Cauldron of Fire (Blood on the Stars Book 5)

by Jay Allan

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Captain, we’ve got enemy fighters inbound.” Vennius had never heard Egilius sound scared…until this moment. “Dozens of squadrons, sir. Heading toward Sentinel-2 and toward us. Shall I order all ships to launch?”

  Vennius stood stone still, his eyes focused on the display. “No, Commander. If we launch, our ships will just be outnumbered and overwhelmed…and they’ll have trouble breaking off. We’ll end up having to abandon half of the survivors. Order the fleet to pull back. Edge us closer to our exit transit point…but not directly. We don’t want to tip our hand…not yet.”

  “Yes, Your Supremacy.”

  Vennius jumped up.

  “You see to the fleet, Brutus. Send the order to the other wing commanders.”

  “Yes, sir…where are you going? Your Supremacy?” Egilius jumped out of his seat as Vennius moved toward the lift.

  “I’m going to deck twenty-three, Commander.”

  “No…it’s too dangerous. Please…let security handle it. Or let me go. You can’t risk yourself.”

  “Brutus, my friend…you have duties here. You cannot leave the bridge. I have already set our strategy. My only role now is sitting in the background, watching.”

  “You’re the Imperator. We cannot risk you!”

  “The way is the way, Brutus. Palatian warriors do not allow fear to rule their actions, even Imperators.” He paused, and when he continued, his voice was distant, somber. “Besides, if there is a traitor down there, it is someone close to me, someone I trusted. As I once did Calavius. I must see this through.” Vennius turned and walked toward the lift.

  “Go with the Imperator.” Egilius was shouting to the two guards posted on the bridge. “I charge you with his safety.”

  Vennius ignored Egilius’s command, and the two stormtroopers falling in behind him as he stepped into the lift. Egilius’s concern was gratifying, in its way. But Vennius’s thoughts were elsewhere…and save for the traitor he was sure he’d find down on deck twenty-three, he doubted anyone on Bellator cared less for his own safety than he did.

  His life was over, at least all that retained any satisfaction, any joy. Everything that was important to Tarkus Vennius, the man, was gone. He had lived, loved, fought…once he’d tasted a sweetness in life. But now there was only bitterness and obligation. And the disillusionment of treachery from those he’d called friends.

  He existed now only for duty, a revenant condemned to do a job he despised until he died. He couldn’t run, couldn’t stop. He owed it to the Imperatrix, to his warriors…to all Palatians.

  And now it is time to deal once again with treachery, with the black sickness our arrogance made us believe could never plague us.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  CFS Dauntless

  Approaching Planet Palatia

  Astara System

  Year 62 (311 AC)

  “We’re through, Commodore. Systems rebooting now.”

  Barron listened to Travis’s report. It was the same one he’d heard countless times. Just as in every battle they’d fought together, the initial transit was potentially one of the most dangerous moments in a fight. Normally, Barron would have sent scoutships, or even drones, through, but that wasn’t an option here. Surprise was a crucial element of his plan. He was counting on the arrogance of the Alliance forces, on their inability to quickly believe that anyone would dare assault their homeworld. Sending drones through would be giving up precious time, warning the enemy something was coming.

  “Very well. As soon as intraship comm is reestablished, issue launch orders to flight control.” Dauntless had every fighter that could fly ready to go. Battleships often transited with their squadrons on alert, their flight teams ready to scramble at a moment’s notice, but Barron had ordered every pilot in the fleet to his or her fighter before he’d ordered the final approach to the transit point. Each captain had the same order…launch fighters the instant sufficient systems control returned to permit it.

  “Yes, sir. Launch support systems are still down.”

  The bridge was silent, Travis hunched over her station, monitoring the gradual return of Dauntless to operational status. Most of the other bridge officers were sitting, trying to look occupied, though they had little to do before their workstations restarted. Barron knew his people understood what lay ahead, the desperate, daring assault they were attempting. Whatever chance they had of success, he knew it was better than the almost certain defeat that had awaited them at Sentinel-2. But he couldn’t shake the same tension he knew was preying on his crew, the cold feeling of they’d forced a decision, that victory or defeat was coming right now.

  “The central AI is back online, sir. Branch systems booting now.” Travis’s words didn’t call for a response. They were directed at Barron, in the remote case that his own eyes weren’t glued to the screens, watching for himself.

  Barron was focused as the main display lit up, the massive hologram in the center of Dauntless’s bridge, streaked with ribbons of light as the AI recalibrated the projection. Barron watched, trying to take his mind off the fear that enemy ships would be posted near enough to the transit point to engage while his ships were still helpless. That was rarely the case, at least when an assault wasn’t well expected, but he’d learned not to assume anything with Alliance warriors as the enemy. The Palatians were masters at war, and if they’d had the Confederation’s size, tech, and economy, he shuddered to think of the wave of conquest they could have unleashed.

  “Commodore, intraship and fleet communications active. Flight control advises launch systems will be operational imminently. Captain Eaton reports Repulse has commenced launch operations.”

  Barron allowed himself a little smile. Eaton had gotten there first, launching before Dauntless. He knew it had less to do with skill and effort, and more with the vagaries of the sub-atomic charges the ships had picked up in the transit between systems, but he was glad to cede the honor to his comrade. He had nothing but respect for his Eaton, and he still admitted openly, commodore’s stars or not, that she and Intrepid had saved everyone on Dauntless back in Arcturon years before.

  “Flight control reports launch operations underway.”

  The report was superfluous. Barron knew his ship like the back of his hand. He’d felt the distant vibrations, the feeling of fighters rocketing down the launch catapults.

  His battle plan was aggressive, almost reckless, but he knew there was no choice. There wasn’t a fighter in the fleet held back in reserve or committed to space patrol duties. Every squadron, every ship, had an offensive mission. The entire operation was based on speed and surprise. Each hour that passed lessened the chance of success, gave the stunned enemy more time to react, to call for reserves. Barron had ten battleships, a powerful force by any measure, but his target was nothing less than the capital planet of the most militarized nation in known space. If he gave them time to organize, every Palatian over the age of five would be formed up, waiting to fight his people.

  Bryan Rogan and sixteen hundred Marines, backed up by fewer than one thousand allied Alliance stormtroopers. That was the army that would invade Palatia. In space, Barron could hope, at least, that most of the Red Alliance ships had been committed to the attack on Sentinel-2. But whatever had happened, there would still be tens of thousands of soldiers down on the surface of Palatia. Hundreds of thousands. With luck, they would be spread out, unprepared—perhaps even mixed in their commitments to the Red cause. Rogan and his people would have to move fast, strike directly against vital targets, but still, even if they were successful, how long could they hold on?

  “All squadrons launched, sir. Scanner reports coming in. Enemy dispositions on the display.” Barron could hear the tone in Travis’s voice, and it gripped him, shook him from his gloomy ramblings. He’d expected a grim tone, word of vast enemy forces lined up between the transit point and the planet, but her words had been light, excited.

  He turned quickly, looking at the dis
play. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. There were only six battleships, and they were scattered all over the system. Three of them were close enough to respond, and one had started launching fighters, but in general Barron realized his attack had caught the Alliance forces flatfooted. It appeared Calavius had indeed deployed almost all of his strength to the final assault on Sentinel-2, a battle that would be little more than a diversion if Vennius was able to successfully extricate his fleet and make a run back to Palatia. Barron had a lot of faith in the Gray Imperator, but he also knew just how difficult a maneuver a fighting withdrawal could be.

  “It appears that Imperator Vennius’s diversion has done its job,” he said. “Now, let’s do ours. All squadrons, deploy and attack, tactical plan Beta-2. All battleships, full thrust as soon as system restarts permit. There are three battleships close enough to interfere with our move against the planet…”

  Barron stared ahead, feeling the excitement inside, the controlled rage that took him in battle.

  “Let’s go get them.”

  * * *

  Stockton stared out his screen, watching the hopelessly disorganized Alliance squadrons trying to form up into something resembling a battle line. The three ships closest to the invading fleet had all launched, but their strike teams were strung out, their fighters racing to link up, to put up at least some kind of credible defense amid the total surprise of the Gray invasion.

  Stockton led Dauntless’s fighters in, pushing them to the max, directing each squadron with meticulous accuracy. He’d felt uneasy at first when he sat down, ready to launch at the head of the ship’s entire strike force, but then it occurred to him he was sitting in Jamison’s seat, figuratively at least, and a sense of pride came over him. He wouldn’t allow himself to let his friend down. Jamison would have picked him to take over, just as Barron did, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind, and that realization laid a heavy burden on him.

  You can live up to what Kyle thought of you…or you can fail. Those are your choices.

  Stockton shook his head. He would not fail. Whatever it took.

  I’ll do this, Kyle, for you…

  He angled his controls, bringing his ship around onto a vector toward the closest enemy fighter. A quick glance at the screen confirmed Blue and Scarlet Eagle squadrons were right behind him, the two elite formations escorting the Greens, who were outfitted for bombing strikes. Torpedo attacks were cantankerous beasts, sometimes hitting with deadly effect, and others foundering on a well-conceived defense. But with the disorder in the enemy ranks, and the two best squadrons in the Confed fleet leading them in, he had no doubt the Greens would hit hard.

  His eyes shot over to the side. Olya “Lynx” Federov was leading her own Red squadron, along with Dauntless’s Yellows. Stockton had faith in his new number two, an officer who had long fought beside him. But he couldn’t help but think of how many comrades were gone. “Ice” Krill, Corinne “Talon” Steele, Kyle…all dead. And Dirk Timmons, the feared and admired “Warrior,” his greatest rival for the position of top ace in the fleet. Timmons was lying in sickbay, nearly half his body gone, just barely alive. Federov was a good pilot—more than good, she was a decorated ace…but her road to number two on Dauntless had been paved with the loss of far too many friends.

  “You know what to do, Lynx. What you’ve always done. What we’ve been doing for five years now.” He held his voice firm, like a rock. Like Kyle always did. Federov could handle her assignment, there was no question in his mind. But she was his responsibility now, not just his comrade, and he was determined to send her into the fight the best way he could.

  “Roger than.” A short pause. “And thanks, Raptor.”

  Stockton turned back toward the screen, watching as the line of enemy fighters firmed up…slightly. His people would be in range in just over a minute. Then the fight for Palatia would really begin.

  “Blues, Eagles…arm missiles now. You all know what to do, so let’s get it done!”

  * * *

  “All ships, continue deceleration. Dead stop at sixty thousand kilometers from geosynchronous orbit. Prepare to fire on my command.” Barron leaned forward in his chair, staring ahead, watching as the range to Palatia counted down slowly. His fighter wings had obliterated the three enemy battleships that had attempted to delay his forces, and his entire line had raced across the system, heading right for the Alliance capital.

  “All ships decelerating, sir. All batteries armed and ready to fire on your command.”

  Barron sat quietly, watching, waiting. The range countdown display slowed as his ships’ velocities reduced, the time to range dropping ever more agonizingly slowly. He wished there was a way to move faster. The sooner he could get to Palatia, the better chance Rogan and his people had of taking and holding the crucial installations. The ground forces had time now to fortify, but he was betting again that Alliance pride would intervene. The troops on the planet, already disorganized by the civil war, might count on the forts to defeat the invaders. He didn’t like all the assumptions and hopes…they were the kind of things he tried to keep out of battle plans. But they were all he had now.

  The three remaining enemy capital ships, plus a dozen or so escort vessels, were on the defensive. They had pulled back, forming a last-ditch defense just inside the range of the planetary defenses. Those powerful guns, mounted on eighteen massive orbital fortresses, were the lynchpin of the Red defenses. They could outrange anything in the Alliance fleet, and their massive, six-barreled turrets could blast an approaching fleet into slag.

  But they didn’t outrange Dauntless and the other Confederation battleships…at least Barron was gambling they didn’t. He’d reviewed the schematics with Vennius before he’d left Sentinel-2, and he was convinced his primaries could blast the fortresses to atoms before he exposed his fleet to their deadly return fire.

  He was still a little concerned, despite all his preparations. The range of the enemy guns was about only five to ten thousand kilometers below that of his big batteries…and one look told him that was because their power transmission systems were a generation behind the Confederation’s. He’d had Fritzie take a look just to confirm his suspicions, and she agreed. With a bit of rerouting of the conduits and a few upgrades, those forts could tear his fleet apart. Not for the first time, he gave thanks for the Confederation’s status as the most technologically advanced power in space.

  He’d had a fleeting thought, an image of the weapons upgraded by his engineer, a way to hold Palatia even if Calavius’s forces returned ahead of Vennius’s. But there was no way to get close enough to capture the platforms, not without having his ships blasted to slag. No, as much as he wished he could seize the forts, he knew he had to destroy them utterly…and he had to do it as quickly as possible.

  He could feel Dauntless’s thrust lessening…and then stopping entirely, the bridge filled with the weightlessness of freefall. Zero grav was far from an ideal working environment, but Barron needed to keep his ships in a narrow strip of space, a few thousand kilometers wide at best, which meant he had to fight this round at a dead stop.

  “All vessels in position, sir.” Travis turned and looked across the few meters from her station to Barron’s.

  He sat still for a few seconds, his eyes on the display, the tense feeling in his gut fading as the enemy guns remained silent. He’d checked and rechecked, but the margin was so small, he’d been nervous anyway, concerned the great batteries would open up, that their range would be greater than he’d expected. His eyes caught Tulus’s three ships and their escorts, positioned just behind his line, ready to move up and engage any of the Red ships that advanced.

  The seven Confederation battleships stood where they were, engines off, waiting for his word. He turned toward Travis and the two shared a fragile smile. Then he said simply, “Fire.”

  He heard Travis repeat the one-word order into her comm unit. Within a few seconds, Dauntless’s bridge lights dimmed, and her deadly primaries lashed o
ut toward the hulking fortresses. One glance at the display told him the other ships had fired as well, the quad mounts of the four new Repulse-class monsters making Dauntless’s dual turrets seem almost puny by comparison.

  He watched as the scanning data came in, updating the display. The ships were firing at extreme range, but the fortresses weren’t ships. They had only minimal repositioning thrusters to avoid incoming shots…and it was clear from the start that none of them had expected to be under fire before they could respond with their own guns.

  Close to half of the blasts from Barron’s ships hit, slamming into the great stations, melting armor and ripping deep through the structures. But each platform was double the size of even Barron’s giant new ships, and the heavy particle accelerator batteries were at the very edge of their effective range. The beams would have hit with more than double the impact just another twenty thousand kilometers closer, but then the hundreds of guns on the stations would be returning their fire, blasting Barron’s ships to slag.

  “All ships report batteries rearming.”

  Barron glanced over toward his exec and nodded. The recharge time was the greatest weakness of the Confederation’s primaries, and it meant it would take some time for his fleet to reduce the forts. The firepower of the Palatian defense grid was too great to risk moving forward, not before every fort was gone.

  The enemy emplacements opened up now, trying without success to return the fire. But the beams didn’t reach the Confederation line, or they missed. The few that actually hit were too weak to cause damage. At worst, they could scramble an antenna or a scanner dish, and that only with a perfect shot. They needed the invasion force to close, to come within their own effective range…and that was the one thing Barron wasn’t going to do, not until every one of those gun emplacements was blasted to bits or melted into useless junk.