Awakening Threat

by Patrick G Cox

  A growl from Regidur alerted him. “They send others to attack us.”

  So the Niburu can either see us or sense our approach, Harry mused. He checked the ship’s measurement of the atmosphere surrounding the target. It would have some effect if they entered, though he couldn’t be sure how much. The enemy was now filling the entire display, and it was so large that it actually created horizons as they drove straight for its surface. On all sides, streaks of brilliance lit the Command Centre as the strike craft intercepted and attacked the Niburu attempting to reach the corvettes.

  Streams of plasma fire arced toward them from the surface of the target. “Evasive action, Mr. Gunn.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Danny’s fingers danced across his console, and the coxswain responded. The ship weaved and dodged between the beams then shuddered, and an alarm sounded but was quickly silenced.

  “We took a hit, sir. Nothing serious, but we’ve lost some of the shielding on the forward battery.”

  “Very good.” Harry turned to Regidur. “Is the forward plasma projector still operational?”

  “It is, Leader.”

  Another shudder, and this time the alarm sounded more urgent. It was joined a few seconds later by another, accompanied by several visual signals. Danny’s fingers were a blur as he tried to deal with everything demanding his attention. “I’ll take the con, Mr. Gunn. You deal with the damage.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. We’re losing atmosphere somewhere, sir. Pressure’s dropping in engineering.”

  “Damn. Get Mr. Webber and see if he can deal with it.” Harry frowned in concentration as he gave his attention to the navigation problems. The ship felt as if she was handling awkwardly. “Is there a problem with holding direction, 847?”

  “No, Harry. I am being drawn off course by the gravitation effect. I am compensating, but it is getting stronger.”

  “Only a little further, old girl.” He looked at Regidur. “How soon can we fire? The gravity this ship exerts is making it difficult to control our path.”

  “A minute more, Leader.” The Canid glowered at his console. His seemingly clumsy hands moved delicately. “They are launched.”

  The missiles streaked away from them, the bright flares of their drive units dwindling as they plunged toward their target. Harry locked himself into the AI. “Now, 847, turn to port . . . now to starboard . . . and now pull up and take us northward across this beast’s surface.”

  The hull groaned in protest as the ship attempted to follow Harry’s wishes. At first, nothing happened, then slowly, the aspect changed, the nose came up, and they were racing across the jumbled landscape of the giant ship’s hull. Beneath them, the missile impacts went unnoticed amid the flashes from plasma weapons and others still unidentified by the human crews who’d seen them at work.

  “The hull sensors register a rise in temperature, sir.” Danny’s voice was tight with tension. “We must be running through an atmosphere.”

  “We are.” Harry watched the display for anything that might warn of an attack. “Enyer, have you contact with the rest of the flotilla?”

  “Yes, sir, 1002 reports his missiles hit, 841 the same. We lost contact with 844 and 995 a few minutes ago. All the others report missile launches and strikes, sir.”

  “Thank you. Tell them to disengage and rendezvous as agreed.” Harry noted that Regidur’s team had been busy. Their plasma projectors were leaving burns and craters as they tore across the enemy’s surface.

  “Sir, Mr. Webber reports that his people are now in survival suits, but need to shift to EVA.”

  “Tell him to do so. Ask if the drives can be maintained.”

  Danny checked. “He says yes, sir.”

  “Good. Swain, pull us up on my mark, positive angle 85, and give us a micro-transit. Twenty-five seconds duration.”

  “Ready, sir.”

  “Good.” Harry listened to the AI. “Three, two, one—now!”

  The hull groaned, and there was a moment of discomfort as the artificial gravity fought to stabilise, then, with a terrific wrench, they entered transit.

  “Damage, Mr. Gunn?”

  “No, sir.” Danny checked his displays. “Some straining at frame 130 and the atmosphere is gone aft of Frame 97, sir, but we seem to be operational in every other respect.”

  “Good. Any contact from 844 and 995?”

  “Negative, sir. Nothing from either of them, but 841 reports she’s lost a hyper pod, and 843 has damage to her port fin and is manoeuvring with difficulty.”

  “Very well, Enyer. Contact Commander Polen and inform him we are returning to the Prinz.”

  Chapter 40

  The Last Niburu Queen

  The Niburu defence was desperate. The Fleet flagship shuddered as she took yet another damaging hit. Somewhere outside the Admiral’s Command Centre, an alarm sounded. He watched the display, intent on identifying the first sign of a collapse in the defence, but saw none.

  “We’re destroying their ability to manoeuvre, sir. But even the immobilised ones keep fighting.”

  “So would we if we knew we faced annihilation.” The response was harsh, and James Heron saw his Flag Lieutenant do a slight double take. “Sorry, Flags, that was unfair. Any word from the corvette flotillas?”

  “No, you’re right, sir. I wasn’t thinking of it that way. Yes, I have the report here, sir.” He consulted his tablet. “The 36th was tasked with hitting the queen, which is what we’ve designated the gigantic mother ship. Their attack met with a lot of resistance, but six of the eight got through and recorded hits.” He met the Admiral’s eye. “The remaining six got away, but they’ve all taken damage and casualties, sir.”

  The Admiral nodded, his expression giving nothing away. “Very well. Let me have the details later. What about the others?” He listened as the Flag Lieutenant reeled off the list of flotilla numbers and the reported strikes on their targets. Some of the reports were already being confirmed by the growing number of the larger Niburu ships no longer under control or in full operation. The exception was that single giant—it gave every appearance of being completely unaffected. “Have we been able to hit the queen again? Do we have a flotilla able to make another attempt?”

  “Negative, sir. The corvettes have taken a hammering, and all of the survivors are rearming or carrying out emergency repairs.”

  The Admiral’s fist pounded softly against the armrest. “I know that damned ship is the key.” He thought for a moment. Something Harry had said after their first major engagement tugged at his memory—something about the ship seeming to recoil in pain when his weapons team targeted certain features on its bow. “Get me a close-up view of one of these ships’ forward ends. There may be a way to finish this quickly.”

  “A close up of the forward end, sir?” The Flag Lieutenant sounded puzzled, but the Admiral’s expression suggested this was not the moment to ask why. “Yes, sir.” She did a desperate search of the data bank and found what she was looking for. “Here’s one, sir, from our last engagement.”

  The Admiral acknowledged and leaned forward to study it. His eye ran over the jumbled mass of accreted outer shell, weapons bays, sensor arrays, and— He let out an exclamation of surprise. “Flags! Look at this. Why the blazes didn’t we see this before?”

  Startled, the Lieutenant joined the Admiral. “I don’t see anything. Oh my God! Sh*t! Sorry, sir. Guns, you better see this as well.”

  The fleet weapons director hurried across. His eyes followed the Lieutenant’s shaky finger. “What the hell?”

  “Exactly.” The Admiral’s voice was taut. “We’re still thinking of these things as ships, and we expect them to have the same external features we use.” He erupted out of his seat. “Send in the strike fighters. Identify these features to them and tell them to blind these damned ships—sorry, make that creatures.” He glared at the display, angry with himself for not realising this earlier, and even angrier for having seen only what he expected to see.

  Aboard the Prinz,
Harry checked on each of his flotilla crews as they disembarked. His own people were already taken care of. Bruce Webber, his engineer officer, was in the med centre receiving treatment for his burns and the effects of exposure, the latter due to not having been able to get an EVA suit completely on his body in time. Two of Harry’s other men were also in the med centre, and he was grateful they’d had no deaths aboard. He hurried over as Kallie Oosthuizen was carried from 846 by a pair of MedTechs.

  “Kallie, what happened?”

  “I got careless, old man. We’re lucky to be here at all.” He sighed, his voice just above a whisper. “We’d just launched the missiles when we hit that atmosphere. The damned gravity caught us badly. Then we hit something—I’m not sure what, but we lost the port fin and got a hull breach. I’ve lost four of my lads. Sorry, sir, but we’re not able to continue.” He slumped into unconsciousness.

  “Pardon, sir, we need to get him to the med centre,” said one of the MedTechs to Harry. “He’s got some internal injuries and some burns.”

  “Yes, yes, get him down there. I didn’t mean to delay you.” Harry felt wretched as he watched them depart. He turned to have a word with each of the men who reluctantly followed their Commander into the Prinz.

  Ferghal joined him, moved by Harry’s obvious distress. “Come on, sir. Let her dead keep her for the moment. You look done in yourself. Let’s get something to refresh us while the repair lads see what they can do to patch our ships.”

  Harry met his gaze and read the sympathy there. “You are right. I can do nothing for the dead, Ferghal, but I can see that they didn’t die in vain.” He straightened his shoulders. “Are the repairers busy on 847?” He caught the nod. “Good, then let us get some refreshment. Is 1002 space-worthy?”

  “She is. We were lucky that others distracted the beast.”

  “Then I shall consider how we may return to the fray. This battle is not yet won, my friend, nor are we out of the fight.” He strode in the direction of the wardroom with Ferghal following behind, his expression pensive.

  The wardroom was quiet though crowded with the surviving officers of the four flotillas. Harry looked around, noting the missing faces rather than those present. So many absent, yet there was always the hope that their craft were simply disabled and would be recovered, their crews in good health. Knowing the ferocity of the battle they had just survived, he doubted this was a realistic hope, but it was human to continue clutching at it.

  Commander Polen strode into the compartment, a large bruise above his eye, his arm in a sling and his hand bandaged. “Good, you’re all here. First, let me say well done. We were the first to use this weapon and the first to strike today. Yes, we’ve taken a beating, but we haven’t been knocked out. The enemy is fighting a losing battle and will be destroyed.” He studied their faces. “Half our ships need major repairs and are unserviceable, and we’ve lost eight.” A collective sigh surged through the room. “We still have seven in serviceable condition, and five more in another couple of hours. This is the last throw. I’m not going to order anyone back to their ships, but I will be riding the leader, and I want volunteers to man the rest.”

  This statement was greeted by an uproar, as everyone demanded a place.

  “Then we’ll decide by ballot. OCs, you will remain with your own commands unless you choose otherwise.”

  Harry stood and joined him. “As I seem to be the only other surviving flotilla half leader, sir, I must insist on accompanying you.”

  “Thanks, Harry. Do me a favour. Organise the ballot, please.”

  “The tactic is working, sir. They shy away when our strike craft attack those features, which leaves them open to a missile strike.”

  “Good, keep up the pressure. Any new developments on that queen ship?”

  “Negative, sir. Captain Doorman of the Prinz van Oranien reports that he’s got twelve corvettes en route for another strike at her, sir. He requests support from our fighter squadrons.”

  “Very well. Give them the cover they need.” The Admiral did a quick search of the pennant numbers for the corvettes, noting that it included 1002, Ferghal’s command, but not Harry’s 847. “Hopefully, they will be the coup d’ grace. Who is the flotilla leader?”

  “Commander Polen, sir. He’s in 771, and his half leader is Lieutenant Commander Heron in 1002.” The Flag Lieutenant glanced at his boss. “They seem to have pulled volunteer crews for this, sir. Only four of the ships have their usual crew lists.”

  The Admiral smiled. “I expect there was a bit of an argument about who got to go.”

  The Admiral had guessed correctly. It had taken more than an argument to decide. In the end, the ballot decided who would fill the places left by those injured in the first assault.

  Harry perched behind Ferghal’s command chair. He smiled as he took in the fact that Regidur was seated at the weapons controls. He’d had to order Danny to remain with 847, and the youth’s hurt at being excluded had been plain. But Harry knew this could be a one-way ride, and one of the Ancient Mariners at least should stay behind. “I see your weapons officer agreed to change places then.”

  “Agreed may be too strong a word. Convinced it was better for his continued health would be a better description.”

  “Ah, perhaps I should not enquire too closely then.”

  Ferghal chuckled. “Now that would be best. Sure, you might learn that our friend has an ally, who is now controlling my drives.”

  “Sci’antha is aboard as well?”

  Ferghal nodded. “She is quite persuasive. Poor Karl felt he’d no choice when she explained to him the benefit of exchanging places wit’ her.” When he caught Harry’s quizzical expression, he said, “Fear not, I found both of them places aboard so they still share whatever fate holds in store for the rest of us.”

  “Perhaps it’s best if we say no more about that,” said Harry. He nodded toward the display, which showed the flotilla spread out against the fluorescing grey of hyperspace. “Do you think we can finish it this time? I’m surprised our first strike had no effect.”

  “Lieutenant Commander, Commander Polen on the link for you, sir.”

  “Thank you. Put it on my screen.”

  “Harry, an update from the flagship. Remember when you attacked that first ship and hit those arrays you thought might be scanner receivers? It turns out they are. They’re the eyes of the Niburu. That’s how they detect us. They’re all focused around the forward end, though they have other sensing organs along the hull as well. A squadron of strike fighters will lead us in this time, aiming for the eyes. We’re to follow and give it everything we’ve got—the missiles, the plasma projectors, the lot!”

  “Those were its eyes? No wonder it reacted as it did when we targeted them.” Harry felt a shiver of revulsion at the thought of deliberately targeting a creature’s eyes. Then he recalled what this creature did to its prey. “Very well, sir, I’ll pass the instruction to my people.”

  “You heard that, Ferghal? Good, then act upon it.” He turned to the ComsRate. “Give me a link to the rest of our group, please.”

  “We will be escorted to our target by three squadrons of strike craft.” He paused, trying to find the right phrases. “They will attempt to blind it and distract it from our approach. We will concentrate on obtaining the deepest penetrations we can manage with our missiles. That means we must enter its atmosphere and gravity field. Take care, all of you. We must not fail.”

  He listened to the acknowledgements then added, “I believe you have now received the data from the flagship. If you spot any feature like these, target it immediately with your projectors. Our survival may depend on it.”

  “Comin’ up on the attack transit point, sir.” Ferghal’s quiet calm helped steady Harry.

  “Then let us begin.”

  Ferghal nodded. “Peter, link helms and set the coordinates. On Commander Heron’s mark then.”

  Harry listened to the acknowledgements and wanted to say something about how
much he valued each individual’s friendship and loyalty, but the words wouldn’t form without getting caught in his throat, so he said simply in a rather choked voice, “Engage the enemy.”

  The display blanked then returned to the view of normal space, but now it was filled with the monstrous ship from side to side.

  Chapter 41

  The Final Throw

  Ferghal let out a low whistle. “They’re throwing everything at us. Sure an’ I’ve not seen ought so desperate as this.” Ahead of the advancing corvette, a melee of strike fighters and small Niburu craft wove a deadly dance, with the score seemingly even on both sides.

  “All the more reason to believe this ship holds the key.” Harry consulted his own screens. His corvettes were still more or less in formation. “The Commander’s vessels are closing now for their approach. We must attempt to get closer, I think.”

  “As you wish, but we’re already having difficulty holding our present trajectory. Do you not hear the groaning of our hull?”

  “I do, but even so, we must go lower.” Harry knew what he was asking and what they risked. He could hear the groaning of the hull elements, and through his link with the ship he detected the increasing temperature on the leading edges of the fins, the bows and the other protrusions on the hull.

  Ferghal shrugged. “So be it then. Peter, take us down. At least this close, they cannot target us with their heavy weapons.”

  As the speeding ship sank closer to the giant, the effect of its gravitational field could be felt, and the hull exhibited distinct signs of strain.

  Regidur snapped, “Missiles launched.” The display showed the missiles streaking away.

  “Take us clear, Mr. O’Connor.” As Harry spoke, the first missile struck home, punching an opening for itself in the tough outer shell of the target, followed by the remaining seven missiles.

  Regidur announced, “All missiles penetrated the target, Leader. We have four more in reloading cycle now.”

  Before anyone could reply, a giant fireball erupted where 843 had been a moment before. Harry’s ship shuddered, and alarms sounded as she was struck by something large. The impact sent her spiralling toward the looming enemy ship.