To Hell's Heart (Crimson Worlds)

by Allan, Jay

  “Yes, captain.” Barrat sounded worse…just as hoarse, but rattled as well. Not many officers were as cool under fire as John Duke.

  Barrat worked his controls, feeding instructions to the navigational AI. Jaguar’s attack vector had been carefully plotted, but any release of pressurized gas or liquid into space imparted a velocity, skewing the ship’s 3 dimensional vector. The automated system had stopped the rolling, but it hadn’t fully corrected the primary thrust to restore the previous heading. That vector was straight at a wounded Leviathan…and Duke was planning to plant two plasma torpedoes in its gut.

  “Correcting course now, sir.”

  The ship lurched, softly as the positioning thrusters fired and then harder when the main engines pulsed. The whole thing took less than a minute.

  “We’re back on our initial vector, captain.” Barrat coughed again. The smoke was getting thicker. It wasn’t really dangerous, at least not yet, but it was getting more annoying. “Range to target, 155,000 kilometers and closing at 9,000 kilometers per second.”

  Duke was in command of the entire task force, but he’d released his captains to seek out and attack their optimum targets. Right now he was wearing his hat as Jaguar’s skipper, and his only concern was the Leviathan his ship was racing toward.

  “Range to target, 120,000 kilometers.”

  Duke stared at the targeting scope. His gunners were good, and the closer he could get them, the better chance they had of landing the torpedoes right on the bullseye. They were well within firing range already, but he was going closer. Much closer.

  “Passing 100,000 kilometers.” Barrat knew Duke was planning on taking a good shot, but they were getting close. The enemy defensive fire was lighter than expected, but it was still dangerous. Jaguar had taken a couple hits already. They were both minor, but her luck would run out eventually.

  Duke just sat still, his eyes focused on the scope. If Jaguar could score two direct hits here maybe, just maybe, they could finish off the immense enemy battleship. The First Imperium monster was badly damaged; that was obvious from the low rate of interdictive fire she was putting out. Scanners confirmed internal explosions and large areas of the ship without power. Duke’s targeting was focused directly on the hardest hit area, the weak spot.

  “We’re under 80,000 kilometers, sir.” Barrat’s tone was getting edgier with each announcement. He looked over, but Duke’s eyes didn’t move from the scope. “Captain…”

  “As you were, lieutenant.” Duke sat rigidly as he addressed his nervous subordinate.

  “We’re at 55,000 kilometers, sir.” The tactical officer’s face was glistening with sweat. They were beyond point blank range now, closer than Barrat had ever seen a ship come to an enemy vessel.

  Duke turned his head slightly, holding the mic from his com in front of his lips. “Fire.”

  “I want that Leviathan.” Hurley’s voice was loud, determined…almost bloodthirsty. “Duke got the other one, and by God, this one is ours.”

  In the end, her flight crews hadn’t had her ships ready to go on time. But even with the extra five minutes, they’d done a monster job, and she knew it. She wondered offhand if that was the fastest turnaround on record. It had to be close.

  “We’ve got six squadrons coming in on it, admiral.” Wilder’s job was piloting the command fighter, but he’d also been serving as an ersatz tactical officer for her. “They’re stacked up in waves, and I’ve assigned them each an attack quadrant.”

  “Excellent, commander.” She sat quietly for a few seconds. “And bring us around. We’re going in with that attack.”

  Wilder paused, conflicted. He wanted to attack as badly as Hurley did, but he’d been instructed to keep her away from the fighting. He’d relented and agreed to fly up with the squadrons, but going on a close-range attack run would make a mockery out of Garret’s orders. It wouldn’t have been an issue – the original command fighter didn’t have any weapons. But after he’d crash landed that ship on Midway, they’d been forced to change to another bomber, a fully armed one.

  “No arguments, commander.” Hurley knew she was putting him in a bad spot, but she didn’t care. At least not enough to sit out the attack.

  Wilder let out a deep breath. “Yes, admiral.” He closed his eyes for a few seconds. I’m sorry, Admiral Garret, he thought…but she’s right…we have to be part of this. “Prepare for 8g thrust.”

  The bomber shook as the thrusters fired, and Hurley and her crew were slammed back into their seats. The burst would be short, only 30 seconds or so…not worth dealing with the acceleration couches.

  The “Lightning” fighter-bomber was a long sleek craft, though there was no need for aerodynamic efficiencies on a vessel built to fight in space. Most likely, it was simply the result of subconscious prejudices by the designers. Whatever the reason, the Lightning was one of the more attractive ships Hurley had ever seen. She often imagined a whole wing of them together, and they looked majestic and fearsome in her mind. In reality, of course, even the ships of a single squadron were spaced so far apart they were invisible to each other with the naked eye.

  “Approaching final attack run.” Wilder’s voice pulled her out of her daydreaming. “We’re going in with the third wave.”

  She glanced at her display, watching the reports of the first wave’s assault as they came in. They’d lost half a dozen bombers on the approach. The Leviathan was badly hurt, but its point defense systems were still filling space with hyper-velocity projectiles. Her survivors came in fast and closed to point blank range. She saw hit after hit reported as the damage assessments poured in. The overpowered plasma torpedoes packed a hell of a punch, especially if they hit near an existing breach and didn’t have to expend most of their strength blasting through the hull.

  The second wave attacked on the heels of the first. The point defense fire was weakening, and only two ships were hit. Hurley was watching again as her people flew in close and unloaded their torpedoes into the guts of the wounded enemy giant. She was amazed how many hits the gargantuan vessel could take. Her people had scored enough hits to destroy five Yorktowns…and the Leviathan had been damaged already.

  “Third wave going in.” Wilder was excited now too, totally focused on the attack. His coerced violation of Garret’s orders was forgotten, at least for now, and all he cared about was taking down the beast. “Would you care to take the shot, admiral?”

  Hurley looked over at Wilder. She did want it…more than she could express. But it was poor conduct, she thought, to supersede an officer as capable as Wilder. “Thank you, commander, but it is your shot.”

  “I’d be honored, admiral, if you’d care to take it.” He sounded sincere.

  She knew he was full of it, that he was just being respectful. But she wanted it too badly to say no again. “Thank you, commander. Your gesture is greatly appreciated.”

  She pulled up the firing scope, staring into it as Wilder fired the engines to line the fighter up for the shot. There were numbers and symbols running up the screen on one side of the scope…data from the firing computer. The AI would actually provide most of the targeting data. Hurley would just inject a bit of gut feel, firing a bit early or late…or adjusting the trajectory a touch.

  “The ship is yours, admiral.”

  She took over flight control as her workstation became live. The pilot was usually the gunner as well, and she couldn’t take a proper shot unless she was flying the ship too. Her eyes were focused, her finger half-tensed on the trigger. She was going to wait another few seconds, but then she jerked her finger and fired almost immediately. It was a feeling, the instincts of a veteran.

  Her torpedo launched and quickly closed the distance, slamming into the Leviathan dead center. She blasted the engine at 3g to change the vector slightly allowing the bomber to clear the immediate area of the enemy ship.

  At least five other torpedoes hit the giant First Imperium vessel within 3 or 4 seconds. It stood there, drifting along in spa
ce, spinning wildly as internal explosions and material leaks impacted its previous vector. Hurley watched intently on the monitor, waiting, wondering if her people had done it.

  Then the screen went bright white, answering her question immediately. The scanners were almost overloaded…and the massive enemy vessel was nothing but a rapidly expanding ball of plasma.

  “Scratch one battlewagon.” Her raw voice cracked as she screamed. She turned and looked over at Wilder. “Take us home, commander.” She paused, a wicked grin on her face. “We’re done here.”

  “Prepare the fleet for full forward thrust.” Compton sat upright in his chair, a barely perceptible smile on his lips. Duke’s and Hurley’s people had performed phenomenally. Both Leviathan’s were gone…the attack ships and the bombers each got one, so the battle honors were pretty even. “We will be accelerating at 30g in ten minutes.”

  “Yes, admiral.” Harmon sounded surprised. He’d expected Compton to remain where he was and fight it out in place.

  The enemy fleet was badly damaged…even critically wounded. But it was still dangerous. His fighters had flown two sorties and suffered 50% combined losses. John Duke was down to 28 attack ships still in operating condition. The fleet had expended all its missiles and laser buoys. There was nothing left but to finish off the enemy with an energy weapons duel. And Compton had no intention of sitting in place while the enemy raked his ships with their particle accelerators. He was going to close as quickly as possible to get his lasers in range too. Then, he thought, at least we’ll have an honest fight.

  Accelerating now would mean getting everyone in the couches. He didn’t like having his people strapped in and drugged up in the middle of a battle, but this time there was no way out of it. Every kilometer he closed with the enemy was that much less time for them to ravage his ships before his people could return fire.

  “All ships perform diagnostics on laser batteries and targeting systems.” He snapped out the order. “I want every vessel ready to fire at full the second we’re in range.”

  “Yes, admiral.” Harmon’s voice was crisp and confident. It had taken him a few seconds, but he understood what Compton was doing. He was amazed at how Compton’s mind worked through each detail, every angle…trying to find any advantage he could gain. That’s what makes him a legendary commander, he thought…and if the legends are true, such a good card player too.

  Compton sat quietly for a few minutes before lying back as his chair converted itself to the acceleration couch that would keep him alive. Midway’s massive engines would soon be blasting at over 30g, and that would create serious problems for anyone onboard who wasn’t buttoned up.

  This is it, he thought, lying back, eyes shut as the couch closed up around him…this is the death struggle. His layered attack had ravaged the enemy. There wasn’t an undamaged ship in the force still heading for his fleet. But that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. The battle’s won, he thought…as long as you don’t make any mistakes and give it away.

  Now go do the work, he thought, as he felt the massive kick of Midway’s engine burn. He felt his consciousness slipping, his focus weakening…the drugs kicking in, their effect exacerbated by the intense pressure. He drifted off, his mind hanging onto that one thought…just do the work.

  Chapter 29

  Bridge – AS Pershing

  Sigma 4 System

  3,000,000 kilometers from Sigma 4 II

  Garret sat in his command chair, staring impatiently at the main display while he waited for word from the planet. He’d pulled his ships out of orbit, and he wasn’t going to move them back until he knew for damned sure what was hidden there. The fleet was in a dispersed formation, several hundred thousand kilometers from Sigma 4 II…just in case they uncloaked some type of fortress or superweapon and it came out blasting.

  He hadn’t withdrawn every vessel…Sarah Linden had demanded he leave three of her medical support ships in orbit, insisting that moving them would be tantamount to murdering several thousand of 1st Army’s most seriously wounded troopers. He suspected she was exaggerating, but he wasn’t going to argue with her...he trusted her judgment completely. And she was as stubborn as Erik Cain. However, the rest of the fleet was as safe as he could make it…at least until they knew what was important enough for the enemy to hide.

  “Still nothing, sir.” Commander Tara Rourke was new to Garret’s staff. So far he was extremely pleased with her performance. He’d picked her to replace Max Harmon when he’d reluctantly given the recuperated Compton his tactical officer back.

  Rourke had reprogrammed the scanners three times, sweeping the area for anything, even the slightest anomaly or trace of a signal. There was nothing. Whatever the enemy was hiding, their jammer was proof against human scanning technology. “Perhaps if I increase the probe overlaps to 100%?”

  Garret sat for a few seconds, thinking silently. “Negative, commander.” He paused, looking like he might change his mind, but then he shook his head. “There’s no point wasting so many drones. We’re not going to find anything until they knock out that jammer.” He glanced at the chronometer. “Which should be just about any time now.” He looked back at the glowing blue numerals of the clock. At least I hope it won’t be much longer, he thought…what is taking you guys so long?

  Garret had expected the signal by now, but there had been nothing but silence. He’d almost called down to the planet twice, but he stopped himself. Be patient, he thought…this is a huge job, and they’ll get it done as quickly as they can.

  “We’re getting a signal, admiral.” Rourke turned to look over at Garret. “It’s from General Holm.” Pershing was about 7 light seconds from planet, making conversations possible but annoying. But it didn’t matter…Holm had just sent a one way message. “Transferring it to your com, sir.”

  “Very well, commander.” Garret flipped a switch on his workstation and the familiar voice of Elias Holm was piped into his helmet.

  “Augustus, sorry this took so long. This enemy equipment is amazingly complex.” Holm’s voice sounded a bit odd…edgy. Being around First Imperium technology tended to make people nervous, even when it wasn’t actively trying to kill them. It was humbling to be surrounded by machinery built by a race that had been there thousands of years before.

  “We’re all set. Send a signal when you’re ready, and we’ll cut this thing’s power. Hopefully.” Holm chuckled softly. “Actually, Friederich is pretty sure he’s located all the power conduits, so we expect this to work.” Holm paused briefly. “Good luck up there, Augustus.”

  Garret looked over at Rourke. “Bring the fleet to red alert, commander.”

  Rourke acknowledged the order and relayed it to the rest of the fleet. Garret sat quietly, waiting until every vessel had responded. Grand Fleet, his half of it anyway, was ready for whatever was about to happen. As ready as he could make it, at least.

  “Send a response to General Holm, commander.” He took a deep breath. “We are ready. You are authorized to proceed as soon as you are able.”

  “Yes sir.” Rourke sounded a little nervous herself. No one knew what was going to happen when the crews on the surface blew those power lines, and imaginations were running wild. “Message sent sir.”

  Garret leaned back and looked out over the flag bridge. Fighting and maneuvering in space require enormous patience, something he’d learned from 40 years at war. But now it was failing him…he was anxious, nervous.

  “I have a confirmation from the planet, sir. They are cutting the power immediately.”

  “All ships…scanners on full power. Anybody falls asleep at their post, they’re going to be scraping the inside of a fusion core.” Garret was watching his own display as he spoke, waiting to see what happened when the enemy jamming was cut.

  “Yes, sir. All vessels confirm…” Rourke stopped abruptly and snapped her head around. “We have a contact, admiral.”

  Garret was already staring at his screen. There it was, orbiting the plane
t’s moon. It was fairly small, a sphere about 100 meters in diameter. “I see it, commander.” The data was just starting to come in. It didn’t appear to mount any weapons or engines, but there was a significant energy output. “Now if we can just figure out what it is.”

  The AIs were analyzing the data too, streaming updated information to the workstations. Garret was reading, ignoring most of what passed by his eyes, looking for something that might give a clue as to what the thing was. He finally focused on a small block of numbers followed by a few lines of text. He read it three times, unable to turn his eyes away. “Oh my God.”

  The admiral’s conference room on Pershing was large. Located just off the flag bridge, it bore a superficial resemblance to the board room any large company might possess. On closer inspection it was quite different, and considerable concessions had been made to the needs of space travel and combat. The seats were plush but also designed for stability. Far bulkier than a terrestrial office chair, they had heavy straps and small med units built into them. The meeting chairs didn’t convert into acceleration couches, but they did offer considerable protection to occupants at anything up to around 10g…and they could deliver a quick stim or anti-rad shot if it was needed.

  Garret sat at the head of the table. The admiral’s chair was bigger and more complicated than the others, connected to a sophisticated communications network tied into the fleetcom system. In theory, the admiral could direct the entire fleet, even fight a battle, from his chair. But Garret wasn’t monitoring anything; he wasn’t reading any reports. He was completely focused on the presentation he was watching. Friederich Hofstader was trying to explain the incredible device they’d just found.