“The crew, we have to warn them,” countered Spartan, still unwilling to leave.
“Spartan!” shouted Gun from further ahead. “They already know. They aren’t stupid.”
* * *
“Multiple targets, eighty-four missiles, even pattern throughout the fleet.”
“How long until impact?” asked a nervous Captain Schaffer.
“Ninety seconds, Sir. They are tempest class anti-ship missiles, high-speed and invulnerable to countermeasures. Starting defensive pattern now.”
A high pitched rumble indicated the ship’s dozens of point defence turrets had switched to small, high velocity projectiles and were all hurling them out in the hundreds towards the target.
“Three destroyed…and another,” said the officer excitedly.
The Captain shook his head. It was a bewildering assault of powerful missiles that could destroy his smaller fleet. Back in the days of the Great War, these kinds of weapons were common. Many ships in the opposing fleets would have access to missile defence cruisers. These powerful defensive ships carried hundreds of high-speed guided missiles that were specially designed to track and eliminate torpedoes and missiles. With the improvements in high-energy weapons, especially railguns, they had fallen out of use. They were complicated and reliant upon a long supply chain, and therefore vulnerable to defensive measures. None of Schaffer’s ships were designed to stand this kind of attack.
“Sir, they are all targeting us.”
“What?” demanded the Captain.
“All of the missiles are moving towards us in a wide dispersal pattern. I’m picking up an additional wave of thirty-two missiles, and all of them are heading this way.”
“Gods!” he muttered back. He knew that the Santa Cruz, while a powerful marine transport and a well-armed ship, would have next to no chance against that kind of onslaught.
“Co-ordinate all local defensive fire, and hit them with a wide debris pattern. We cannot let those missiles inside our cone of defence. We have over a thousand marines still on board!”
The tactical officer pressed a button, but then quickly turned back in surprise.
“Sir! More targets incoming. I’m detecting approximately six ships, including one large target, possibly a battleship.”
Captain Schaffer lowered his hand into his face.
“This is it,” he whispered to himself.
He looked up and watched the shapes of the approaching vessels rush past his own ships and into a position immediately between his line of ships and the Union forces. The sensors on board Santa Cruz went wild as IFF signals and data traffic surged towards them. The internal sound system was overridden, something that could only be done by the command or flagships of the fleet.
“This is Admiral Jarvis of CCS Crusader. I am taking command of this fleet. All ships continue your attacks, and drive them back!”
On the main screen the line of small shapes were replaced by the massive hull of the Confederate Battlecruiser. As soon as she slowed into position, a number of powerful blasts from her manoeuvring thrusters spun her around to present her flank to the enemy line of warships. Streaks of shot from the scores of railguns along her hull pounded the approaching ships.
“Sir, Crusader is engaging the missiles!” cried the tactical officer.
Captain Schaffer watched with a mixture of pride and awe as hundreds of streams of light cannon fire ripped through space like lines of string. Each reached out to the myriad of approaching missiles, tracking the paths of the devices and blasting them apart. Only two made it through the fire and exploded impotently against the thick, hardened armour of the mighty ship.
Captain Schaffer felt as though a surge of electricity had been pumped through his body. He grabbed his intercom.
“All remaining assault units are to launch immediately. I want those ships under our control and fast!”
He then turned to the helmsman.
“Full power to the engines, I want us right in the middle of them!”
“Aye, Sir.”
The rumble of the engines could be felt through the vessel. The additional force of acceleration, mixed with the rotating crew sections, put an unusual series of strains on the crew. But it was something they had all trained for, and the straps and harnesses at every station proved their worth.
“Oceania is taking fire, Sir,” called out the tactical officer.
Captain Schaffer checked his own viewscreen to see the luxury liner take two impacts from automatic cannons. As he watched, one of the anti-ship missiles was destroyed just a hundred metres from her hull. The damage from the wrecked missile hurled itself against he flank of the vessel and tore a section the size of an assault shuttle out of the metal.
“Gods, she doesn’t stand a chance. Where the hell is she going?”
“Towards the Union fleet. Captain Hobbs must have been able to override the helm controls, at least until she left with her prisoner,” explained the tactical officer.
“I don’t like it, just a few direct hits and she’s finished. Get me through to who is in charge over there. They need to save whoever they can before it’s too late.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nobody doubted that after Euryale, the Jötnar would forever be considered a critical part of the Confederate military. As in centuries past, however, there would always be inter-service rivalry that could cause a rift that even the great commanders could not resolve. The first of these occurred at the very beginning of what historians would later call ‘the Battle of the Centauri Spacebridge’. The Biomechs had given the Zealots and their Union the military capability to win their war. There are few that cannot fail to see the irony in their own creation being used in the Jötnar units to fight against them in the closing days of the war.
The 1st Jötnar Battalion
A massive explosion tore through the main habitation module and smashed the rotation hardware. In an instant those on board became weightless, as did any loose parts, tools or weapons. Spartan lost his footing and spun into the nearest wall. Gun and Khan grabbed onto a damaged bulkhead, and the rest did their best to hold on.
The internal emergency alarm triggered.
“This is Sergeant Lovett of the Confederate Marine Corps. Oceania has sustained substantial damage. I have been authorised by Captain Schaffer of CCS Santa Cruz to initiate an immediate evacuation. All crew and personnel are to abandon ship using the nearest available lifeboat…”
The message continued but broke up with excessive static and noise. “Enemy ships inbound, I repeat, all personnel are to evacuate immediately. Auto-pilots will take lifeboats to the Yorkdale.”
“Lieutenant!” called one of the marines further back in the ship. He pulled out a utility belt and threw it towards Spartan. With a lack of gravity, it spun slowly and drifted in a flat line. Spartan reached out and caught it. The belt was nothing substantial, just a variant of the belts used by Confederate crewmen and workers. It did contain a pistol holster and both a micro-size datapad and communications device. He checked the pistol and then grabbed the radio unit.
“Sir, Sergeant Lovett is on the horn.”
Spartan pulled out one of the earpieces fitted to the unit and pushed it into his ear. The sound of a desperate message poured out.
“Lieutenant Spartan here,” he replied, instantly interrupting the message.
“Good to hear from you, Sir. What’s your status?”
“Hobbs and Misaki have escaped. They’ve taken Teresa as a hostage.”
“Yeah, Crusader is tracking the lifeboat. Looks like it is heading for the Leviathan. Several fighters from the Santa Cruz tried to block it, but there’s just too much gunfire out there.”
Their conversation was interrupted as something substantial smashed into the ship’s hull. Powerful vibrations rumbled along the floor and knocked the ship several metres off course. Spartan did his best to hold on, but it still shook him enough to crunch his left hand against his ribs. He cried out from the intense sense of pain in his j
oints.
“What the hell is going on out there?” demanded Spartan.
“As soon as the lifeboat launched, we came under heavy fire from the frigates. Our engines are out of commission as are the landing bays. They knew how to hit us and fast. Yorkdale is on her way, but the Union ships are trying to hold her off. Half the systems here are fried. She’s not going to hold it together for much longer.”
Spartan looked back to Gun.
“We’re under fire. The ship is lost.”
Gun grimaced, angry either at having to leave or at the idea of leaving a ship they had only just managed to recapture. He took a breath before giving his order.
“Abandon ship, this isn’t a warship.”
Khan turned to the rest of his unit to give them their orders. Gun nodded to Spartan.
“Lovett, issue a mayday then give the order to the crew. Full evacuation, immediately.”
“Sir!” he replied.
A dozen holes, each the size of a man’s fist ripped apart a section of wall fifty metres further along the ship. As the section depressurised, the emergency seals activated, and an internal door that came down with a clunk blocked off the section. There were only so many of them, so they were a temporary measure to assist in damage control or evacuation.
More thuds hit along the hull and it was clear to Spartan and his team that their time was limited.
“Khan, what’s the quickest way out of here?” shouted Spartan.
Khan turned and pointed back into the ship to a narrow looking corridor. Spartan looked confused.
“Are you sure?”
Khan threw him an angry stare. “Trust me!” he growled.
The Jötnar still amazed Spartan with their ability to move efficiently in zero-g environments. Khan grabbed and pulled with his arms against the nearest walls and kicked with his powerful legs. Spartan did his best to keep up, but the large warrior moved at easily double the speed. As he moved, the earpiece crackled.
“Spartan, we’re halfway to the lifeboat. Most of he crew are clear and making their way to the fleet. Last scan showed the Leviathan making her way here. Her boarding parties will be in range in less than four minutes. You have to be off by then. If you stay on the ship, you will be captured or killed when they finish her off.”
Spartan kept pulling and saw Khan move up in a direction that would normally have been to the left if there had been gravity. He was already becoming disorientated and was having a hard time telling what was floor, wall or ceiling.
“Yeah, don’t worry. We’re not waiting to see what happens. We’re on the way to the lifeboats. What about Yorkdale? When will she get here?”
There was a short pause and Spartan used it to alter his rhythm. He used his left arm more for pulling himself along. The radio crackled with a response.
“Kowalski reckons she’s going to be here about the same time, assuming there is anything left.”
Spartan pulled himself out of the narrow corridor into what looked like a small hall. He tried to work out what it was when Gun ripped open a hexagonal door. Spartan twisted his head and realised he was upside down and in the lower evacuation zones. A colour line of green dots ran along the ceiling, but in reality it was the floor. Khan reached out and pulled him towards the door. He crashed inside the lifeboat and hit the back of one of the seats.
“Strap in!” snapped Khan in a gruff voice.
The lifeboat had little in common with the traditional design and was simply a small hexagonal pod that could carry up to a dozen people. There were six similar pods all lined up in the hall. Spartan could see movement as the rest of the rescue part clambered into the adjacent craft.
“Ready?” Gun asked. He stood near a lever with his hand on the rubberised handle. Spartan glanced around the craft, it was full and everyone except Gun was now strapped in.
“Yeah, come on Gun, do it!”
He yanked down on the lever and swung over the remaining seat, pulling the straps over his body. A series of lights flashed on the door for five seconds and the door slid shut. The craft had no main engine and was instead forced out by the change in air pressure inside the sealed launch tube. The outer hatch opened, and in the blink of an eye they were out into the vacuum of space.
“Look at her,” whispered one of the marines, a young woman in her twenties. She pointed out through the tiny porthole on the bow of the craft. Retro thrusters twisted the pod until they were placed on a direct course with the Yorkdale. Spartan and Gun looked through the window the exterior of the Oceania.
“Lovett wasn’t joking,” said Spartan. He was surprised at the substantial amount of hull damage and weapons fire the ship had taken. Dozens of similar lifeboats were still ejecting from the hull, but the vast majority were already almost in contact with the Yorkdale.
A bright flash lit up the window and Spartan was forced to shield his eyes. It wasn’t strictly necessary as the material automatically darkened when faced with excessive light. As it adjusted, he saw the rear section of the Oceania had just broken off from the main ship. Streaks of tracer fire from an approaching vessel ripped chunks a metre wide from her bow, yet the ship continued on its way.
“Say what you want about civilian ships, that is one tough craft.”
Further off to the right was the vast bulk of the Crusader, the flagship of the Confederate Navy. She was taking fire from nearly thirty ships and taking it like only a heavyweight like her could. Flashes and sparks ran along her hull and superstructure. For every hit she took, the battlecruiser dished out twice as much in return. Spartan turned around in his seat to face Gun.
“I have to get her back. I can’t lose her, not after all of this.”
Gun nodded but said nothing. Khan struck Spartan in the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Teresa, she is tough. You have her back, very soon,” he said in rough, slightly broken English.
Though the pod was sparsely equipped, it was fitted with an encoded communications unit. Spartan flipped through the frequencies he could remember from his training. Then the details for the Yorkdale flooded back, at least the unencoded open channel did. He entered the ID code and hit the connect option.
“Lieutenant Spartan here, are you receiving me?”
There was no response. Rather than wait, Spartan flicked directly onto the next channel and sent the same message. After three more attempts, a short message came back.
“Lieutenant, you are an on an open frequency. Enter you personal encryption code now.”
Spartan didn’t recognise the woman’s voice but hit his code in anyway. There was a faint possibility it could be an enemy ship, but he had to chance it.
“Lieutenant Spartan, this is CCS Crusader. I understand you are evacuating CCS Oceania, what can I do for you?”
“Crusader? I…I need to speak to whoever is in charge. Captain Hobbs, the traitor from Oceania, is escaping to the Leviathan. She also has Sergeant Teresa, my...my”
“I understand, Lieutenant. I’ve passed this on to the Admiral, one moment.”
The pause continued for more than a few seconds before a familiar voice appeared.
“Lieutenant, you don’t seem to die, do you? I don’t have long. I’m somewhat busy. You say Hobbs and your partner are heading for the Leviathan, do you not?”
“Yes, Admiral, they are on a captured shuttle.”
“I see. My tactical officer says the craft has already landed on the ship. We are in the process of engaging the warship. Is Commander Gun there?”
“Admiral!” shouted the Jötnar warrior.
“Good,” replied Admiral Jarvis. “Do you think your forces could secure that ship?”
Gun almost jumped from his cramped seat at the opportunity.
“We will take or destroy!” he exclaimed.
“Excellent. I will get my people to liaise with Major Daniels who should still be aboard. In the meantime, get Spartan and the rest back to Yorkdale ASAP. Prepare your troops for a major boarding party. Once we have crippl
ed her, I want the Assault Battalion to be at the front of a massive attack that will finish her for good. If Typhon is on board, we will stop him, finally. Understood?”
“Yes,” replied Gun.
Spartan interrupted them both. “Admiral, what about Teresa?”
“Lieutenant, if you and your team are successful, we will be able to stop this fleet, remove their leader and rescue your friend. Now get to the Yorkdale and prepare yourselves, you don’t have long. Good hunting.”
The voice of the communications officer returned.
“The Admiral has gone, is that all?”
Spartan paused, trying to decide what to say, but Gun reached out and grabbed him before he could think any further, other than wanting to get onto the ship and shoot or cut down anybody that he could find.
“Spartan, you know what we have to do,” he said in a surprising moment of compassion. At least that was how it seemed to Spartan.
“We assemble Khan’s company and attack Leviathan with our best. Vanguards and Jötnar,” said Gun.
Spartan nodded with a partial grin in his face. Khan shouted over to the two.
“1st Company is ready, four Jötnar companies ready in ten minutes.”
“Commander Gun, are you there?” came a voice over the internal communications system. It was almost impossible to tell who was speaking as the signal was heavily damaged and full of noise and roughly corrected dropouts. Gun replied with little more than a grunt through the communications system.
“Excellent, Sergeant Lovett here. The ship has been fully evacuated. Estimated losses are approximately thirty on the ship and another dozen in a lifepod that one of the frigates destroyed. Did your team get out?”
Spartan hit the connection button and replied before Gun could speak.
“We all made it out of there. Admiral Jarvis wants the Yorkdale to prepare for a major assault operation against the Leviathan.”
“What, their main cruiser? Can we do it?”
Spartan looked at the warriors in the lifeboat. They were all tired, and there were a number of minor wounds. Every one of them sat with a look of grim determination on their faces.
Fall of Terra Nova Page 29