Convoy (The Shelby Logan Chronicles Book 1)

by Chris Hechtl

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  The Federation warships were all linked together in a fine mesh of electronic coordination. That coordination had on one target at a time, starting with the closest cruiser. The Horathian medium cruiser Hannah wasn't up to the challenge of intercepting the missile broadsides of five destroyers, four light cruisers, and two heavy cruisers, nor were her consorts effective at helping to defend her. Sixty missiles cut through everything they had to pound the ship into wreckage.

  Whidah was their second target; the heavy cruiser followed her into death a moment later.

  “Transmit to all ships. See you in hell,” Captain Patch growled as his ship was torn apart around him.

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  Captain Baker saw the destruction of his old friend's ship and heard the aborted radio taunt. “Not if I see you first,” the captain muttered.

  The surviving ships managed to punch through the outer edge of the minefield to reach open space. Admiral ordered the force to regroup even as they continued the long-range engagement.

  “We've lost Hannah and Whidah sir,” Theo at Tactical said.

  “I saw that. Move Fancy in to cover their sector,” the admiral ordered. “All ships focus fire on the nearest destroyer. Kill it,” the admiral said, clenching his fist in front of his muzzle.

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  It was Shrill Kill's turn. She hadn't fully recovered from her last pounding, Koko realized. Her ship began to take concentrated fire from the enemy cruisers. Shrill Kill's consorts stepped up to intercept some of the fire but they couldn't get it all.

  Grasers from the battlecruiser lashed out at the twirling ship. They were beyond the normal effective range of energy weapons, their beams broadened by distance, but they could still do damage. More importantly they could get the destroyer to twist in the wrong direction, just in time for her to miss a quartet of missiles. The missiles went against the ship's port flank, tearing down her already half strength shields to batter at the armor. Their impacts momentarily blinded and distracted the crew from two more missiles, these from Crapshoot that got through to the ship to go off in her engine section, bucking the ship wildly out of control. Her drive and reactors scrammed in an emergency attempt to save the ship.

  They failed.

  “All hands abandon ship! Repeat, all hands abandon ship!” Captain Fowler snarled. As her ship came apart.

  Her destruction briefly illuminated the other ships around her. It also sent excess energy into the light cruiser Far Sight who had moved in to help the wounded destroyer. The light cruiser's shields buckled and failed just as the enemy's fire shifted to her. The ship listed, briefly adrift and helpless as her crew tried to recover.

  Her division mate Sybil Harper frantically tried to defend her, but she didn't have enough defensive firepower to make up the difference. Far Sight took hit after hit, twisting and bucking under the pounding before it became too much and her armor failed. The ship erupted as her guts and crew were torn out of her. Sybil Harper took hits of her own and reeled away, crippled and out of the fight.

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  “Three for one. Excellent. Excellent,” the admiral purred, faith in his people restored. “Pick another. Start with the cruisers,” he growled.

  “Sir, the enemy destroyers and defensive drones are intercepting the fire too effectively,” Theo replied.

  He didn't see the backhanded cuff from the admiral. He cringed, then reached up to touch at his bleeding ear and scalp. “The next time I'll tear it off!” the admiral growled. “Hit them again!”

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  “They are loose, ma'am,” Lieutenant Brudbaker said apologetically. “They are outside the range of the remaining missile pods and half of our weapon drones,” he reported. “All of the weapon drones in range have either been destroyed or damaged.”

  “I see it,” Shelby replied grimly. They'd done well, winnowing the enemy and bleeding the BC, but it obviously hadn't been enough to deter the enemy from his attack. “Nav, get me a course projection on the enemy force. Tactical, get me a damage assessment of them. Engineering, I need the same for our people. Comm, order all ships to fall back on the flagship according to plan Delta,” she ordered.

  “What about SAR ma'am?” Lieutenant Jardin asked carefully.

  “Anyone who can kick a shuttle loose while getting here feel free. But get here ASAP. This battle is only just getting started,” she replied firmly.

  “Aye aye, ma’am,” the lieutenant replied.

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  “They are breaking off, sir,” CIC reported.

  “I see it,” Admiral Ishmael replied.

  When the Federation ships broke off unexpectedly, the Horathians gained some much-needed breathing room of their own. With it came time to handle their own damage control. Engineers went to work on each of the ships to assess the damage, dig out trapped or injured crew, and make what hasty repairs they could during the reprieve. The ship's long-range sensors began to probe the rest of the star system. As the signals began to return, CIC updated the plot of the star system. There was some relief at what they saw; there were no equivalent large ships. “See? Nothing left but small fry,” the admiral said in disdain.

  “We still paid a high price to get this far, sir,” Captain Baker warned.

  Admiral Ishmael grunted as he checked out the star system. He was surprised to see a new complex around the second gas giant. As they moved around the planet, the glittering objects told his long-range sensors and telescopes a story of an incredible find, a series of brand new space stations as well as what looked like a small shipyard. He was amazed by the sight. “They built all that in such a short time?” Captain Baker murmured in awe, looking over his shoulder.

  The admiral looked up silently but then his good eye went back to the sight of the Federation complexes. They'd done it all right, built all that and the defenses in the star system in less than three years.

  It had taken decades to get the pirate bases to where they currently were. The awe turned to jealousy as he thought about what the enemy had achieved. It never occurred to him that his people could do the same if they were less concerned about tearing others down and more interested in building things.

  “Yes,” the admiral said. “And we'll take it from them.”

  “Sir, to do all that, someone on the other side has to have a replicator. More than one. Plus the keys to operate it,” the captain said.

  “Find them when we're done,” the admiral ordered. “What's the status on the ship?”

  “We've lost our shields twice and taken hull damage. So far nothing has breached our armor but we've lost emplacements and equipment on the hull including several shield nodes and some point defense. DCC is clearing the wreckage off the hull now,” the captain said instantly. “We've had some hiccups with the plasma conduits including a blowout on deck six. They are also working on that now that the area has been sealed off and the plasma has been rerouted. Fortunately, it was a minor leak,” he observed.

  “And the other ships?”

  “Not good. As you know, we lost all of the destroyers. We also lost Hannah, Whidah, and Thrill Kill. We're getting damage reports from the remaining ships now. It isn't good. Of the three, Black Corsage seems to have taken the most damage. They are working on it now. The support ships haven't been hit yet.”

  “Understood,” the admiral growled. “What about the enemy?”

  “We destroyed most of their smaller ships, and it looks like two of their destroyers. The cruisers have all taken damage. Those are tough ships; however, they've got layered defenses and defensive drones to help them,” the captain said but the admiral raised a hand to stop him.

  “I don't want to hear excuses I want to see results,” he growled. The captain nodded.

  “Get a more detailed report on damage control. I'll coordinate with tactical on what our munition situation is,” the admiral said as he rose out of his chair.

  “Aye a
ye, sir,” the Neochimp replied with a nod.

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  Black Corsage took another series of hits. Her recovering shields took the brunt of the damage, deflecting some of the incoming kinetic and thermal energy and deflecting just enough to only sear the heavy cruiser's armor, not fully penetrate it. But it did knock her shields flat once more.

  Captain Gutt snarled as his precious ship took additional damage. “This isn't what I signed on for.”

  “Bridge, DCC,” a voice said over the intercom, making him look up.

  “Report,” he barked.

  “Shield nodes along the starboard flank are resetting now. We've overloaded those pods twice, I've run through the emergency coolant, including the reserves. We have additional hull damage including some plate buckling reported. Sensors on that side are partially blinded. We can't fix it if we're underway,” the officer stated.

  “Helm, slack our speed another 10 percent,” the captain ordered.

  “Aye aye, sir,” Mister Flynn replied.

  “You've got twenty minutes to show me something or I'm going to come down there and make your guts for garters and turn your tongue into a Colombian necktie,” the captain snarled.

  “We're … frack, he's serious,” the voice said turning away before the channel was cut off. The captain grimaced as he looked down.

  “Tactical, slack off on weapons on that side. Helm, roll ship to turn the other cheek but do it slowly,” the captain ordered.

  “Slack fire?” Lieutenant Raz asked.

  “Did I stutter? Do it!” the captain ordered.

  “Aye, sir, slacking fire on the starboard side,” the tactical officer replied.

  “Comm, open a channel to the flagship,” the captain ordered.

  “Channel open,” the comm rating replied.

  “What are you trying to pull, Gutt?” the admiral growled.

  “We took some hard knocks on that last barrage,” the captain said. “My engineers need to get some systems stabilized and to run new coolant lines,” he half lied.

  The admiral grimaced but then turned to look at his comm station. “All ships slow speed by 10 percent,” the admiral ordered. The order was echoed by the rating after a moment.

  “That's not necessary; we'll get it back I'm sure,” the captain said hastily.

  “I'm sure you will,” the admiral said. “Get your repairs under control, Gutt,” he ordered.

  “We're working on it,” Captain Gutt said in a nettled tone of voice.

  “Work faster. Crack the whip or crack some heads, I need you. I'll let you play rear guard for the moment,” the admiral growled. “Don't fall too far behind or you'll be left behind for the enemy to pounce on.”

  “I'll try not to sir,” Captain Gutt said as he cut the channel. He sat back with a slight smirk that his ploy had worked. Then he leaned forward suddenly. “What's with you mangy lot! You heard the admiral! Back to work or I'll keel haul the lot of ya!” he snarled.

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  Captain Layafette shook his head at the carnage. If he had any lingering doubts about Admiral Ishmael, they were gone. They'd dropped into one hell of a trap, and the fact that they'd survived so far and managed to escape it spoke volumes to him.

  Commander Misaki was a bit shaken by the losses inflicted on their side so far. “He doesn't seem to care. We're getting hammered worse than the enemy is and …”

  “He's an admiral. I don't know about the caring part, but he's got the biggest sledgehammer in the star system now. He intends to use it to get his revenge,” the captain replied.

  “I'm just glad he's on our side,” Lieutenant Troykov murmured.

  The captain grimaced. He wasn't so certain.

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  “It could be worse, but I'm glad it isn't,” Janice said grimly as she reported in to the flagship. “Our DCC crews are working on the damage now,” she said.

  “Understood. Have your fighters recover on Admiral Sprague and the other ships,” Shelby ordered.

  “Ma'am?”

  “We've got plans for them,” the commodore replied. “They'll need to rearm and refuel.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am,” Janice said, turning to nod to someone unseen on her bridge to pass on the order. “We bled them, but it doesn't look like it was enough, ma'am. That battlecruiser got off fairly lightly.”

  “I know. She's the real danger,” Shelby mused. “We'll just have to do better in round three,” she said. “You up for it?” she asked.

  “Aye aye, ma’am,” Janice replied with a nod.

  “Good. Have your engineers transmit the repair list when they get a chance. I've got one free replicator at the moment. We can toss you what we can,” she said.

  “During the battle?” Janice asked dubiously.

  Shelby snorted. “I think both sides are going to take a breather. Let's take as much advantage of it as we can, shall we?”

  “Aye aye, ma’am. About the small ships …”

  “They didn't do so well, yes I saw.”

  “Ma'am, they have no place in this. Other than to divide the enemy's fire. And it seems he's gotten wise and is now ignoring them. Mostly ignoring them.”

  “Then they can hang back in a defensive role,” Shelby replied. “They can utilize all of their fire control to control defensive drones and keep missiles off our backs,” she said.

  Janice opened her mouth to protest but then closed it firmly. In the cold calculus of war, losing them was nothing if it meant the survival of the mission. She was just surprised at Shelby for thinking that way. But then again, there was a reason the woman had the commodore rank. Slowly she nodded.

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  Admiral Ishmael noted the defenses around the Tortuga jump point as CIC painted in more and more long-range sensor returns on the star system plot. “So, they know about that,” he growled.

  “Sir?” Captain Baker asked, turning to the admiral.

  The admiral glanced at him then flicked his finger to the plot. When the captain turned to puzzle at it, his admiral became impatient and stood to point to the long-range plot and then directly at the defenses around the Tortuga jump point.

  “Ah. Well, breaking in to them should be easier sir, right?” the captain asked.

  “If we go that way,” the admiral rumbled. “This battle be not finished just yet,” he growled.

  Chapter 48

  “Sir, we can see the enemy has fallen back here,” the tactical officer stated, pointing to an icon on the main screen. “We believe that the factory ship is their flagship, sir,” the Neodog stated.

  “What the hell?” Captain Baker said, hearing that last part. “How can that be? How did you confirm that?” he demanded, turning to the tactical officer.

  “The message traffic is clear sir. That is their flagship. We don't know why,” the Neodog said, shrugging.

  “Odd. But make her a priority target,” the captain ordered. He frowned as he used his own display to zoom in on the ship. He then froze when he noted the signatures of objects arrayed around the ship.

  “Aye, but if we can take her intact, the better for it,” the admiral growled.

  “Sir, look at what is around that ship,” Captain Baker said carefully. He highlighted the factory ship, then framed the image carefully, then zoomed out. He pointed to a series of objects around the ship. “Those are weapon and defensive drones. There are forty of them. Based on the energy readings they have a lot of small fusion reactors powering them. But if you add up the totals we are looking at weapons in the capital ship range.”

  “What sort of weapons? Rail guns or …?”

  “Both it looks like. There are swarms of missile pods as well. That soft ship is a lot tougher than she looks,” the Neochimp captain warned. “Based on what we're seeing she's close to a dreadnought in firepower, sir,” the captain warned.

  “Captain Baker is correct, sir,” the tactical officer stated.

  “Tis' some ship. Soft, but with a
prickly outer layer that is deadly,” the admiral said with a hint of admiration in his voice.

  “They can't have the fire control for all that, sir. And besides, the rail guns and missiles can't have the munitions to fire many rounds,” Captain Baker said.

  “Perhaps … and then again, perhaps not. They certainly have enough tractors to keep them … ah, I see, tugs,” the admiral observed, noting the energy signature of tugs with the weapon drones. “They've turned them into right bastard little ships of their own right,” he drawled.

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  Shelby checked Lieutenant Brudbaker's tactical status board. It wasn't that she didn't trust the recently promoted lieutenant, she did. It was simply nervous habit given the weight of metal they were up against.

  Her people had pulled out all the stops to build the additional weapon and defense drones. They'd had to cut a lot of corners and skim a lot of parts off the other production lines to make it happen. For instance, the drones were each powered by a cluster of frigate grade fusion reactors from the fusion reactor line. They had skimmed off parts from the other production lines as well; combining them with others to make a kludge of capital ship grade weapon platforms. They weren't pretty, they had a low rate of fire since the fusion reactors had to recharge a series of capacitors, but they should get the job done, she thought. Operative word there, should, she reminded herself.

  She was proud of her people; they'd worked flat-out to get it done. And with the advanced warning, they'd managed to churn out dozens of the weapon pods while nervously sitting outside the jump point waiting for the ax to fall.

  She just wished they'd had time to get the latest shipment of them to the jump point before the enemy had shown up.

  “Alpha One is toast, ma'am,” Cynthia stated.

  “The enemy is falling back and regrouping,” Lieutenant Brudbaker agreed.

  “Licking their wounds,” Cynthia said. “We're doing the same,” she said, taking note of the DCC status on the damaged ships. “Some of our ships need a bit more time though.”