by B. V. Larson
The worst part came when our stern was aimed at the enemy ship. We fired out a huge load of chaff, prismatic dust and decoys in our wake. But it wasn’t enough to deflect or confuse all of the enemy’s awesome firepower.
A shock went through the ship. The effects were immediate and disheartening. Our acceleration curve died, and I was no longer being powerfully pressed back into my seat.
“They tagged us a good one, Captain,” Yamada said. “We lost Engine One.”
“Dammit,” I said quietly.
After that, the strikes faded away as we were getting out of range of the pursuing battleship. We weren’t accelerating as quickly as before, but we were heading in the opposite direction, so we were able to escape the enemy.
“Project the new situation,” I ordered. “How are Okto’s ships faring?”
Durris painfully levered himself up to his planning table and poked at it.
“I think the Betas did better than we did. Only one of them took a hard hit. At least all of them can still move with full acceleration.”
I frowned. “How was the one ship in question damaged?” I asked.
“Looks like she lost power to all her primary batteries. Either that or her weapons were blasted off her hull. Either way, she’s not firing anything.”
“Hmm,” I said. “That’s bad. We’ll need every gun we have to take out that carrier. Anything else?”
“Yes sir—the damaged ship is Captain Okto’s.”
-56-
My next move was to summon Lorn to the command deck. He hadn’t been allowed to contribute since his irritating display when we’d spoken to the Stroj. Now, however, I sensed that I needed him again.
“Lorn,” I said when he came aboard. “I need your help. I—”
“Ah, of course!” he interrupted. “Why else would you allow me to stand among you? Why else would I be brought up out of your dungeon?”
“Let’s not be overly dramatic. Our brig is quite comfortable, and if we survive this encounter, we’ll be more than glad to release you to join your fellow Stroj citizens.”
He looked suspiciously around the deck. “What encounter? Where are we?”
I didn’t answer, but instead allowed him to figure that out for himself. When he did, he was astounded.
“We’re right in the middle of the enemy force!”
“Yes,” I said, “but we’re moving faster than any of them. Speed is our greatest defense now.”
“Speed? Where are we headed?”
I indicated the star carrier, which was clearly displayed as a large wedge-like ship on Durris’ projection maps.
“We’re attacking the carrier?” he asked incredulously. “Can we win?”
“That’s the difficult part,” I admitted. “Can you summon aid? Can you get the Stroj defensive command to assist with supporting fire on the carrier to help us finish her off?”
He walked around the planning table studying the situation. There was an oddly predatory look on his features.
“Why are you smiling?” Durris asked.
“I’m marveling at your foolishness. I might not survive this day, but if I do die, it will be clear that I helped convince you to commit suicide.”
“How could such an outcome make you happy?” Durris demanded.
“Because I’ll have engineered it. On my home world, they’ll know this. They’ll be impressed forever afterward.”
Durris opened his mouth to snarl another comment, but I shut him down with a gesture.
“But what if we win instead?” I asked Lorn. “Burning our strength against the enemy and barely crawling away to tell the story?”
He looked at me, and his eyes were alight. “That would be even better, I have to admit,” he said. “But I don’t see how it’s possible. The Stroj missile base commanders have their orders. They’re no doubt gleeful about your attack, but they would never consider losing valuable ordnance to aid you in this lunacy.”
Grimacing, I nodded. “Take him back to his cell,” I said.
Lorn was led away by Morris and his team. He complained at every step.
Events proceeded to unfold quickly after that. Three of the four battle cruisers were converging on the carrier. Only we were lagging behind.
As the Beta ships screamed close, making their final attack runs, I dared to hope they’d be successful. I watched as the two intact vessels struck first. They both launched heavy firepower, lashing Iron Duke with plasma beams.
The massive hull wasn’t heavily armed, but it was heavily armored. The vast ship absorbed the punishment. Small beams shot at the cruisers, stitching them with dozens of small hits. Neither cruiser was taken down, but they both sustained damage. As they were flying at great speed, they flew past the carrier and were gone out into the dark.
Iron Duke had sustained damage as well. There were glowing orange-white spots all over her hull—but she was still flying under power.
The third ship sang inward next. It was Okto’s ship.
Up until that point, Okto hadn’t fired a shot. Whatever had gone wrong with her fire control systems, there apparently hadn’t been enough time to repair them before the engagement began.
“What’s she doing?” Yamada asked. “She’s not even shooting her guns? What can she hope to accomplish?”
Durris and I exchanged knowing glances. Rumbold took off his cap and put it over his heart.
“A brave crew,” he said, just before the collision.
Okto’s battle cruiser rammed into the star carrier at tremendous speed. The kinetic energy released was far greater than all the strikes we’d landed on Iron Duke so far. Sheets of flame, alive only briefly in vacuum, shot out of the gigantic vessel as she vented oxygen and fuel.
“They’ve rammed her, Captain,” Yamada said, “but I’m picking up signs… there were pods released just before the impact.”
“Life pods?” I asked. “Escape shuttles?”
“I can’t tell, Captain.”
“We’re up next, sir,” Rumbold said.
“Damage estimates?” I demanded. “Is Iron Duke dead or not?”
Yamada consulted her scanners. “Not clear. They’re hurt, but they haven’t been knocked out. They still seem to be maneuvering under power.”
Pre-programmed to fire the moment we were within range, all our guns began to buzz and sing their deadly song. I was heartened by the fact that the enemy wasn’t throwing back much in the way of return fire.
“Rumbold,” I said, “ease down, begin braking.”
He gave me a wide-eyed stare, but he followed my orders without objecting.
“How long before the fighters can get back to defend the carrier?” I demanded.
“Are you thinking of standing off and raking her at close range?” Durris asked.
“Something like that.”
“The first fighter wing will return in about forty minutes. That’s a long time in battle.”
“It is indeed… Contact Morris. Tell him to get his people ready for action.”
Everyone looked at me in surprise.
“The variants too,” I added, “Q-161 and every unit she has left. Arm them with the new equipment. We’re going to board this ship and finish the job.”
“But sir,” Durris complained, “we can just hold our position here and fire over and over again.”
I shook my head. “It won’t be enough. Can’t you see that? The carrier is damaged, but she can take a great deal more punishment to her hull than we can dish out. We’re going to have to get inside and see if we can disable her that way.”
“Morris is reporting in,” Yamada said.
“Lieutenant,” I said, “I have a job for you.”
“I have an idea what it is, Captain,” he said, “and my men are good to go!”
“Follow the variants and play clean-up,” I said. “Godspeed, Lieutenant.”
“Outstanding!” Morris said excitedly. “We’ve been sitting in this tin can for months, but we’re finally going
to do something boys!”
The channel cut out, and soon afterward I saw indicators flashing. The shuttle doors were opening.
Morris and his men clung to handholds and magnetics in the shuttle as it rumbled out of the hangar. Trailing this was a line of variants who worked hard to stay out of the exhaust plume. Our assault team, such as it was, descended on the carrier.
“Concentrate our fire on their defensive turrets,” I ordered. “Morris is heading for the crater formed by Okto’s ship.”
“That’s where the survivors of the ramming attempt are landing as well,” Yamada said. Then she spoke again, with heightened concern in her voice. “Captain… I think we have a new problem.”
“Shit,” Durris said. “The fighter wings they launched at the Stroj home world—they’re all calling off the attack. They’re on their way back to defend the carrier.”
“How long do we have?”
“Maybe twelve minutes.”
I contacted Morris and Q-161.
“Troops,” I said, “we don’t have as much time as I’d anticipated. Get into that ship now, wreck her, and return.”
“How long?” Morris asked.
“Ten minutes.”
“For fuck’s sake!” Morris complained.
I closed the channel, unable to argue with his sentiments.
-57-
We cut it close. Very close.
When Morris piped his helmet feed to me, I displayed it on the command deck for all to see. It was quite possibly his final, brave hour in my service, and I thought everyone should share the moment.
We watched as they found their way into Iron Duke quickly. There was a large hole in the hull, after all. The blackened opening yawned a hundred meters wide. It bled smoke and debris.
The natural reaction of anyone climbing into a dark hole full of smoke and hazards was to move slowly, but that wasn’t acceptable today—there was no time for caution. My marines used their jet packs, expending air and fuel liberally to scud along into the ship.
Morris’ helmet was struck countless times by chips of the hull, dust particles and larger objects that came twirling up to meet him. Every time he was struck, he cursed and ordered his men to move faster.
The variants, for their part, moved like spiders over jagged stone. They made rapid progress without complaint. They didn’t seem to be afraid or even concerned about their chances.
“Q-161 take point,” I ordered, “Morris, fall back.”
Morris grumbled, but he stopped flying deeper into the passages and let the variants get ahead of him.
The variant troops were imposing. After I’d gotten help from Vogel and his team, we’d come up with some improvements on their weaponry. Instead of cutting torches, metal snips and grippers, as dangerous as these things were, my variants carried heavy weapons.
They were the same weapons my marines used, but instead of being mounted on the body-shell chest plates, they were rigged up high to fire over the shoulder. The variants looked menacing, their guns traveling ceaselessly in search of a target to lock onto.
“Captain,” Morris asked, “can you let me run my own op?”
“Negative,” I said. “I need you to come back alive.”
He shut up after that, but I knew he wasn’t happy. Every remote-channeled ground officer felt the way he did. Under different circumstances I might have let him do as he wished, but I felt I had to maintain some strategic control. Still, I had sympathy for his position.
“When the bolts start to fly,” I said, “feel free to ignore me.”
“Outstanding, Captain!” he replied happily.
The team made it so deeply into the wrecked passages without meeting resistance, we’d all begun to wonder if the ship was dead from bow to stern.
It turned out she wasn’t. Firing erupted as the invasion team reached the ship’s spine—which was unfortunate, because that’s where they were supposed to plant the charges.
Q-161’s squad met the enemy first. A vicious multi-pronged attack ensued without warning. It was clearly coordinated.
The variant crew hadn’t been caught napping after all. They’d waited patiently until our invading troops were deep into their territory before they lunged to box them in. They attacked from the front and rear simultaneously.
Gunfire broke out. The scene was confused. It was all I could do to sit in my seat without demanding a report.
But I contained myself. It was obvious that Morris and Q-161 had no room for distractions.
Rumbold bared his yellow teeth, pulling back his cheeks into a broad grimace. Yamada watched through her laced fingers.
Durris just stared. He was glum, resigned.
The first two of our variants were dragged away and torn apart. They fired their guns, point-blank, destroying several of the enemy each.
But it wasn’t enough. The enemy crew was just too numerous. There had been thousands of variants inside the big ship, and today it seemed like most of them were all in one passage with my small assault team.
The back of our group seemed to fare better at first. Morris knew how to use gunfire in concentration, taking out variant after variant as they rushed in. The marines used concentrated fire with targets called out and marked by Morris. He had only one casualty—a man who got too close, losing a leg and a mortal amount of blood seconds later.
“Fall back! Fall back!” Morris shouted, shuffling away from a throng of variants that followed seemingly in an endless mass. They were like ants. They rushed in fearlessly, crawling on their own dead as well as the walls, ceiling and floor.
After her first two losses, Q-161 marshaled her troops. Like the marines, they began firing in concentration. I was very glad the variant crews had never been trained as ground fighters. They were worker units only, mechanics, power-specialists and welders—not trained assault troops.
Q-161’s group blasted the enemy one after another. Fragments of metal, bio-mass and connective tissue flew everywhere—but still the variants kept on coming.
“We’re losing this, Captain!” Morris said, his voice punctuated by ragged gasps. I could see by his vitals on the readout that he’d been injured somehow, but there wasn’t time to inquire about it.
“You have four minutes left to set the charge,” I said. “After that, I’ll have to pull out to save Defiant.”
I knew it was a cold thing to tell my dying troops, but it was the truth.
“Dammit… Roger that, sir!”
Q-161 spoke up then, which surprised me. Up until that point, she’d only followed orders to the best of her ability.
“Requesting permission to break protocol, Captain,” she said.
I hesitated for less than a second. “Permission granted.”
Q-161 had performed admirably in the past, her most impressive action being with the Beta ships. They would have been lost if it wasn’t for this particular variant.
“What’s she doing?” Rumbold asked.
“I have no idea, but I hope it’s brilliant,” I said. “We’re out of time.”
Morris was grunting and moving again. We hadn’t switched away from his helmet feed yet. He was leading his troops in a surge against the back end of the trap the enemy had sprung as the variants seemed thinner there.
The firepower my troops were unleashing was dramatic. If they’d been facing human troops, unarmed, the battle would have been quickly over. But the variants were both fearless and deadly even with only their claws and whipping arms for weapons.
“Sir,” Morris said in a husky voice, “we’re pulling out of this. Q-161 tells me she has a plan, and I’m willing to take that at face-value. We’re fighting our way back to the ship.”
“That carrier must be destroyed, Morris,” I said.
“We can’t do it, Captain. We’re outnumbered and bogged down. We—hey, who’s that?”
Suddenly, from Morris’ point of view, I saw the variants clogging the passage fall away. A group of large humanoids in armor approached.
> I knew those uniforms and hulking shapes instantly. They had to be Betas.
“This way,” said the leader, and she turned back the way she’d come.
Morris and the rest of the men followed her. Occasionally, a rush of variants charged out to strike at their flanks, but they fought them off and kept moving.
Locked in my command chair, I was fuming. What was going on? It was difficult to tell even where they were headed. The Beta troops had obviously invaded the ship using the same large breaches in the hull that my own troops had used.
All of this might have been acceptable except for one grim reality: the enemy fighters were closing on Defiant and beginning to accelerate. They were going to strafe my ship—several thousand of them.
-58-
“They’re on the way back, Captain!” Yamada called out.
“It’s too late, sir,” Rumbold whispered to me. “We have to pull out now!”
I looked at him, and our eyes met. I knew the truth of his words.
Durris knew it also, perhaps better than any of us. He was looking at me too, but he wasn’t saying anything. It was my choice, mine alone.
“Yamada, connect me to Lieutenant Morris—and Captain Okto too, if she’ll listen.”
“Channel open.”
I hesitated, but only for a half-second. What had to be done was clear—but that didn’t make it any easier to do it.
Rumbold knew. He was an old spacer. A man who’d worked the grim calculus of survival in space a hundred times before I’d been born. He turned away from me and laid in an escape course. He set the acceleration for peak values—at least, the best Defiant could manage with one engine gone.
“Morris,” I said, “we’ve run out of time.”
“Shit. Yes sir. Do you have any final words for me?”
“Yes. Reverse course. Land on their hull, and hug it like it’s your mother. With luck, no one will notice you in the flying stew of debris.”