outnumbered and outgunned. For the wonders her engineers had performed, her ship remained damaged, many of the repairs fragile and improvised. Leaving the cloud put her people at grave risk…but staying behind meant watching their comrades die.

  Her hesitation was brief. Staying hidden was unthinkable. Their brothers and sisters were fighting out there…and without help, Dauntless had no chance. She felt her fists clench, her body tense with anger, with determination.

  “Commander, prepare to bring reactors up to maximum available power. The engine room is to stand by.”

  “Yes, Captain.” She could hear in Nordstrom’s tone that the officer agreed with her actions wholeheartedly.

  “I want all weapons systems activated and at full alert. Send flash laser comms to Cambria, Astara, and Condor…advise them to prepare to follow us into battle.” She nodded back as Nordstrom acknowledged the command. Then she said, “And advise the launch bays that twenty-minute deadline just became crucial.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  CFS Dauntless

  Arcturon System

  Inbound from the Corpus Transwarp Link

  308 AC

  “All fighters launched, Captain. Commander Jamison reports his people are in formation and advancing to intercept incoming enemy strike force.”

  “Very well. Commence landing operations for Lieutenant Stockton’s and Lieutenant Federov’s fighters.” Barron had watched as Federov’s bombers savaged the battleship Dauntless had pursued from Corpus. Her pilots had scored no less than eight direct hits with their plasma torpedoes, and then they had linked up with Stockton’s interceptors and run a series of strafing runs, picking at the great wounds they’d opened in the enemy’s hull. By the time Dauntless had entered firing range, the Union vessel’s guns were silenced, the big ship virtually dead in space. One shot from the primaries had finished the job, the stricken battleship cracking open like an egg when the heavy guns hit it amidships.

  “Yes, Captain. Issuing recall orders now.”

  Dauntless had managed to launch about half her fighters in the initial wave, and now she had followed with the remainder, refit and refueled just as the depleted bombers and interceptors from the first strike were on their way back. He hoped to get as many as possible of the returning pilots back out into space before the approaching enemy strike force entered range, but he suspected that was more wishful thinking than rational expectation. Most likely, Commander Jamison and the twenty-six fighters he’d just launched would have to face the incoming enemy strike—over one hundred strong—on their own.

  “Commander Travis, please make clear that the recall order applies to all pilots in the first wave.” Barron had decided to let Stockton off the hook for his earlier antics, half because he liked his wayward ace and half because the scoundrel had probably saved Dauntless from more extensive damage. But he was running a warship, and he couldn’t make a habit of looking the other way at insubordination. If Stockton pulled something like that again, he knew he’d have no choice but to throw him in the brig. And he needed the brash, gifted pilot.

  “Yes, sir,” Travis replied, her tone making it clear she understood just what Barron meant.

  Barron sat silently as his first officer repeated his command into the comm unit, leaving no possible room for misunderstanding. He’d come to respect Travis in many ways, the majority in which they were alike, but perhaps even more the few where they were different.

  Dauntless’s second-in-command found it easier to be the heavy than he did. She could drink with the crew when they were off-duty, play cards with them, counter their raunchiest jokes with ones of her own as bad or worse as anything the grimmest veteran crew chief could spew. But she had no trouble instantly shedding the veneer of friendship and coming down on them like the cor
e of a neutron star when she had to…whether she was scolding someone for a sloppy galley or sending men and women to die.

  Barron liked to think he was a decisive officer, one who could do whatever was necessary. But there was always something there, a bit of guilt or hesitation, a realization that no matter how hard he worked, no matter how well he executed his duty, he’d had it easier than any of the officers and spacers under his command, that the Barron name had, at least to some extent, paved his way to the captain’s chair.

  Perhaps that is where Atara gets that toughness. She never had any of that privilege that blesses—and haunts—you. She had to claw her way to everything she ever attained. I wonder if there isn’t a strength gained from that, one I can never share?

  You would understand, Grandfather. You made the name that I inherited. I will fight, and I will do my best. I may be victorious…but I will never really understand things the way you did. The way Atara does.

  “Captain, Lieutenant Stockton is leading his and Lieutenant Federov’s fighters in.”

  “Very well…Stockton and the interceptors are to land first. Advise Chief Evans I want those interceptors turned around in record time.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Barron’s eyes fixed on the cloud of enemy craft heading toward his ship. One hundred and four enemy fighters, almost half of them fitted out as bombers—enough destructive potential to turn Dauntless into a superheated cloud of plasma. And in front of the bombers were more than fifty interceptors, screening the attack…and outnumbering Jamison’s fighters more than two to one.

  Barron had confidence in his squadrons, and he knew they were more than a match for the enemy one on one. But two on one? Maybe…if Jamison and his people could focus on the dogfight. But he knew they wouldn’t—couldn’t. Jamison’s pilots weren’t out there to chase enemy interceptors. They were there to stop that bombing strike. Somehow.

  That meant breaking off from the enemy interceptors as quickly as possible and driving toward the strike force behind. Barron wasn’t a pilot, but he knew that was one of the most difficult and dangerous assignments for a fighter group. The Union interceptors would come about to close in on Jamison’s flanks and rear as his people struggled to reach the bombers. Pilots would die who might have lived in a straight up fight, gunned down as they ignored the threats against them to go after the attack craft that could wound Dauntless.