Cauldron of Fire (Blood on the Stars Book 5)

by Jay Allan

  He could almost feel the radiation leaking from his tortured reactor, a tingling sensation on his back. But radiation poisoning was of no concern to him, not now. He could get a cleanse if he survived the fight…or perhaps he would take a lethal dose and he would die. No matter. Whatever happened, it would be after the battle, after he had avenged Jamison. Or after he died.

  He knew his ship couldn’t take much of the punishment he was inflicting, but he’d decided it was worth the risk. His enemy was too good…a normal engagement between the two could go on forever. And if he ran out of fuel before the fight was decided, he wouldn’t get another chance. Not with the civil war over and Calavius dead.

  It had to be now…and that meant pouring everything he had into it. All his skill, and all his ship had to give as well.

  He gritted his teeth against the pain, his hand tight around the throttle as he watched the range count down. The Alliance pilot was reacting now, trying to evade his attack.

  His lips twisted against the pressure, into a crooked smile. His enemy wasn’t coming right at him, trying to take him down immediately. That was a mistake. By evading, his adversary was yielding the initiative. And that was all the edge he needed…

  * * *

  “It’s Commander Stockton, sir.” Travis’s tone told Barron his second in command understood what was happening, just as he did. Jake Stockton was going to attack Jovi Grachus. He was going to avenge Kyle Jamison.

  “Get him on my comm now,” Barron snapped. He understood Stockton’s anger and frustration, but Grachus and her people had yielded…and his people did not kill warriors who had given up the fight, much less those who had joined them as allies.

  “On your line, sir.”

  “Jake, this is Tyler Barron…” There was no room for formality now. He had to reach Stockton, somehow…and his top pilot had never been one who’d shown particular deference to rank or orders.

  There was no response.

  “Jake, answer me…”

  Still nothing.

  “Jake, I know what you’re doing, but I need you to break off…now. You are not to attack Commander Grachus.” A pause. “That’s an order.” It was worth a try.

  The comm was still silent. Barron was about to try again, to repeat himself, when Stockton’s voice came through.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” The pilot’s words were soft, forced. One look at the scanner, at the output of Stockton’s engines, explained that. “This pilot—Grachus, you say—killed Kyle. I’m going to avenge him.”

  “No, Jake…you can’t. Commander Grachus has yielded. She led almost the entire Red fighter force over to our side. You are not to attack her.”

  Silence again. Then: “I am sorry, sir…but I have to do this. I have to avenge my friend…my brother. I owe him more than I can ever repay.”

  “Jake, I am ordering you to stand down.”

  Nothing.

  “Jake, don’t do this. Don’t throw your career away.”

  Silence.

  Barron turned toward Travis as though he was about to issue some kind of order. But what? Could he command his fighters to intercept Stockton, to shoot him down? He didn’t know if he could bring himself to do that…and he was far from sure any of his people would obey if he did.

  He felt his hands ball up into fists as his frustration grew. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with some way to reach Stockton, to get the pilot to listen. Then: “Get Stara Sinclair on the line, Atara. Now!”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Interplanetary Space

  Astara System

  Year 311 AC

  Grachus swung her ship hard to the side, evading again as a barrage of laser fire ripped by, no more than a few meters from her starboard side. She’d known Stockton was good, but right now the Confed pilot was downright possessed. He was tight on her now, closing in…and it wouldn’t be long before he had her.

  Unless you fight back…

  She’d held back, unwilling to engage, but now she saw her choice clearly. She’d heard Barron’s efforts to call off his ace pilot, and Stockton’s refusal to obey. Everything was right there in front of her. She had killed Stockton’s best friend, a man he’d considered a brother. Grachus understood her adversary’s motivations now, perhaps better than anyone else could. The irony tugged at her, and she knew she had to make a choice. She now faced the same anger and hatred she had felt for so long, the irresistible need for vengeance. All she could do now was turn and fight, and try to destroy this man who should now be her ally…or stay her course, struggle to escape, and almost certainly die in the attempt.

  Her impulse was to fight, though she was far from sure even then she could prevail. But the realization of what she had done weighed on her. Had she not been mired in her own misguided pursuit of revenge, she never would have fought the Gray Alliance forces and their allies. She would never have faced Stockton’s friend. She would never have killed him.

  She angled her ship again, and then back, trying to stay a step ahead of her attacker. Half a step…

  She wrestled with her thoughts, her motivations. She’d been crushed by Kat’s death, and ready to die herself in pursuit of vengeance. But now she’d allowed herself to see a future serving under the man she’d wronged, an Imperator worthy of loyalty. And her son…the future offered to be one where she could be more a part of his life. Jarus had shown he had at least some genuine admiration for her…and with her new rank and status—assuming Vennius allowed her to keep it—he could stand up to his family. She found she wanted to live.

  But we can’t always have what we want…

  The warrior inside her ached to fight back. But her guilt restrained her. Stockton’s rage had spawned from her own foolishness, her misguided hatred for Vennius and Barron.

  Perhaps this is my destiny…the price I must pay…

  She pushed forward hard on the throttle, decelerating rapidly, a wildly unpredictable maneuver, and a chance to buy a little more time.

  But only a little…Stockton is too good. I can’t elude him, not for long…

  The two sides in her head battled mightily…and then the urge to survive, deeply instinctive, won out. She accelerated hard, and then spun her ship around, opening fire with her laser cannons. Her targeting had been dead on for Stockton’s location…but her target wasn’t there. She’d expected her move to be a surprise, perhaps a chance to catch her opponent unaware and end this deadly struggle. But it was almost as if he’d read her mind. Worse, he’d shifted to the side, and he opened fire himself, his laser blasts ripping right past her ship, a meter to port, a meter to starboard…and then her fighter lurched hard, spinning end over end as one of her engines flamed out.

  She had waited too long. Her move to fight back, to kill Stockton if that was the only way to survive, was late…and now she would pay the price.

  She frantically pulled at her throttle, ran her hands over the controls on her board. Her ship still responded, but the glancing hit had left her less than half normal power. She’d never evade a pilot of Stockton’s skill with half thrust. Worse, her laser batteries were dead. Probably a power conduit…

  She sighed softly, still gripping the throttle. She would do everything she could, use every trick she knew…but there was one inescapable fact.

  It was over. It was just a matter of time. Very little time.

  * * *

  Stockton stared at his screen, his eyes cold, focused. He wasn’t a man, at least not now. He was an animal, a predator. He had no pity, no emotion, save the need to destroy his enemy.

  His hands gripped tightly on the controls, and he angled his fighter, coming around for another attack. The final attack.

  He’d watched silently, emotionlessly, as his last shot had hit his target. For an instant, he’d thought the fight was over, that he’d destroyed his enemy. But the hit had been a partial one, the damage bad but not complete. Jamison’s killer was still alive…even if her ship was crippled. This time, he would finish her. He
would avenge his friend.

  He’d come in fast, and it was taking time to alter his vector to make another run. He stared at the scanners, watching for any of the other fighters, to see if they were coming to stop him. He wasn’t sure if Barron would actually send fighters to stop him, or if he did, if the Confed pilots would come at him. He was the pride of the fighter corps, and he knew it. He had nothing but respect for those who wore the same uniform he did…but he was ready to kill any pilot with the audacity to try to stop him. Even a comrade.

  He suspected the Gray Alliance pilots would follow any orders to attack, if Vennius gave them, but he didn’t see any movement in his direction. Still, he knew it could come, and even blinded as he was by incoherent rage, he knew he could only hold off so many.

  It’s time to finish this…now…

  “Jake…”

  The voice cut through his focus, his cold obsession. He’d ignored Commodore Barron’s repeated attempts to reach him…but this got his attention.

  “Jake, it’s me…Stara. Jake, please don’t do this. I know you’re angry, I know you miss Kyle…but this is wrong.”

  He didn’t respond, trying to ignore all she said. But he couldn’t. It was there, pushing its way into his closed mind, trying to reach some deeply buried part of him.

  “Jake, I know you don’t care about your career, and I’m not enough of a fool to believe fear of court martial would matter to you. But what about the pilots, Jake? What about the squadrons? They lost Kyle too, you know. They followed him for more than five years…and now they have to go into battle without him. Will you make them go without you too? You know we’ll be heading back to the Union front soon.”

  His eyes were still on the screen, on the crippled Alliance fighter, as he came around, his vector changing gradually. In a few seconds, perhaps half a minute, it would be time. He could begin his final run.

  But Stara’s words were well-chosen, and they sliced deeply into him. He moved his hand, toward the comm unit, intending to turn it off. But he paused. If the civil war in the Alliance was truly over, Dauntless would be heading back to the Union front. His pilots would be heading back not to a respite, but to more war. There would be no peace, no break in the fighting. And more of them would die…they would die because he wasn’t there.

  No, that’s not your responsibility…your obligation is to Kyle, to avenge him.

  What would Kyle say about abandoning the squadrons?

  The voices in his head went back and forth, a bitter argument raging. He felt like he would go mad. And all the while, Stara was still there. He desperately wanted to shut her out, to stop her words from tormenting him…but he couldn’t bring himself to turn off the comm.

  He saw his enemy in front of him. She was doing everything possible, her ship altering course wildly. But she didn’t have the tools anymore. Her ship was half dead, her quest to escape his wrath hopeless.

  Finish this, the voice from within cried out. Finish this now…

  “Jake, please…you know I love you. I don’t know if you care anymore, but if I ever meant anything to you, please listen to me now. Don’t do this. Don’t leave your pilots.” A pause, and then, her voice cracking, “Don’t leave me…”

  Jake felt the words like a series of punches right to his gut. He hated himself for the pain he had caused her, and the doubt she’d expressed about his current feelings tore at him. But the monster inside was still there. Kyle Jamison’s face, from a thousand times they’d been together, staring at him. The thought that he’d never see his friend again filled him with renewed rage. He screamed, slamming his hand against the edge of the cockpit. But his hand was still on the throttle, moving it slightly, lining up right behind his target.

  It’s time. Do it…

  The words were unspoken, but to Stockton, the volume was deafening, drowning out Stara’s continued pleas on the comm.

  “Do it,” he said softly to himself, as his hand tightened on the throttle.

  His eyes narrowed, focused on his enemy. She was right ahead…she was in point blank range. There was no escape, not with her damaged engines. His vengeance was at hand.

  Do it…

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Fleet Hospital

  Grimaldi Base

  Orbiting Krakus II

  Year 312

  “I brought you just the thing to get those new legs humming…” Stockton stepped through the door, into the small hospital room. Dirk Timmons was not in the bed, as he’d been every time Stockton had visited him before. He was sitting up in a chair next to the window, his biomechanical legs covered with a small blanket. Or at least what passed for a window, five hundred meters deep inside a space station. It was really a screen, but one with the advantage of programmability, meaning Timmons could have any view he wanted, the ocean, the desert, the mountains. At the moment, it was set to display a thick forest, looking very much like autumn in northern Megara. Stockton vaguely recalled that Timmons had been born and raised on the Confederation’s capital.

  Stockton turned and looked to the side of the room. He stopped dead. There was a woman standing there, clearly in the middle of a visit with Timmons.

  “I see you’re busy,” he said, a cold tone in his voice. “I’ll come back later.”

  “Jake…”

  “No, please don’t go.” The woman’s voice was soft, sad. She turned toward Timmons. “I will visit you again, Commander Timmons. I’m pleased you’re doing so well.” She looked in Stockton’s direction, but she didn’t make eye contact. “Commander,” she said, respectfully. Then she slipped out into the hall without another word.

  Stockton stood where he was, looking down at the floor. It had been nearly six months since that day around Palatia, the day the civil war ended. The day he’d had revenge in his grasp…and let it go. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about it, even now, but in the end, he’d realized he just couldn’t leave them, all of them. The pilots, Timmons…and most of all, Stara. His hand had been on the firing stud, a tenth of a second from finishing things. But then his strength left him. He’d flown by, sparing the pilot who’d killed Kyle Jamison.

  He’d struggled with his choice ever since, and as fate’s cruelty would have it, Jovi Grachus had been assigned to command the fighter squadrons attached to the Alliance Expeditionary Force. She had followed Dauntless to Grimaldi, haunting him like some specter. Even his expectation that at least he’d never have to see her again had been dashed, and finding her here, in Timmons’s room, the man she’d crippled…

  “She’s really not so bad, Jake.”

  “Not so bad? She put you in that bed. You’re in here because of her.”

  “She’s a warrior, Jake. Just like us. Do you think you haven’t killed peoples important to others? Mothers, father, sisters, brothers? You think none of the pilots you’ve gunned down had lovers, friends? War is war, Jake. Leave it there.” A pause. “Kyle would have.”

  The last words sliced at him, but he just nodded. “I just wanted to drop this off,” he said, setting a small container down on the table next to Timmons’s chair and then moving back toward the door. “I’ve got to go…”

  “Jake,” Timmons said, “stay…please. I could use some company.” He looked over at the small package. “What did you bring me? You can tell me that, at least.”

  Stockton turned and looked behind him, as if checking for any hospital personnel…or to be sure Grachus was no longer there. “It’s a burger, the greasiest one I could find down on the promenade. I remember enough from flight school to know that’s how you like them.”

  “And fries?” Timmons smiled hungrily, leaning forward, opening the small package.

  “Of course…what kind of half-assed operation do you think I’m running here?” He looked back behind him again. “But be quiet…and eat it now, before the staff gets here with your normal slop and takes it away.”

  Timmons smiled and nodded. “You know I’m going to eat it now.” He reached in and pulled out
an enormous burger, dripping all around, and he took a massive bite.

  “My God, that’s good,” he said, his words barely intelligible with his mouth jammed full. “I can’t remember the last time I tasted something that good.”

  Stockton smiled, the tension he’d felt earlier starting to fade. He sat down on the edge of the bed and nodded. “I knew you’d like it.” Then, a few seconds later, “So, I hear you’ll be getting out of here soon…”

  * * *

  Tyler Barron stood next to the large medpod. The room was silent, save for the pumping sounds of the machinery that kept the pod working…and the man inside alive.

  He reached out, touched the metal of the canister. It was cold, the cryogenic gasses inside refrigerating even the outside of the heavily insulated pod. It was a miracle Van Striker was even alive, Barron had been told. The wounds were massive, his condition beyond critical. He would have been dead, if Admiral Jaravick hadn’t acted quickly, taking command and ordering Striker placed in cryostatis. The admiral could still die, indeed, that was the likeliest outcome, but some cutting-edge treatments at least offered some hope. Barron tried to cling to such thoughts, but he found it difficult.

  He stared down at the pod. All he could see was Striker’s face, beneath the small, clear panel on the top. He looked dead. Or sleeping? Barron didn’t know what to think. But he knew he had to be there. He had to pay his respects.

  “Vennius was true to his word, sir. Commander Tulus is in command of the expeditionary force. We’ve got six Alliance battleships here already…with more on the way. Your plan worked, Admiral.” Of course, even the presence of Alliance allies was overshadowed by the ever-present gloom, the fear of the still barely-understood superweapon the enemy had somehow produced…or, more likely, found.

  Still, he’d come to respect the Alliance fighters greatly, and whatever lay ahead, he was glad to have them at his side. He took a deep breath, remembering his last meeting with Vennius. He’d brought Kat Rigellus’s children to him, safe and unharmed. The rescue had cost him several good Marines, and one great one. Clete Hargraves had survived decades of service, but duty had finally claimed him. Barron had been glad to see Rigellus’s son and daughter safe—he felt as though he had repaid a debt of his own as well as honoring Vennius’s request—but it still hurt to lose people.