by Chris Hechtl
“Aye, ma'am,” the ship's A.I. replied.
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Shelby saw Janice's force rise to meet them and bit her lip. She was tempted to call them off, but it was too late. She forced herself to watch and wait as the course projections settled down. Zeng He was sending her their telemetry, but it had a one-second delay. As she watched, the course settled into a projection with Janice's forces keeping their distance in a long-range running duel.
Okay, so perhaps she could run with that. She wasn't certain how many ships would be lost however.
She did note in approval that Janice had launched all her fighters. That was good, the small ships would be able to thicken the defenses of their mother ships.
“Comm, inform Zeng He that if they begin to take too heavy losses or too much damage they are to break off. If the enemy tries to get into energy range break off,” she ordered.
“Aye aye, ma’am,” Lieutenant Jardin stated.
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“Incoming packets of data from the enemy ships. Filters engaged, all data ignored,” a comm rating reported.
Captain Baker smiled at that news.
Admiral Ishmael noted the fighter launch. They looked like flies coming out of the ships, swarming about. Since none came his way he decided to ignore them. It wasn't like a fighter could be much of a threat to something like Black Death.
However, Black Death began to take hits from something far more dangerous, the enemy weapon drones. The drones bounced around slightly, jinking using their reactionary thrusters. But each jink also threw off their own aim momentarily.
“The weapon drones are targeted on us,” Theo at Tactical reported.
“And you are returning fire, right?” the admiral asked mildly.
“Yes, sir. They've got good ECM though. They also seem to have adapted to us,” the Neodog warned.
“The ambush,” Captain Baker murmured. The Neodog's ears twitched, as did the Admiral's. Both Neos turned to him. “They must have gotten some of our electronic fingerprints. Enough to use.”
“How? The attack happened after that ship left?” Theo asked.
“Unless there was a warship waiting in stealth coordinating the attack,” Captain Baker said. The Admiral grunted. “It makes sense, sir; they are faster than us,” the Neochimp said.
“I wasn't disagreeing with you,” the admiral said mildly. “It does make sense,” he said, rubbing his chin in thought. “Tactical, shift our ECM packages. Sensors, shift channels, Comm, do the same.”
“The shift will take time, sir. Doing it while under fire will leave us open and vulnerable for up to a minute,” Theo warned.
“Then do it during a lull. Kill those platforms then shift.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
He had expected to lose ships but not all of his destroyers like that. The ambush had been well played. Had he taken in Black Death in first it would have been different; his ship might have taken the brunt of the damage. Undoubtedly that was what the enemy had intended.
They must have decided to engage his screen to keep it from picking off their weapon platforms, he mused. It was the only thing that made sense.
They had to get through the cauldron of death quickly, he noted. He was going to lose ships along the way; that seemed inevitable. His ship shuddered slightly, and his center console blinked out. He hit it with the flat of his palm but it didn't come back, instead the screen cracked. He growled and sat back in disgust.
The sudden real losses had woken him to the idea that he could lose it all. Deep down he had never considered he could lose totally. Now he had to face that while also dealing with what was happening around him and he didn't like it. He'd spent too long as the hunter of helpless prey.
He felt burning shame when he realized that it was most likely why he'd shied away from going after the Confeds for so long. He did his best to put the errant thoughts aside as he tried to deal with the here and now.
“The enemy ships are entering our extreme missile range, sir,” Theo warned.
“Let the range drop another 10 percent then open fire. Helm, I want us to bob and weave but keep the other ships between the fire and us. We'll coordinate the defense and offense,” the admiral growled.
“Aye aye, sir,” Theo said. The helm rating echoed that statement after a beat.
“Fire plan Echo enabled and sent to all commands,” Theo said. The Neodog's thumb hovered over the missile launch button. When the range dropped to the required 10 percent, he glanced at Captain Baker. The captain nodded so he stabbed his thumb down on the execute button. The surviving ships returned fire as they got into range of the picket force.
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“Infiltration ineffective, ma'am,” the ship's A.I. reported. “The enemy must have air-gapped their communications systems. It is costing them something in telemetry and coordination however.”
“Understood. I guess we'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way then,” Captain Yu growled.
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Naga Captain Z'k'th'ss'th was happy at the sight of the carnage the navy was inflicting on the enemy. He finally had a chance to prove himself, to make the gods of war happy and insure his path to Naga heaven. He moved his ship closer in order to defend the other ships and to spit defiance at the enemy. His small frigate lacked the range and fire power to get through the cruiser's defenses however.
His complete attention was on the offense for the moment, thirsting for some sort of sign of success, some sort of opening, no matter how small. He drove his tactical officer to do the same. The duo slipped on defense and managing the defensive drones protecting them and the other ships. When the enemy ship's spat return fire, they were caught off guard.
The missiles were intercepted by some of his ship's consorts and his own wayward attempt to defend himself, but three missiles got through. One battered his shields down with contemptuous ease and the other two went off a moment later. His ship was torn apart.
His ship was the first Federation ship to die. It wouldn't be the last.
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Janice saw the frigate wander too close to the enemy fire. Before she could stop him, it was too late; the enemy had launched their missiles. The frigate tried to defend itself but failed utterly. “Stupid,” she murmured, watching its light fade.
“Warn the smaller ships and fighters to keep on the defense. All ships target this cruiser,” she said, pointing to a cruiser that had fired the missiles that had killed the frigate. “Let's get some payback, shall we?”
“Aye, ma'am,” Lieutenant Lang growled.
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Shelby saw the frigate wander just a little too close and then erupt. She checked the status board and then exhaled heavily. Lieutenant Z'k'th'ss'th had wanted his chance; he'd gotten it. Unfortunately, he'd never have another chance again she thought before she tried to put such distractions out of her mind.
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The Horathian cruiser Thrill Kill was the first ship to fall prey to the Federation navy's concentrated fire. Her already battered and damaged shields were brought down, then the armor was ripped and torn by the incoming fire as the ship writhed and twisted, trying to find a way to dodge it all. It couldn't. Within seconds some of the rounds gouged their way into her interior. Alarms wailed and the sudden explosion of vacuum of venting compartments sucked screaming crew members out into the empty void.
The ship twisted one last time, then her engines died. She tumbled, a dead stick, her engines burping one last time before a nuclear weapon hit her midships and all the previous damage broke her spine. Twisting wreckage was sprayed behind her fleeing consorts. None had the time or inclination to do anything about it even if they wanted to do so.
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Captain Gutt snarled as his beloved Black Corsage was pounded. Her shields flickered and failed. Fortunately, the enemy fire missed hitting his ship as Mister Flynn rolled and pitched up and a
way to get clear of it.
“I didn't sign on for this,” Gupta muttered from his station.
“Mind your station or I'll turn you into a rug,” the captain growled. The otter flinched, but dutifully went back to keeping an eye on his own station.
“Mister Flynn, lower our red line by 2 percent,” the captain said. The red line was the max power settings a ship could be subjected to. It was usually 20 to 30 percent below the engineering maximums however, since anything above the red line took high risks that something would fail. Any sustained use of the ship's engines above the red line invited disaster. By moving the red line down, he was being a bit conservative … when he didn't seem to need to be. When they seemingly needed all the power and speed they could get.
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
“Aye aye, sir,” the Neoseal replied dubiously.
The Neoorangutan captain nodded once to himself. By slacking off ever so slightly, he was building a reserve, making it seem like his ship was more damaged than it actually was. It was always a good thing to be underestimated he knew. “Lower the red line another 3 percent the next time we get hit,” he ordered.
“Sir?”
“Just do it!” the captain barked.
“Aye aye, sir,” the seal replied, cringing away from his captain's ire.
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“Black Corsage has taken several hits. Her speed is dropping slightly … now stabilized,” a CIC rating reported.
“Can't take the heat, Gutt?” Captain Baker demanded over a radio channel.
“Frack you, Baker, and mind your own ship,” Captain Gutt snarled back. The flag captain snorted. He turned to look at the admiral, but the admiral flicked his fingers to indicate he didn't care. His interest was on something else so the captain went back to checking on DCC's progress report.
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Captain Yu didn't even flinch when Captain Zlanka took a series of hits that hammered her shields down for a moment. Fortunately, the incoming fire wasn't sustained long enough to break through her bow shield to hurt her ship further. As she watched the shield readings, she noted the shields began to recover and extend outward again, but slower than normal. Undoubtedly they would need time for the over-stressed systems to recover fully.
Time they most likely didn't have she knew.
She looked up to see a pair of the corvettes and a frigate torn apart by the withering enemy fire. “All frigates and corvettes, pull back,” she ordered. “You've done what you can.”
“With all due respect, ma'am; we are needed here,” Captain Jim Traylor replied.
“You aren't worth a ball of spit here, Jim,” she growled. “Pull out.”
“Ma'am, we're in this for the long haul. We pull out, and they'll shift all their attention to the cruisers,” Captain Traylor warned.
“You are crazy,” she replied.
“Maybe …,” his next words were forever cut off as the enemy's fire found his ship and tore it apart.
Janice grimaced but didn't dare close her eyes for even a moment in pain; she had to focus everything she had on keeping what she had alive.
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Captain Zeb clacked his mandibles and dug his claw tips into the deck and bessel of his display in front of him. Their ECM had held the enemy off, as had their defensive drones and coordinated defense and offensive strategy. But the enemy was adapting he noted as his ship took a series of near hits, battering at her shields.
He saw a pair of fighters and a defensive drone get caught up in the warhead's explosion. Nothing emerged when the energy cleared, nothing but vapor.
Another defensive drone ran out of counter missiles and switched to just point defense. The fighters near it did the same. The defensive drone was suddenly thrust into a rain of metal from rail gun rounds to protect its mother ship and was destroyed. One of the fighters took damage from the explosion and was forced to pull back to recover. “Not good,” the Veraxin murmured. So far they had been lucky, but Lady Luck's blessings didn't pick a side sometimes. The tide seemed to be turning in the enemy's favor as the engagement played out.
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Lieutenant Troykov snarled as Fancy started to take hits. One hand gripped the edge of his station for support briefly. When the shimmer passed, he went back to tapping at his console and scanning the various displays to assess the damage.
“Helm, jink us side to side and up and down. Keep us moving,” Captain Layafette said just as she ship shuddered. The shields went down but then began to recover. A missile went off a thousand kilometers out, bathing the ship in radiation and energy briefly. It wasn't enough to do much more than momentarily blind the ship's sensors, but it was a pointed reminder that they were playing for keeps.
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“Enough of this single shit. We be not here to duel but to win,” the admiral growled. “Order all ships to focus on a single target,” Admiral Ishmael said, upper lip curling to expose his canines. “There,” he said, pointing to the lead enemy destroyer. “Pound that one into scrap, then move on,” he growled.
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Captain Vlad Contenov grimaced as he threw the defensive drone into the enemy's rail gun rounds. It had been a desperate move, one he would have liked to have avoided. Knife Dancer was down to one remaining defensive drone. They didn't have time to bring the little automated platform back in to recharge it or replenish its depleted counter missiles either.
As he watched, the drone spat fire at a spread of missiles. One of the missiles went off and his last defensive drone was destroyed.
“We're the new target!” a rating in CIC yelped.
“Helm Baker Jink and Jive!” the captain barked as a spread of forty missiles came at his ship. Knife Dancer's jinks threw off some of their aim but also the ship's own desperate point defense fire. He watched, gripping the arm rests of his chair as one, two, and then four missiles exploded. Two other missiles went off with them, but ten got too close. They detonated in a chain reaction that swatted his ship's shields down. The destruction forced his point defense to stop firing as the ship's energy net tried to recover the shields first.
Four of the missiles were cut down by Shrill Kill's last defensive drone, but then one missile took the drone out. Nineteen missiles got in too close to evade and went off just as their point defenses came back online.
Vlad saw the fire enveloping his ship. “Cynthia, it would have been nice,” he breathed as his bridge tore apart around him.
His ship was destroyed with all hands.
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Once Knife Dancer exploded, the fire slacked and then died before it shifted to another target. Shrill Kill began to take damage, but it was uncoordinated initially. The helmsman needed no orders to keep rolling and jinking the ship to reduce or dodge the impacts of the rain of metal and energy coming their way.
Captain Fowler's lip curled and her fur stood on end as her ship took damage. She worked to coordinate defense and damage control since her XO had rushed off to help DCC. She turned to see one fewer ship in their formation. “What? Where is Knife Dancer?” the captain demanded.
“Gone, ma'am,” the CIC rating replied.
The captain inhaled sharply at that news. “Carry on,” Koko replied after a moment.
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Shelby sucked in a breath when she saw Knife Dancer's icon go from green to red and then blink ominously with a loss tag. The tag read destroyed with all hands. Shelby glanced at her XO.
“Do you need a moment?” she asked quietly.
Cynthia had a grave but almost serene face. She shook her head. “I'll grieve later; it's what he'd want me to do,” she said firmly. “He'd want us to hit back and keep hitting until something breaks,” she said with a growl in her voice.
“Agreed.”
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“Yes! Finally! Got one of the destroyers!” Theo crowed.
The admir
al turned to him. “I thought I ordered you to go after the cruisers.”
“You did, sir, but they've got a network of defensive fire protecting them. The only way to hit at them is to peel it back,” he replied.
“Understood,” the admiral grunted, letting the matter drop. “Get another one,” he ordered.
“Oh, I intend to,” the Neodog said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
Chapter 47
Admiral Ishmael got his mental balance back as the battle began to swing his way. The Federation ships seemed to have run out of weapon drones and missile pods. They had fought hard, but they were now backing off as his ships came alive and came into range. The enemy ships were hard targets though, tough opponents.
He began to revel in the destruction, relishing the pain on both sides as a sign of living, however brief. Black Death waded into the fire of the enemy platforms and shrugged some of it off as if it were nothing. “Glorious,” the admiral breathed as his ship shuddered in agony.
Captain Baker worried about destruction. His ship was being battered, her shields were fluctuating in some places. Her stern shields were iffy already due to the ambush over six weeks prior, they hadn't had the time or parts to make it all good. Now more damage was being added.
Some of the missile spreads had come dangerously close to saturating his ship's point defense. He was starting to see it as a senseless loss with no profit if they failed. Whatever happened to fight to run away?
“We're punching a hole, sir,” the Neodog officer at Tactical reported. “The minefield is thinnest near the edges.” He highlighted a section of space directly in front and above them.
“Good! Helm, move us through that quick like!” the admiral snarled, pointing to the hole his missiles had cut into the minefield's upper edge. “Have the wounded ships follow at their best speed,” he growled. “Target priority is the cruisers. The small fry we can kill afterward,” he ordered.