by Richard Fox
“Admiral…we have a transmission from Glory.” Villars turned and looked across the bridge. “Priority transmission for you, sir.”
Daniels reached down, grabbing the headset and pulling it over his head. He’d expected the private communication, one last discussion between the fleet commander and his second.
“Yes, Admiral Skarsgaard. Force Blue is at battle stations and ready for battle.”
“I had no doubt of that, Beck.” Skarsgaard’s voice was calm, surprisingly so, the tension Daniels had expected replaced by…resignation? “Beck…you have your orders, but I want to repeat them. You are not to advance until the rest of the fleet has opened a hole for you. Force Blue must keep itself intact for the final push…whatever the losses suffered by the advance formations.” Skarsgaard’s formations. Grand Fleet’s commander had placed himself in the vanguard, assigning his trusted second-in-command to the crucial reserve.
To the force that will decide this battle, that will determine whether we achieve victory, or are defeated. Yet, if I could choose, I would be there, on the front line.
Daniels knew what those lead ships would endure, how many would be vaporized under the guns of the enemy. He imagined those brave crews dying in their thousands, sucked into space through great rents in the hull, burned to death, crushed by falling chunks of steel. And he was utterly aware of how relentlessly Skarsgaard would drive them, ever forward, killing—and dying—but at any cost, clearing the way for Force Blue. For Athena.
“Admiral…” Beck’s voice trailed off. There was nothing else to say. They’d discussed it, again and again. Skarsgaard had made his decision, and he’d issued his orders. For all that the command twisted and burned in his guts, Daniels knew he owed Earth’s top military leader his respect. His obedience.
“Don’t worry about me, Beck, nor any of those deployed in the forefront. You are where you are not because I wish to die, or because I prefer the lives of your people over the legions I command. I assigned you to your place and me to mine, because there is no one I trust to succeed, to find a way to see this final strike succeed, more than you…and that includes me.”
Daniels felt a wave of emotion as Skarsgaard spoke. He’d come to respect the fleet admiral not just as a brilliant commander, but as a man. As a friend.
He had not left Earth as second in command of the fleet, nor had he been third when the vast armada had ventured forth. He had floated to his exalted rank on a sea of blood, as no fewer than four senior officers had been killed in battle. He’d been Skarsgaard’s second for just over a year now, and in that time, he’d come to consider his commander a friend. One he feared he was about to lose.
“Your confidence does me honor, sir, but you are the one officer the fleet cannot lose.”
“There is no one the fleet cannot lose, Beck.” The calm still held Skarsgaard’s tone, but Daniels could hear the hint of grimness there as well. “No one. Only Earth matters.”
“Yes, sir.” Daniels’ thoughts shot back to his family, only for a brief instant. “Earth is all that matters.” Ana. And Sarah.
“You know what to do, Beck…and you will know when.” The commander of all Earth’s combined military might paused. Then he said simply, “Good luck, my friend.”
“Good luck to you, sir.” It seemed a poor parting for friends, but it was all Daniels could manage. He sat for a few seconds, nothing in his ears but the faint static of the close comm line.
“The vanguard is engaging, Admiral.” Villars’ voice, crisp, professional, as always. Her words were clear, but they conveyed no message to Daniels. His eyes were already fixed on the massive main display, focused on the cloud of small dots, each one representing one of Earth’s great battleships. They were moving toward the longer, denser line of symbols representing the enemy, the ships of a hundred worlds, planets that had no doubt once been much like Earth…before they were subjugated by Empyrean.
Some of which we have devastated. Even with the wormhole generator, the fleet’s path to Empyrean had led through one system after another, and in each, the military might of another slave-race had been destroyed. The fleet’s mission had been neither genocide nor the punishment of sentient races so long enslaved, but Empyrean had turned its subject worlds into fortresses. Few had survived the brutal bombardments that had been necessary to suppress the defenses and missile bases. More blood…on Empyrean’s hands, or ours?
“Argosy has been destroyed, Admiral. And Vincennes.”
Daniels’ eyes remained fixed, unmoving. They saw only the projected dots, but in his mind, he pictured the engagement, the fury of black hole nukes, the massive plasmas vaporizing anything they touched. Empyrean’s weapons were advanced and deadly, but the fleet could thank countless brave adventurers who had preceded it for their own, equal tech. He shuddered with each ship name Villars snapped out, yet he could see that his comrades were killing at least two enemies for every vessel they lost. He wanted to rejoice at the success of their arms, but he knew that ratio wasn’t enough. The forces of Earth were hugely outnumbered, facing off against the vastness of centuries of buildup by the star’s enslaved billions.
“Moscow, Repulse, Tokyo…all gone, sir.”
Daniels almost told Villars to stop, but he held back. Each name she called out was like a fresh dagger piercing him, but this was no time to worry about such things. He had a job to do, and completing it would carry an immense price in blood. But if he could succeed, Earth would be safe. Billions of people. Ana and Sarah.
“Signal Force Status Gamma, Commander.”
“Yes, sir. Status Gamma.” A moment later. “All ships acknowledge, Admiral. Status Gamma.”
He could see the result of his order on the scanner, the movement of the dots representing Force Blue. He had two hundred four ships, and two hundred three of them had a solitary mission. To envelop Athena, to keep the enemy from the flagship. From the great weapon it carried in its bay, the sole hope to destroy Empyrean, to end its millennia of brutality and despotism.
He sat, watching the battle unfold, enduring Villars’ dirge of lost friends and comrades. A hundred ships, at least, are gone. One hundred sixty-one, he corrected himself as he looked down at his own small workstation. His own Force Blue had not lost a vessel yet, but the others hurt just as badly.
He reached down to the controls on the arm of his chair, opening a channel on his comm unit. “Dr. Evans…is everything ready down there?” Protocol probably dictated that he order one of his officers to get Evans on the line for him, but his people—even his entire species—was facing the prospect of total destruction. He had no time for such nonsense.
“Admiral…yes, sir. The…device…is ready.” A pause. “Sir, the warhead is powered up, the delivery system activated. But there is no way to know if it will work. The physics and mathematics behind it are…” Words passed through Daniels’ head as the physicist paused. Fiction? Fantasy? Wishful thinking? “…highly theoretical.”
“Doctor, you must trust in what you have done. You must believe in yourself, as we all do.” Daniels knew it really didn’t matter if Evans had faith in his work or not. It would work, or it wouldn’t, and no amount of positive thought or darkest dread would change that. But it seemed like the right thing to say.
“I will do my best, Admiral. But…”
“There are no ‘buts’ now, Doctor. They serve no purpose. We are here to save humanity, and that is what we are going to do…with that extraordinary device you constructed.” A short pause. “Now, see to it, Doctor. Whatever you have checked, check again. We’ll only have once chance at this.”
“Yes, sir.”
Daniels cut the line. He didn’t delude himself into thinking he had even the remotest idea how Evans’ device worked. How it was supposed to work, at least. In the simplest terms, it was a bomb, though its purpose was not the destruction of Empyrean. That was impossible, at least by any measures known to man. But, just possibly, if Evans’ interpretation of alien science was correct,
it was enough to rip a hole in the fabric of space-time, one that would exist only for the briefest of instants. Just long enough, if all went according to plan, to engulf Empyrean, and trap the ancient sentient star in a bubble universe, cut off for eternity from normal space-time. That wasn’t destruction, perhaps, not literally, but it was close enough in Daniels’ view.
If it works. Constructing the device had consumed more resources than a thousand battleships, and there had been neither time nor materials to build a test version. The brilliant scientist’s vision, built upon ancient technology gleaned from a dozen worlds, would work, or it wouldn’t. There was nothing to be gained from obsessing on that fact, on opening his mind to the thought that so many thousands were sacrificing their lives for nothing, to open the way for a weapon that quite simply might not function.
“Resolute, Marseilles, Potemkin…all destroyed.” Villars’ grim recitation continued, as more and more ships of the fleet succumbed to the weapons of the enemy. But even as dozens of vessels died, the vanguard pushed forward, clearing the channel as planned. It wasn’t wide, perhaps three hundred thousand kilometers or so, but it was enough. It would have to be.
“Signal Force Status Beta, Commander.”
“Yes, Admiral…Status Beta.” There was audible tension now in Villars’ normally icy voice. Status Beta signaled the force to move forward. Seconds later: “All ships acknowledge, Admiral.”
Daniels could see the icons, representing half the ships under his direct command, begin to move forward. His own gut ached, the pressure, the fear almost too great to endure. He was afraid of death, of course. No sane man, however courageous, escaped that cold feeling. But it was more than the possibility of his own end weighing on him. Moving forward entailed greater personal danger, of course, but it also meant finding out, once and for all, if the desperate plan to save Earth would work. If it doesn’t…
No, it will work. It has to.
He watched as his ships moved forward, accelerating, taking up positions ahead, forming a vast cone to shield Athena. Finally, he felt the burst of pressure as his flagship’s engines fired, and she followed her guardians through the opening their brethren had died to create for them. Directly toward the malevolent, sentient star.
He sat quietly, feeling strangely detached, almost having to remind himself to draw breath. The minutes slipped by, and with them thousands of kilometers toward the waiting foe. The vanguard forces were sadly depleted, hundreds of ships gone now, and most of the rest were badly damaged. Even his own Blues were taking hits now, mostly along the front and the outside of the great defensive cone they had formed.
It sickened him to think of so many ships, the tens of thousands in their crews, all of them sacrificing themselves, blocking the enemy, protecting Athena. He wanted more than anything to leave the bridge, to rush into his office where he could be alone, to fall to his knees and retch, emptying his guts on the polished floor. But that was unthinkable. The very sacrifices his comrades had made compelled him to remain at his place, to see this job done, whatever the cost.
He watched, his horror increasingly undisguised, as more ships, many now from his own Force Blue, succumbed to the relentless enemy fire. He watched the names of lost vessels scroll by, listened to Villars’ almost monotone recitation, every so often catching a name that meant more than the others, a ship with a friend aboard, or at least someone that meant more to him than the thousands of others. Then…
“Admiral…Glory…” Even Villars lost her last semblance of coldness as she stared back at him in horror.
Daniels’ eyes were already on Skarsgaard’s ship, by itself, its escorts destroyed, surrounded by enemy vessels. It had destroyed five of its attackers, an exhibition of courage and tactical brilliance almost without compare. But too little. Far too little.
Daniels’ eyes were still fixed on the display when the flashing red icon representing the flagship vanished. Glory was gone. Admiral Skarsgaard was dead.
No, perhaps he abandoned ship. But even as the thought pushed its way into his mind, he dismissed it. Skarsgaard’s vessel had fought to the last, and if there was one thing about which Beck Daniels was utterly certain, it was that his friend would have been the last man to leave his ship. No, there was no cause for hope, no rationale to avoid the black realization that Earth’s greatest admiral—and his friend—was dead.
And he was in command.
“All forward fleet units are to sustain maximum attacks.” It was his place now to urge the remnants of the vanguard to their deaths. It tormented him, but he had to stand in for Skarsgaard now. He owed his friend nothing less.
“Yes, Admiral.”
Daniels leaned back in his chair. The pressure was unbearable. He knew the crews on those ships would be no less dead advancing under his command than Skarsgaard’s, but somehow it felt different. Now, every one of them was his responsibility. Every death was on him.
“Force Red reports fifty percent losses, Admiral. Force Yellow just under sixty.”
Daniels shook his head. The fleet had cut a path through, but not far enough. They were going to fall short. There was a last line of enemy ships between Athena and Empyrean.
The Blues will have to finish this.
“Signal Force Status Alpha, Commander.”
A pause. “Yes, sir.” Daniels could feel the hesitation on the part of his aide, the weight on her. Status Alpha was the final approach, scheduled for when the vanguard had cleared a path all the way to the star…but there were enemy fleets still barring the way.
Daniels understood his aide’s concern. She was right to be worried, but there was no choice. Even as he watched, he could see the forward forces collapsing, worn down by the enemy’s numbers and relentless attacks. This was the best chance his people would get. If he waited any longer, the approach that had been cleared would fall in on itself. The battle would be lost. Earth would be lost.
He felt the thrust now, the g forces from Athena’s massive engines dwarfing the capacity of the compensators. He guessed he was feeling about four gees, enough to be enormously uncomfortable and to make breathing difficult, but far better than the raw 20g Athena’s engines were putting out.
His eyes darted to his small screen, watching as the velocity gauge moved up. Athena had begun her attack, and all around her, the other ships of Force Blue were engaging the enemy vessels pushing through the shattered remnants of the vanguard.
The fighting was sharp, brutal. Villars continued to read off as many ship names as she could, but the losses were coming too quickly now. The defenders had increased their intensity, sacrificing themselves recklessly to destroy Earth ships.
Daniels had no way of understanding the thought processes of the great intelligence driving Empyrean, but his gut went cold at the sudden thought that the evil sun had figured out the Earth forces’ strategy, that it had directed its forces accordingly.
It doesn’t matter…there is no other way. Keep going.
The Blues all around Athena were taking a pounding, and even as Daniels could see the star looming ahead on the display, his flagship became a target. Tens of thousands of comrades had given their lives to protect his ship, but now they were spent, and great holes had opened in their protective shield. Ships from dozens of races moved in, all free peoples once, like humanity, but for centuries now enslaved by the great star mankind had come to fight. They fought viciously to save their oppressor, to preserve the evil that kept them in chains. And they died in their thousands. Tens…hundreds of thousands. But they kept coming.
Athena shook, a black hole nuke that had come far too close…and then a few seconds later again, harder this time, a shower of sparks flying across the bridge from a bank of overloaded consoles.
Daniels sat, unfazed, staring at the display as his ship closed with Empyrean. The thrust had declined noticeably, but the engines were still functional. Athena was under a million kilometers from its target now. The fleet had paid a grievous price to clear a path, but it
s new commander began to harbor hopes of success, of final victory. He was about to comm Evans again, to give him the great order…launch the weapon. But the physicist called him first.
“Admiral…” Daniels knew immediately something was wrong. Evans’s tone was grave, and there were sounds in the background, explosions and voices shouting. “The delivery vehicle is damaged, sir.”
“How badly?” Daniels asked, but he already knew.
“It’s a lost cause, Admiral. It’s so much junk.”
Daniels felt as though some mystical fist had punched him in the stomach. Five years of brutal war to get here, the bloodiest and most terrible battles imaginable. The sacrifices of so many…all to fail, so close to victory. It was unbearable.
“The device, Doctor. Is it…”
“It is intact, sir. Only the missile is damaged. The device should still work. But there is no way to get it to Empyrean.”
Daniels felt a coldness deep inside, dark realization. He sat up, rigidly straight in his chair and looked around the flag bridge. “Yes, Doctor. There is a way.” He turned his head toward Villars. “I want every bit of thrust engineering can give us, Commander. Course…directly for Empyrean. We must close as rapidly as possible.”
Villars stared back, and it was clear from the expression on her face she knew what he intended to do. A glance around the bridge, a quick look at the faces all around, silent, eyes fixed on him, told him all his officers knew.
“Thrusters at forty percent, Admiral. Course directly for the star.”
“Very well.” Daniels turned back toward the comm unit. “Doctor Evans, can you set up an activation trigger for the device operable from the bridge?”
“Yes, Admiral, I think so, but…”
“No buts. Just do it, and then get your people down to the shuttle bays.”