Call to Arms: Blood on the Stars II

by Jay Allan

  Barron was disappointed. He’d hoped the first shot would knock out the enemy’s engines, even for a short time. The Union vessel was still out of range of its own primaries, which allowed Dauntless and Intrepid to fire with impunity. But he knew that wouldn’t last.

  “Enemy will enter firing range in four minutes, sir.”

  Barron sighed softly. One more shot. Maybe two. His people would have a chance to seriously damage that ship before it could fire back, but after that they’d have to earn those next hits. The Union vessel was varying its thrust now, slightly altering its vector to make targeting more difficult. They’d taken advantage of the enemy’s mistake, of the easy shot that carelessness had provided them. But the next ones would be harder.

  He felt vibration under his feet. The fighters launching. Four of them, at least.

  The enemy bombers were a danger too, one quite apart from the battleship itself. Dauntless was something close to fully operational, except for the landing bays, but he didn’t fool himself enough to equate that with being undamaged. The power systems, the primaries, even the engines…they were being held together by patchwork and by the X factor of Fritz’s engineering magic. But if that battleship opened up with its massive broadside, or the bombers got off a salvo of torpedoes, those makeshift repairs would quickly collapse.

  “Primaries will be charged in thirty seconds.”

  “Very well. Gunnery crews are to fire at will.”

  Barron waited, counting off the seconds in his head. Then he heard the huge weapons firing again. His eyes darted to the display, waiting, watching.

  A clean miss.

  Damn!

  The battleship’s commander had been careless on his approach, but now he was blasting his engines in a wild zigzag approach, making his huge vessel a far more difficult target. Barron was watching a few seconds later as Intrepid’s guns also fired. Eaton’s gunners did a little better than his, but not by enough. One shot had missed, the other had scored a peripheral hit.

  Barron felt the elation at the initial volley fading away. The first shot had seemed deadly, but the damage assessments suggested the impact had been less than expected. The enemy vessel was damaged, no doubt, but it appeared to generating something close to full power, and Barron suspected most of its guns were still online.

  He slammed his hand down on the comm. “Fritzie, I want those primaries charged again before that ship enters its own firing range. I don’t care what it takes.”

  “Captain, we’re lucky those replacement lines are holding at all…”

  “Fritzie,” he roared, “just do it!” He brought his balled fist down hard on the comm unit, severing the line. He stared straight ahead, unwilling to look at any of his officers, to see the reflection of what he was becoming in their gazes. He didn’t have time for any of that now. There was nothing in his mind but that enemy ship. Nothing at all.

  Come on, Fritzie…I need that power…

  * * *

  “All right…we all know why we’re out here. Now, there are nineteen of them and ten of us, but that’s just math.” Jamison was looking down at the screen, watching as the six fighters Intrepid had managed to launch linked up with his own four. It wasn’t much of a force, less than a single squadron’s strength all combined. But Eaton had ordered her own top personnel into the available cockpits, and the pilots Jamison was commanding now were among the very best who’d ever climbed into the Confederation’s deadly Lightning fighters.

  “We’ll get it done, Thunder. Whatever it takes. We’ve got a few lessons left we can teach these guys.”

  Jamison nodded as he listened to Timmons’s voice on his headset, shaking his head softly. It could have been Stockton talking. He wondered again how two men so similar could dislike each other so much. It was one of life’s mysteries.

  For all Timmons’s bluster, Stockton knew the pilot was right. Ten interceptors, piloted by the best pilots on Dauntless and Intrepid, could take out nineteen unescorted bombers. He had no doubt about that. What worried him was doing it before the attackers fired their torpedoes. The strike force had been launched close to its targets…very close. That meant his people didn’t have much time. And the fact that almost half his fighters—including his own—were without missiles only made it more difficult.

  “Let’s kick in our turbos…but be careful. Stay under ten kilometers per second. We’ve got to be able to come around on these guys quickly.” His makeshift squadron could take out the bombers, but they’d never get them all in one pass. And if they whipped by at too high a velocity, they’d never make it back in time to prevent the survivors from launching against the battleships.

  Jamison pulled back on his throttle, feeling the force of acceleration press against him. He reminded himself to direct his tiny wing with a light hand. These were squadron leaders and deadly aces he was leading, not rookies. They knew the mission, and they knew what was at stake.

  He watched on the scanner as the distance closed, and then he released the throttle, reducing his thrust to zero. His hand moved halfway back to the control, a vestigial impulse to launch the missiles he didn’t have. A few seconds later he saw small trails on his screen as Intrepid’s birds launched their weapons.

  The bombers were on a direct line toward Dauntless, and their attempts at evasive maneuvers were clumsy, ineffective. One by one he saw missiles find their targets. By the time it was over, Intrepid’s birds had launched twelve missiles, and scored nine kills. That was almost half of the enemy strike force. But it left ten bombers rapidly approaching.

  Jamison checked the ranges. The incoming strike craft were accelerating, doing everything they could to get into launch range before the interceptors could open up with their lasers. Jamison angled his fighter and fired. He was too far out, he knew, but they were rapidly running out of time, and he had to take any chance he could. He could see on the display that several of the others had followed his lead, firing their lasers from extreme range. They all missed too…no, not all. Timmons scored a hit. The power of his lasers was greatly reduced from the distance, and the bomber wasn’t destroyed. But Jamison could see that the ship’s thrust had declined considerably. So, now there were nine fully-functional bombers and one damaged one.

  He picked out another target, a bomber at the front of the approaching formation. He gripped the throttle tightly, resisting the urge to accelerate. He was already moving at too high a velocity to manage a quick turnaround—the last thing he needed was more speed.

  He stared at his screen, his eyes fixed on the bomber he’d chosen. He was still at long range, but he fired again anyway. His shots came closer this time, and he kept at it, one blast after another. For once, fuel and power weren’t precious commodities. The fight was taking place close to Dauntless, and whatever happened, it wouldn’t last long. He could fire at will, without concern for draining his resources.

  He fired again. Then he adjusted his vector slightly and took another series of shots. A hit! He watched as the tiny icon blinked out of existence. Another one down.

  He looked back at the wide area display. His comrades had taken out four ships overall. No, five…Timmons had finished off his crippled opponent. By then his makeshift squadron had zipped past their targets. He reached down, fired his positioning jets, spinning his ship around. He shot again, blasting from behind at the surviving enemy bombers, even as he decelerated hard. A miss. Then an icon blinked out, another bomber, the handiwork of one of his comrades. Then another.

  Three left.

  The mission had been a success by any measure, but three bombers were still a danger to Dauntless. Jamison knew there was a limit to how many times Fritz and her engineers could patch the wounded ship back together. And if the enemy battleship got close enough to unload…

  He pulled back hard on the throttle, squeezing every bit of thrust he could from his engines. The g forces hit him hard, and he struggled to stay alert, even to stay conscious. He had no choice…and he could see several of his pi
lots were doing the same thing.

  The heavy thrust quickly overcame his previous vector and velocity, but he was still far behind the bombers, and he kept his iron grip on the throttle. He wanted to scream at the pain, but he couldn’t suck enough air in his tortured lungs to do it. He was lightheaded, and he could feel the darkness trying to take him, but he resisted with everything he had.

  His head was pressed back against his chair, but he could still see—barely—the screen. He was closing now, his velocity building rapidly. He would get one chance…then he would zip past his target again. But there was no choice. If he didn’t maintain the acceleration, he’d never get there in time.

  He waited as the bomber got bigger on the screen, the range counting down. He had a long-range shot even now, but he held off. He’d have to cut the acceleration to fire, at least if he wanted any chance of hitting.

  Then, a few second later, he released the throttle, feeling the tremendous force vanish instantly, replaced by the relief of freefall. He shook his head, struggling to restore his clarity, even as his finger moved to the firing button.

  He stared at the screen, blinking several times, trying to will away the effects of the heavy g forces. His vision improved, slowly, but there were still spots floating in front of his eyes. He tried to ignore it, to focus on the shot. Had adjusted his aim…then again. And he fired.

  A hit!

  He watched the icon blink off his screen, and almost immediately after, Timmons took out another one. That left a single bomber, heading right at Dauntless. He watched as the tiny ship launched its torpedo…and then in horror as it kicked in its own thrust at full power, heading directly toward the battleship.

  Oh my God…he’s going to ram…

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Bridge

  CFS Dauntless

  Varus System

  308 AC

  “Primaries charged, Captain.”

  “Fire.”

  Barron watched as his big guns shot again. Somehow, Fritz had done it. He didn’t want to think of how much of an overload she’d pushed through Dauntless’s tortured wiring and power systems…or of the variety of cataclysms that might have caused if things had gone differently. But once again, his sorcerer of an engineer had performed the impossible.

  The bridge erupted into wild cheers. The shots had hit, both of them. Solid impacts amidships. And an instant later, Intrepid’s fire repeated the effort.

  Barron waited for the damage assessments, but even before they came in, he could see from the raw data that the enemy ship was hurt. She was bleeding air, and spewing frozen fluids into the frigid blackness of space. Her thrust had dropped, not fifty percent, not seventy percent…but completely. That wasn’t absolute proof that her engines were offline, but, in the situation, it was close.

  “Fritzie, I love you. Now do it again, one more time and we’re there!” He’d slapped his hand down on the comm unit, connecting to his engineer’s line.

  “I’ll try, sir…but I’m frying kilometers of new line that we laid. This is going to set us back days on getting some real repairs done.”

  “Now is all I’m worried about, Fritzie. We’ll think about what comes next when we get through this.”

  He closed the line, and turned toward the display. He’d intended to review the updated damage reports from the enemy ship, but then his eyes focused on a small dot. A single torpedo, heading straight for Dauntless. And behind it, a lone bomber. Accelerating.

  He’s already launched his torpedo…why is he still accel…

  “Engine room,” he shouted as he flipped the comm unit back on, “I need thrust now, forward…whatever you can give…”

  But it was too late. The torpedo slammed home. Dauntless shook hard, and Barron knew immediately the hit had drawn his ship’s blood. And the bomber was heading in on the same course as its warhead.

  “Get me thrust…”

  “Engines are offline, Captain. We lost the primaries too.” Travis’s hands were moving over her board so quickly, they were almost a blur. She rattled off another series of damage reports from the torpedo impact. Internal explosions, fires…casualties.

  But Baron wasn’t listening. His eyes were glued to the approaching fighter. He watched as it came closer…and then he saw as one of his defensive turrets scored a hit.

  He felt relief…for an instant. His people had gotten the incoming ship. But then he realized the shot had come late. The bomber was destroyed, but in its death struggle, it showered Dauntless with debris, hundreds of chunks of metal and other components, slamming into the hull of his ship at tremendous velocity.

  He heard alarms in the distance, and the bridge lights flickered again. His display erupted with reports. Power outages, systems down, crew members trapped in cut off sections…and then every screen on the bridge went dark.

  He knew one thing, and he didn’t need workstations or the comm to confirm it. His ship was in trouble.

  * * *

  “My God…did that bomber ram Dauntless?” Eaton stared at her screen, a look of cold horror on her face.

  “It appears Dauntless’s defensive batteries were able to destroy the bomber before it impacted…but she was showered with debris from the blast.” Nordstrom paused, reading the reports as they came in. “We’re still getting power readouts, Captain, but it looks like her weapons and engines are offline.”

  Eaton felt the urge to comm Barron, to rush to her companion’s aid. But that wasn’t her job, not now. Dauntless’s damage left her solely responsible for dealing with the enemy battleship, and that was just what she was going to do.

  “Maintain fire, Commander. That ship is ours to deal with now.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Eaton stared at the display. The Union battleship was hurt, she was sure of that. But she didn’t know how badly. The lights flickered as her primaries fired again. Another hit. The enemy’s engines were still shut down, but its heading was directly toward Dauntless, and it was about to enter secondary range.

  If they open up on Dauntless in the condition she’s in now…

  “One more shot with the primaries, Commander. Then I want all secondary batteries ready to open fire.” As powerful as her main guns were, Eaton knew right now she could probably do more damage to the wounded vessel with a full broadside.

  “Yes, Captain.” A few seconds later: “Captain, I have Commander Jamison on the comm.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Captain…I can’t get through to Dauntless. I’m going to lead the fighters on a strafing run on that battleship.”

  “You’ve done enough, Commander.”

  “If we’d done enough, Dauntless’s comm wouldn’t be down. She wouldn’t be bleeding air.”

  Eaton hadn’t initially heard the guilt in the pilot’s voice, but now it was coming through loud and clear. “Commander, your force did an outstanding job. It’s not your fault Dauntless was hit.” But even as she spoke, she knew it was pointless. She didn’t know Dauntless’s strike force commander well, but she thought she understood the man, mostly because he seemed very much like her. And she knew no one’s words would salve her guilt if she’d been in his shoes, regardless of how unfair it was.

  “I’m the one who let that fighter through…but we’re going to do what we can to help take that ship down before it does any more damage.”

  Eaton realized he wasn’t asking for permission. He was just letting her know. She had the authority to order him to return, to land on Intrepid, but she suspected he’d only disobey…and that most of those pilots out there, the best of two Confederation battleships, would follow him. Mastering the art of command was sometimes about knowing when not to give an order.

  “Good luck, Commander.” She’d seen pilots throw their lives away in fits of guilt and anger. Jamison didn’t seem like that type, but she’d watched it happen before, more than once with officers where it hadn’t been expected. “Be careful, Commander,” she added. “We need every one of y
ou.”

  “Copy that, Captain.” Jamison cut the line.

  “Captain, Cambria and Astara request permission to advance and engage.” Barron had ordered the two escorts to remain back out of range. They had no place in a duel between giant battleships. But now Dauntless was out of the fight, and the enemy vessel was battered, its diminished fire focusing on Barron’s crippled ship. Anything that finished off that vessel before Dauntless was destroyed was worthwhile.

  “Permission granted, Commander.”

  Eaton turned toward the display, just as the lights dimmed again. Intrepid’s primaries scored another solid hit. She watched the damage reports coming in with growing excitement. Internal explosions, massive hull breaches. She dared to imagine the enemy vessel was near the end, when it dashed her hopes and opened up with half a dozen of its own primaries, the powerful x-ray lasers slamming into Dauntless’s stricken hull.

  “All secondaries at one hundred ten percent power. Fire!”

  She heard the distant buzz of a dozen of Intrepid’s triple turrets opening fire, almost as one. She was taking a risk pushing an overload through her guns. Intrepid was badly battered, and even a millimeter of damaged power line could blow one of the turrets, killing the crew instantly and wrecking systems all around it. But she didn’t know how much more Dauntless could take. She didn’t even know what was happening on Barron’s ship. She was just sure she had to do everything she could to protect her comrade and his crew.

  “Maintain fire. Increase power to one hundred fifteen percent. Keep pounding at that ship.”

  * * *

  Jamison was biting back on the rage. He wasn’t prone to such intense anger, but on some level, he knew if he didn’t focus his hostility on the enemy it would bounce back on himself. He knew his small team of pilots had done an extraordinary job, better than they’d dared to hope when they’d hurriedly launched less than an hour before. But the consequences of letting that single fighter past seemed so devastating, it was all he could do to keep himself from replaying those final moments, looking for any mistake, any chance he’d lost to destroy that bomber.