by Jay Allan
“Okay, boys,” she said softly. “Let’s do this.”
She pushed the throttle forward, feeling the gee forces increase as she fed power to the engine. She’d picked out a Leviathan, one that had taken significant damage already. If this was going to be her last fight, she was determined to score a kill.
She jerked the controls, zigzagging wildly to avoid the enemy’s point defense. “Arm the torpedo,” she said, her voice distant, distracted. She was putting every bit of focus she had into flying the fighter. She could see four of her birds were gone already. The defensive fire was brutal, and she doubted half her people would make it close enough to launch their weapons.
The fighter shook hard, a hit. Her eyes dropped to her screen, frantically checking the readouts, trying to ascertain the damage. She still had full thrust, and that was a good sign. She punched at the keys in front of her, beginning a diagnostic check of the ship’s systems. A few seconds later, she breathed a sigh of relief. The engines were good, the torpedo and firing controls full functional. There was some minor damage, but nothing that would stop her from sending that wounded Leviathan to hell. And that was all she cared about at the moment.
She was getting close, well within maximum firing range. Fujin was as aggressive as they came, and she usually closed to extreme point blank range. But the defensive fire was just too heavy. She knew they’d never make it. She’d have to launch from 18,000 kilometers, 16,000 at the closest.
There was a large hull breach in the Leviathan, an ideal spot for her to plant the torpedo. But from this range it would take a perfect shot. Absolutely perfect.
She stared at the display, her eyes locked on the target. Her fingers moved over the screen, adjusting the weapon’s trajectory. She closed her eyes for an instant, centered herself. This would require more than pinpoint calculation. It would take all the intuition a veteran fighter jock could manage. She tried to go with her feelings, her instincts. Her finger moved, barely, slowly, refining the shot. Then she could feel it…everything was right. Somehow she just knew. And she pulled the trigger on the throttle, releasing the torpedo.
The fighter jerked hard as the weapon launched, and Fujin pulled the controls forward and to the side, blasting full and changing the ship’s vector, pulling it away from the target, toward a section of clear space where she’d have the room and time to decelerate and bring the fighter back around. To pick out a new target for a strafing run.
Her eyes were fixed on the scanning data coming in from the target ship, and she let out a vicious scream when the icon blinked out of existence. Whatever happened in the next minutes, Fujin had added another kill to her record, a First Imperium battleship blasted to atoms. One ship, at least, that would not be there to pound Saratoga and the rest of the fleet to rubble.
She gave herself a moment to savor the kill. Then her eyes went back to her display, looking for another target. But she froze. There were icons right around the warp gate, heading insystem at high velocity. For an instant she felt as though she’d been punched in the gut. More enemy ships. She hadn’t held out much hope for the fleet’s survival, but what shards had still remained were gone now.
But no, there was something different. The icons had been white, the standard AI designation for unidentified contacts. But now they were changing…but not to the red that depicted enemy ships. No, the symbols were blue. Blue…the color of friendly vessels. She blinked her eyes, did a double take. No, it wasn’t possible. But…
Then she saw the lead ship, a small line of text appearing next to it. She moved her fingers, zooming in on the icon. And then she saw the label. AS Midway, Yorktown-class battleship.
It was impossible. But there it was. The rearguard was back…and they were heading right for the enemy’s rear, catching them completely by surprise.
The battle wasn’t over yet…not by a long shot.
“All fighters, the rearguard is back. Midway is inbound…and we’re going to support her attack!”
* * *
“Welcome to Shangri la, people.” Terrance Compton sat in his chair, bolt upright and staring straight ahead. His body was heavy with exhaustion, every muscle, every joint pulsating with pain. Fears lurked in dark places in his mind…and sorrow and regret. But now it was all relegated to irrelevance. There was no place for weakness, not here. Compton was every millimeter the warrior now, and he had only one thought.
“Our comrades are fighting a battle,” he continued into the com, “struggling to hold off the enemy force. They stand here, defending Shangri la, protecting our inheritance from the Ancients. They fight bravely, but they falter, pushed back by an enemy that outnumbers and outguns them. They have fought desperate battles, as we have. But now we are one again, and we will fight together. We have returned…returned to the fleet, and it appears we are just in time.”
Compton could feel the excitement on the flag bridge. His people had been through hell, chased across space by hundreds of enemy ships. But they had managed to elude their pursuers and catch up with the fleet. And now they were blasting in from the warp gate, right into the rear of the enemy formation. It was a perfect position, and it was pure luck. But Compton intended to make the most of it. From the looks of things, the fleet was in real trouble…but that was going to change. Now.
“Providence has brought us here at this time…and one does not spurn the gifts of fortune. All ships to battlestations…and forward into the fight. Let none of us rest, let no gun be silent, no ship idle…not until the enemy is crushed…until every ship of the imperium in this system is blasted to dust and plasma!”
He cut the line then turned toward Cortez. Well, Jack, we’ve fought our share of battles these past two months, but it looks like we’ve got another one on our hands.”
“Yes, sir,” Cortez snapped back. “It looks like we do.”
“All task force units, attack plan Epsilon-7.”
“Attack plan Epsilon-7, sir. Transmitting to all ships now.”
Compton stared across the flag bridge, at his tactical officer. Midway showed the wear and tear of a ship that had been through hell. The flag bridge had cables laying all over, workarounds for conduits and main lines that had been severed. There was a large structural support that had fallen. It was shoved to the side, against the wall, but it was still there. And the ship’s bridge was still a total wreck, lifeless, empty…the place where half the ship’s command officers had died months before. But her reactors were still operating, and by some miracle of technical wizardry, Art Mendel and his engineers had all but two of the laser cannons operational.
“Well, Jack…let’s get to it, shall we? Engines forward, 2g thrust. All weapons, prepare to fire…”
Chapter Twenty-Three
AS Cadogan
Deneb System
The Fleet: 72 ships (+2 Leviathans), 17806 crew
Harmon stared at the main display, at the blackness of space…and the intensely bright blue-white star in the center of the screen. Deneb, one of the brightest stars in Earth’s night sky, one prominent in ancient literature, hovered there before him. For centuries, those on mankind’s homeworld had stared up at the night sky, gazing at the blue-white supergiant star. But now it had a new significance, for the system held the planet that had been the capital of the First Imperium, the world that was still home to the Regent, the insane artificial intelligence that had wreaked almost incalculable damage, not only on its own creators, but on mankind and the other young races as well.
Harmon was a combat officer, not a scientist, but he knew a star like Deneb was too young to have planets that had spawned intelligent life. No, he realized, the people of the First Imperium hadn’t evolved here…almost certainly not. Their true home was somewhere else…within the vast borders of the imperium, or beyond, someplace in the emptiness of unknown space. But they had come here—for reasons at which he could only guess—early in their history. And when they built the Regent so many millennia ago, they had done
it here.
He stared at the system display. He had the map Cutter had given him, but now it had all been confirmed by his own scanners. Everything matched up, and while Compton hadn’t doubted the brilliant scientist, he found the reassurance gratifying. He hoped the rest of the data Cutter had provided was equally accurate, the maps of the surface, of the entrance to the Regent’s lair.
“Well, Commander Frette, it appears we have arrived. Let’s head toward planet eight, shall we? Slowly…acceleration at one gee. Just enough to establish our vector, then cut the engines.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Harmon had come to rely more and more on the ancient stealth device as it had continued to prove its worth. Cadogan had passed by several large First Imperium task forces on the way to Deneb, and none had given any indication they had detected anything. But he was still cautious. This was the capital of the imperium…and there was no way of knowing what to expect.
Planet eight…it was almost unimaginable. Eighth planets tended to be hellish worlds, frozen balls of ice and rock…or frigid gas giants. But Deneb was a nuclear furnace that made Sol seem like a flashlight by comparison, and the system’s habitable zone was much farther out than with most stars. He only had the most basic scanning data on the inner worlds, but it suggested they were raging infernos.
“Accelerating toward planet eight, Captain.” Frette was bent forward, her face pressed against the scope. “Scanners report thousands of satellites, sir, both around the planet and positioned at various locations in the surrounding space.” A pause. “Most of them appear to be dead, sir. I’m picking up signs of extreme damage, indications of impacts with debris…and extensive wear and tear as well.”
“Very well, Commander. Keep gathering data. But passive scanners only. We don’t take any chances on giving ourselves away. And there’s no way of knowing what is still functioning out there.”
“Understood, Captain.” A moment later: “I’m picking up some energy readings. I’d estimate that approximately two percent of those scanners are still operational. I’m also getting readings on other, larger contacts. I’d bet they are some kind of weapons platforms. Most of them appear to be dead as well, though as with the scanners, I’m picking up background energy readings from a small percentage of them.”
“I don’t even want to think about the power of those platforms. We’re probably talking about weapons that could destroy Cadogan in a single shot. So we do everything possible to lay low.”
Harmon looked up at the main display, his eyes scanning the area all around the planet. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for…but he would know it when he saw it.
Then he froze. One of the planet’s three moons. It was the one farthest out…and it was tidally locked, one side permanently facing away from the planet. Just what he needed.
“Moon three, Commander…it looks to me like there are no functional scanning platforms near its dark side. Concentrate a scan there, and confirm. Risk a quick active scan pulse. We need a place to for Cadogan to hide, someplace the enemy won’t find us, even after we move the stealth device to the shuttle.”
“Scanning now, sir.”
The entire mission was the wildest gamble, but this was the part that had Harmon’s stomach twisted into a knot. There was only one stealth generator, and there was no way to get a shuttle down to the surface of the planet undetected without it. That meant Cadogan would have to hide somewhere—without the device—and somehow avoid detection. If the ship was discovered, it would raise the alarm, eliminating any chance of success for the landing party.
Not to mention that without Cadogan, we’re stuck here, whatever happens…
“Captain, I detect no operative scanner buoys with a direct line to the dark side of moon three.”
Harmon could hear the excitement in her voice, and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was. “Bring us in behind the moon, Commander…and put us in geosynchronous orbit, directly opposite the planet.”
“Yes, Captain. Forty-seven minutes until orbital insertion.”
Harmon leaned back in his chair and sighed softly. He’d have bet against their chances of reaching Deneb, and here they were. He wanted to allow himself some hope, a belief they could actually pull this off. But as well as they’d done getting there, he knew the hardest part was still ahead. It was difficult for him to wrap his head around what they were here to do. Years of war, eighteen months of desperate flight, millions dead back home. The Regent had invaded human space, sought to drive its forces right to Earth, to exterminate humanity. And now things had reversed. Humanity was here…to destroy the Regent.
Or at least two dozen Marines and a gifted scientist are here. Not exactly the popular image of the Grand Army of Earth, striking the final blow…
We’ve got what we’ve got…and now it’s time to use it.
He tapped the com unit. “Major Frasier, you better start getting your people ready.”
It was time.
* * *
“It’s time to get armored up. We’re launching in less than twenty minutes.” Connor Frasier stood in the small utility closet, just off the shuttle bay. Ana Zhukov had pulled him aside, and the two were grabbing a bit of privacy. Though neither said it, they both knew it was very likely these would be their last few moments together.
Frasier was a Marine veteran, one who had fought in the Third Frontier War, the Rebellions, the First Imperium War. He was the son of a Marine hero, born to be a warrior. It was bred into him. But he’d never even imagined a more desperate gamble than this, to infiltrate the home world of the imperium with less than a platoon of Marines. To attempt nothing less than to gain control over the Regent…and then destroy it. It seemed impossible, the kind of exaggerated story a Marine might tell late into a night of drinking and boasting—but nothing anyone sane would actually attempt. Yet here he was. And he was damned sure going to attempt it.
Ana squeezed harder, pulling her arms tight around him. Frasier knew they were an odd match, the slender, brilliant scientist and the hulking, grizzled Marine. But he’d never met anyone like her, never felt as close to another human being as he did to her. He was struggling to accept her being on this mission, to deal with the fear that she would be killed. He was a Marine…if the time came for him to die in the line of duty, he would face it, as his brethren had for centuries. But Ana…
She let her arms fall to the side and stepped back, looking up at him. “Before we go, I wanted to thank you for understanding why I had to come. I know it was difficult.”
Frasier put his hand on her face. He wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t understand, not really. Yes, he knew why she was the best for the job, but every fiber in his being was screaming at him to find a way to leave her behind. It was impossible, but he couldn’t deny that was what he wanted. He’d accepted her coming along only because he knew he’d have lost her if he’d tried to stop her. And the only thing he could imagine that would be worse than watching her die would be knowing she hated him when she did.
It had been no noble impulse driving him when he’d come to her, told her he was okay with her coming along. It was defeat, a realization that he had no way to stop her. If there had been a way to keep her from the mission, he’d have done it, no matter what the cost. But Admiral West had approved her place on the team…and that was the last word. So he’d done all he could do—he had come along with her. He would watch her every moment…and if there anything he could do to save her he would do it.
“We’re past that now, Ana. We’re both here, and now we have to do what we came to do. The safety of the whole fleet is on our shoulders.” He paused for a second. “Just remember, whatever happens…I love you.”
“I love you too, she said,” pulling him back into another brief hug. Then she stepped back and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Like you said, it’s time to suit up.”
“Yes,” he said softly. “It is.” He took her hand and they walked out into
the bay, toward the mostly empty racks. Only two suits remained, and off next to the shuttle he could see his Marines formed up and waiting at attention.
He stopped in front of her armor, a generic suit that the armorers had managed to modify into a decent fit. He’d given her as much training as he could, and he’d been impressed at how well she could get around in the thing. She didn’t move like a Marine…but she could handle herself.
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. Then he pressed a button alongside her suit and stepped back as it popped open like a clamshell. “Be careful, Ana. Please.”
She smiled back at him. “And you too.” Then she stripped off her coverall and hopped up into the suit.
He forced himself to return the smile. Then he pressed the button and watched as the armor slid shut all around her.
* * *
“Captain Harmon.” The shuttle pilot stared at his commanding officer, standing in the doorway clad in a flight suit. “Ah…what are you doing here, sir?”
“I’m going with you, Tomlinson. I’m flying this shuttle.” Harmon looked down at the stunned officer for a few seconds. Then he gestured for the pilot to move over to the co-pilot’s chair.
“Umm…yes, Captain.” He unbuckled himself and hurriedly slid over. “Captain, are you sure you should leave Cadogan?” Tomlinson’s voice was tense, uncomfortable.
“No, Lieutenant, I probably shouldn’t. But I’m going to anyway. And since Admiral West is almost five hundred lightyears away, I guess there’s no one to second guess me.” He looked over at the startled officer as he slid into the pilot’s chair. “Don’t worry, Justin, Commander Frette can handle the ship while I’m gone. Cadogan’s not going to do anything but sit there and play like a hole in space.” He glanced down at the controls. Tomlinson had already completed the pre-checks. The shuttle was ready to go. “Besides, we all know what is important here…the destruction of the Regent, not our escape.” His voice took on a dark tone. He regretted saying what he had almost immediately. His thoughts were bleak ones, but he knew better than to share them with his subordinates.