Ascendant

by Jack Campbell

  “I understand,” Rob snapped at them. Had he pushed this as far as he should? Saber had to survive, had to get back to Glenlyon. That was his duty. He had no obligation to sacrifice his ship and crew in defense of Kosatka, especially after doing so much to aid this star system. Had he come to the point where further sacrifice was senseless at worst and unwise at best?

  Not that he could completely avoid the warbirds. They had a better mass-to-thrust ratio than even a destroyer, allowing them to outaccelerate and outmaneuver the warship for a short period before their fuel levels went too low. The warbirds would catch Saber at least once no matter what Rob did.

  His eyes went to the image of the orbital facility and Shark on his display. Commander Derian would understand. Even Lieutenant Commander Shen would understand. She wouldn’t want Saber sacrificed in a battle facing such odds.

  His responsibility felt all too clear: to run, having done all he could, and . . .

  Mele Darcy.

  “Marines and the Fleet have to depend on each other,” he’d argued with her during one conversation. “They have to know they can count on each other no matter what.”

  “Sure,” Mele had said with a sardonic laugh, “right up to the point where other requirements enter the picture. Then the Marines get left holding the bag.”

  “That won’t happen when I’m in command,” Rob had told her.

  She’d been nice enough not to laugh again, but he’d seen the skepticism in her.

  He’d sent those Marines to that facility.

  If he abandoned them there . . .

  Was this about Mele Darcy being his friend? Or about the need to set that precedent? That the Fleet didn’t run and leave the Marines in the lurch?

  Rob realized that he didn’t really care which reason was motivating him and that his internal debate had taken less than two seconds. “We’re going to see how much damage we can do,” he told the bridge crew. “We have people on Shark and on the orbital facility. We won’t abandon them without a fight.”

  “Five minutes to intercept,” Lieutenant Cameron warned. “Sir, if all eight hit us in a short interval—”

  “I understand,” Rob said. “We can’t avoid this encounter.”

  “Captain,” Ensign Reichert said, “they’ve started evasive jinking to confuse our fire control systems.”

  “How effective will that be against our fire control systems? I haven’t dealt with that problem except for some drills in Alfar’s fleet.”

  “It will complicate achieving hits,” Reichert said. “The small, random changes to their vectors are just large enough to ensure that Saber’s fire control systems can’t predict exactly where the targets will be when a weapon reaches them. If we pulse a particle beam at them at the right time, it’ll travel so fast that we can score a hit anyway, but if the targeted aerospace craft jinks just as we fire, we’ll miss. They’re too small for us to have any real margin of error in targeting.”

  That left the grapeshot launchers. Or launcher, since number one was still out of commission. He remembered that grapeshot was his best weapon against the warbirds since it fired a shotgun-like pattern that would have a high chance of getting hits close in no matter how the birds jinked. And if the birds didn’t get close enough for grapeshot to have a hit chance, they wouldn’t be close enough to do much damage to Saber.

  “Ensign Reichert, I want the pulse particle beams set to fire as soon as the fire control system gives a better than fifty percent kill probability.”

  “Yes, sir,” Reichert said. “Sir, that kill probability will be based on some unknown variables, so it won’t be reliable.”

  “It’s all we’ve got. Make sure the grapeshot launcher targets a different warbird than the particle beams.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Three minutes to intercept,” Cameron reported. “Recommend shutting off main propulsion and bringing our bow around to face the oncoming aerospace craft.”

  That was doctrine. Warships had their strongest shields facing forward and could employ the most weapons against anything coming toward their bow. But Rob hesitated. “Lieutenant Cameron, can our bow shields hold against eight warbirds?”

  “No, sir,” Cameron said. “There’s a one hundred percent probability the bow shield will collapse and incoming fire will impact the hull.”

  Warbirds didn’t have the armament of warships and had no shields to speak of, but eight-to-one odds put Saber at a disadvantage.

  Rob sat back, thinking, knowing he had two and a half minutes to decide what to do. Saber was standing on her stern, accelerating straight “up” away from the planet. The warbirds were coming in from Saber’s aft quarter, angling in to catch her as Saber climbed. If he did nothing, the warbirds would hit Saber’s weaker shields amidships and aft, and do even more damage to the ship. But pivoting the bow to face them wouldn’t prevent damage, and Saber had already taken some hits from the enemy destroyer. He had a bad choice and worse choices.

  “Two minutes to intercept.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Rob’s memory flashed back, startling him, remembering Ninja explaining how she worked. “Firewalls aren’t walls, you know. They’re not solid. The idea is to have a flexible series of defenses so that something that gets past one gets stopped by the next.”

  How could that help? He didn’t have multiple layers of shields. He only had one set covering each part of—

  Could that work? Why not try? “Lieutenant Cameron, cut main propulsion now.” That would be a little earlier than the incoming warbirds expected, throwing off their approach a little. They’d have to focus on correcting for that on their intercepts.

  “Cutting main propulsion,” Cameron echoed, entering the command.

  As the mighty propulsion units on Saber’s stern fell silent, Rob swung one finger through the air to illustrate his next orders to Cameron. “I want the pivot to put Saber bow on to the attack to start at the last possible moment, so we’re just swinging our bow onto that vector as the aerospace craft intercept us.”

  “Uh . . . yes, sir,” Lieutenant Cameron said, clearly puzzled. “Getting us stopped bow on at just that moment might be—”

  “I don’t want us to stop, Lieutenant Cameron,” Rob said. “I want Saber to keep pivoting as we engage the warbirds.”

  “Sir?”

  He knew everyone was watching him. Rob spoke with quiet confidence, trying to convince them of something he wasn’t certain of himself. “None of our shields can stop the fire of all eight warbirds. But if we’re pivoting while they hit us, we might be able to take most of the hits on the bow shields while the ship rotates to present our amidships shields to the later hits. If we can distribute the hits across more than one set of shields we might be able to avoid having them collapse.”

  “That’s—” Lieutenant Cameron’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir. I see. Setting maneuvering systems to initiate pivot maneuver at last moment possible and to allow the pivot to continue past bow-on aspect.”

  Ensign Reichert shook her head. “It wouldn’t work against another warship on a firing run. The hits would come too fast for the pivot to make a difference. But at warbird engagement speeds . . . it’s possible. We don’t have time to run simulations to test it, though.”

  “Do you have a better suggestion?” Rob asked.

  “No, sir, I do not. Thirty seconds to intercept. Pulse particle beams are opening fire.”

  Almost simultaneously with her announcement Saber’s thrusters fired, kicking her bow around and to the side to face the approach of the aerospace craft. In space, the warship would keep moving in the same direction at the same velocity until the main propulsion lit off again but could turn to face the greatest danger. The warbirds would expect that. “War is based on deception,” Mele had told him. “That Sun Tzu guy said that, too. Let the enemy expect one thing and do another.”

 
; Ninja had nodded in agreement. “The easiest mark is someone who thinks they know exactly what’s going to happen.”

  With nothing else he could do in the final seconds as Saber swung around and the warbirds closed in, Rob hoped he’d get the chance to thank them both for their advice.

  One of the warbirds on final approach blew up as a particle beam struck some of its armament.

  The other seven bore in, weapons firing.

  As the warbirds flashed past, Saber jerked from hits, the lights dimming as power was automatically diverted. Rob kept his eyes on his display, seeing another warbird come apart as it caught a volley of grapeshot head-on, and a third spin away after a particle beam sliced through it.

  That left five opponents.

  “Shields held except for spot failures,” Chief Petty Officer Quinton reported. “We took a few hits through those spots.”

  “Number two pulse particle beam projector damaged,” Ensign Reichert said, then paused very briefly before continuing. “Correction. It was destroyed. Initial casualty report, four dead, two wounded.”

  “They’re coming back,” Lieutenant Cameron said, grim. “Using full acceleration. They’ll burn through their fuel fast at that rate.”

  “Fast enough they’ll have to call off the attack?” Rob asked, feeling sick at the thought of the sailors Saber had lost.

  “No, sir. Not that fast. Not unless we change something.”

  “Chief, can we get those shields back to full strength before they hit us again?”

  “No, sir,” Quinton said. “We’re rebuilding shields as fast as we can.”

  With only a few minutes to think, Rob looked at the data from the engagement. Saber’s bow shields had taken about half the hits, the other hits walking down the amidships shields as the ship kept turning during the attack.

  The weakened bow shields couldn’t hold against five warbirds. Neither could the amidships shields. And he couldn’t risk presenting the stern shields to the warbirds and possibly taking hits to his main propulsion.

  “Let’s see if we can fake them again,” Rob said, surprised by how steady his voice was. “Same maneuver, but this time stop the pivot facing them, just as doctrine calls for.”

  “So maybe they’ll expect us to keep pivoting and get thrown off?” Lieutenant Cameron said. “Yes, sir. Maneuver entered. Do you have any orders regarding main propulsion?”

  “Chief Quinton, what’s our fuel cell status?”

  “Twenty-eight percent,” the chief replied. “I am required to recommend breaking off action and refueling.”

  “Thank you. I don’t think the enemy is going to let us do that,” Rob said. “Lieutenant Cameron, keep main propulsion off to conserve fuel. That’ll also simplify our fire control solution as much as possible. If we can take out three more of those birds we’ll have a chance.”

  The warbirds had strained to come around in a faster arc than even a destroyer could manage, now “diving” down to an intercept, aiming to hit Saber again as quickly as possible. “Get us some hits, Ensign Reichert,” Rob said.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice almost distracted as she focused on the incoming aerospace craft.

  Saber came around again, thrusters firing, but this time other thrusters fired to halt her pivot just as the warbirds zoomed into their intercept. Bow straight on to the enemy attack, Saber rocked from several impacts, followed by the wail of an alarm.

  “Forward shields have collapsed. We took five hits forward,” Chief Quinton said. “Losing atmospheric pressure in the bow section.”

  “One dead, four wounded, estimated casualty count,” Reichert said. “One aerospace craft destroyed. A second appears to have suffered serious damage, but is coming back around with the three other remaining enemy warbirds.”

  “Lieutenant Cameron,” Rob said, “pivot Saber this time to take the attack amidships.”

  “Pivot to place amidships facing attack,” Cameron repeated. “Maneuver entered.”

  “Captain,” Quinton said, “our amidships shields will fail if four warbirds hit them. We’ll take serious damage.”

  “We can’t afford any more hits forward with the bow shields collapsed,” Rob said. “And we can’t afford to take serious damage aft on our main propulsion. I don’t see where we have a choice.”

  “Yes, sir. Just advising you as my job requires, Captain.”

  Rob’s eyes jerked to part of his display as another alert sounded.

  “The damaged warbird came apart during their turn,” Reichert said. “The force of his maneuvering thrusters was too much for the structural damage caused by our hit.”

  “What are our chances against three?” Rob asked Quinton.

  The chief shrugged. “Better. Not as much serious damage. That’s all I can say. Too many uncertainties.”

  “Understood. Let’s pray the uncertainties fall in our favor.”

  The three remaining warbirds came in at full acceleration, their weapons hurling energy and projectiles at Saber’s midsection. Saber jolted again, the vibrations of the impacts carrying noise to Rob and the others on the bridge.

  “Sir, number one grapeshot launcher fired!” Reichert said. “They must have gotten it online seconds before it needed to fire. We took out two of the remaining enemy aerospace craft. There’s only one left.”

  “Amidships shields collapsed,” Quinton reported. “Numbers one and two grapeshot launchers temporarily off-line due to hits sustained. Number one pulse particle projector damaged. Number three pulse particle projector off-line due to overheating. No estimated times to repair available. Estimated casualty count four more dead, seven wounded.”

  “There’s only one left,” Lieutenant Cameron said, smiling for just a moment before his elation faded. “Most of our shields are gone and we have no working weapons. One is all they need to finish us off.”

  “Yeah,” Rob said, glaring at the image of that last warbird, already starting to come around again. Deception. That was the only weapon that Saber had left. “Intercept course for that warbird. Main propulsion at full. Go!”

  “Sir? We don’t have any working weapons,” Ensign Reichert protested as a bewildered Lieutenant Cameron carried out the order.

  “Would we charge to intercept that warbird without any working weapons?” Rob demanded. “Who in their right mind would do that? If we’re moving to attack, we must have weapons, and that sole warbird can’t handle us on its own if we have working weapons.”

  “That bird doesn’t have the sensors to evaluate all the damage to us,” Chief Quinton said. “But he can evade us.”

  “For how long, Chief? How’s his estimated fuel state?”

  Quinton rubbed his chin, thinking. “He’s going to be deciding about now whether to keep fighting us here and run dry or head for home with just enough fuel to get back and docked.”

  Saber had come around, her hull pitted by damage, her bow section still open to space, but accelerating toward another meeting with the sole remaining warbird.

  “One minute to intercept,” Cameron said.

  “Is this kind of action on any of the Earth Fleet checklists, Lieutenant?” Rob asked.

  Cameron shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Ensign Reichert inhaled deeply. “Sir, we avenged Claymore. Even if this guy takes us out, we hurt them worse.”

  “Yes,” Rob said. “But I’d still kind of like to get home again.” He’d already checked the status of Saber’s escape pods. The idea of ordering abandon ship was almost too hard to think about, but if that warbird raked Saber in her current condition he might not have any choice.

  Ninja had come to believe in the ancestor worship becoming common out here, far from Old Earth, crediting them with saving Rob’s life three years before. He knew she would’ve been praying to them daily since Saber had left Glenlyon. His own beliefs were far less
defined and certain, but at the moment he really hoped that Ninja was right and those ancestors were listening right now.

  “Thirty seconds to intercept.”

  “Any repair status on those weapons?” Rob asked.

  “No, sir,” Quinton replied.

  “Ten—He’s breaking off!” Cameron cried.

  Rob let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the aerospace craft swung away under the push of its maneuvering thrusters on full, avoiding another engagement with Saber.

  He slumped back in his seat as the warbird steadied out on a vector headed back toward the enemy invasion fleet. “Reduce main propulsion to one-third. Get us on a vector to assume station one thousand kilometers in higher orbit above that enemy formation. I need repair estimates on all weapons and time until shields can be restored. I want us ready for action again before that enemy destroyer realizes we took as much damage as we did.” Rob paused, his elation at survival darkening. “And a final casualty count as soon as possible.”

  “Doc Austin knows what he’s doing, Captain,” Chief Quinton said. “If they can be saved, he’ll do it.”

  “Thank you.” But even Doc Austin couldn’t help those already dead. Rob knew that. So did Chief Quinton.

  Damn.

  Sometimes victory tasted only a little less ugly than defeat.

  * * *

  • • •

  Something had happened. Mele could tell that much. But she had no way of knowing what. The enemy had suddenly surged forward, not stopping despite their losses, and Mele had been forced to order another fallback. At least the militia was learning how to retreat in sections, one group covering another as they ran for the next set of defensive positions.

  The food court, silent and deserted, briefly filled with soldiers racing through it without stopping, wending their ways between tables and chairs, the cleverer ones among them shoving over some of the chairs as they went to hinder whoever came behind them. The food court was too large, with too many ways into it, to offer any hope as a place to make any kind of stand except a last stand.