by Rick Shelley
Captain Rivero remained on the bridge of Lancer with most of the regular bridge watch. The conversations were subdued. Several of the men showed signs of injuries sustained when the ship had lost its artificial gravity, cuts and bruises. But there was no hint of panic.
“Double check the integrity of the seals at the docking ports,’” Rivero instructed. “No telling how badly the hulls have been warped.”
Two minutes later, the first officer relayed the report. “Three ports are all we have, Captain,” Three left of twelve, no change from the first reports. “We have shuttles mating with all three now. The pilots know what they’re getting into. They’ll run their own checks on the airlocks.”
Rivero nodded. He squeezed the top of his nose, trying to clear a dull pain between his eyes. ‘ ‘How many people have we lost, Mel?”
“Fortytwo,” the first officer replied.
“Out of a complement of a hundred and eightyseven.”
“We did a lot of damage first, sir,” the first officer said. “Union and here. Lancer made her mark.”
A report came over the speaker. The first three shuttles were loading people. Three more shuttles were waiting to dock. That was all it would take to remove the last survivors.
“We’ve done our job here,” Rivero told the others on the bridge. “Let’s make our exit with what dignity we can.”
“You’ll be wanting this, sir.” The first officer handed a flat object to Rivero. The captain needed a moment to recognize his framed letter of commendation from the governor of Dorado. He took the letter, fondled it for an instant, then looked up.
“Thank you, Mel. I forgot all about it.”
“I knew you’d miss it later, sir.”
“One last check, Mel. We don’t want to leave anyone behind.”
“Aye, sir. I figured we’d do that ourselves.” He gestured at the bridge staff. “We’ll meet you at the number two airlock.”
David pushed himself and his men. He had spoken to the pilot over the complink, to tell him how long it would take the rescue party to reach him and to take what cover he could. “We’ve got a relay on your helmet beacon, and you’ll be able to track us as we come in. Keep your head down. If those Feddie blips get too close, turn your helmet off and move due east. We’ll find you.”
“Will do, Sergeant,” Josef Langenkamp replied. “I’ve grown very attached to my head.” More than you can guess.
The I&R platoon moved in two lines roughly thirty yards apart. No matter how rapidly they hurried, every man in the platoon remained alert for any hint of an ambush. Fingers rested over trigger guards, ready to move to action in less than a heartbeat. There was a measure of fear as well, but fear was merely another tool to be used, not an enemy to be hidden from.
A third of the way to the flyer’s position, David stopped his men for a very short break. He linked back to Lieutenant Ewing to ask how the sky battle was going.
“Fluid,” Ewing reported. “Not as much activity as before. Looks like the Feddies are learning. Lancer’s been abandoned. Most of the crew survived. But I’ve got something else for you to worry about. Those Feddies on the ground are moving toward the downed pilot. They didn’t start as early as you did, but they’re still closer.”
“We’ll do what we can,” David said, and he waved his men back to their feet.
The I&R platoon took one final rest before tackling the last mile. David sent Tory Kepner ahead with one fire team to make contact with the pilot.
“We’ll be coming up behind you, not more than a minute or two off,” David assured Tory. “Those Feddies are still two miles from him, but we don’t have time to waste.”
“As long as there’s no ambush waiting between us and the plughead,” Tory said. “We’ll get him. He’s not wounded, right?”
“Right. Said he didn’t even get a scratch.”
“Lucky buzzard,” Tory mumbled as he led his men off.
41
Sheffield came out of Qspace ready to engage the Federation main battle line again, but it was gone.
Repulse and Sheffield were alone, except for the crippled ships. The dreadnought that had lost its propulsion module had taken further hits since and was no longer a threat. The Federation transports were eight hundred miles away, accelerating, climbing away from Buchanan. The transports were still being harassed by a few Spacehawks, but most had broken off the contact. Victoria was in Qspace after retrieving Lancer’s survivors.
“Now it gets hairy,” Truscott said, to no one in particular. “I’m surprised they needed this long to take the hint.”
“They waited until the transports unloaded,” Alonzo Rinaldi said. “Hadn’t been for us, they’d have been able to keep their shuttles safe.”
“No telling what they’ll do now,” Truscott said. “I’d guess their concern might be to protect those transports until they can shift to Qspace.”
“Do we go after the transports or wait for the battle line to return?” Captain Hardesty asked over the complink.
“We wait, for now,” Truscott replied. “We need to retrieve our Spacehawks. We’ll use both Repulse and Victoria to cover the operation. Victoria hasn’t that much in the way of armament, but we’ll put everything we have into this. I want all of the ships ready to jump instantly though, just in case the Federation ships pop back right in our face.”
“We’re ready as of right now,” Hardesty said, stretching the sentence until the necessary ninety seconds had elapsed.
“Admiral, Victoria just emerged, out past Pebble,” Gabby Bierce said from his console.
“Ask them when they’ll be ready to jump again so we can pick up our birds,” Truscott told him.
“Soon as their Nilssens recycle,” Gabby reported.
“Tell them they’ll help cover this maneuver. We’ll get our birds in as quickly as we can.” Truscott turned in his chair. “Weapons. Any trace of the Federation ships yet?”
“No, sir. They must have withdrawn a considerable distance.” The weapons officer looked at a clock.
“Certainly at least two lightminutes out. We may not know where they went until after they’ve left to come back.”
Another wrinkle, Truscott thought. It still depends on where they come back, and when, not where they went for the interval.
“What do we have from those Marines the prince is with?” Truscott asked.
“Nothing recent, sir,” Commander Estmann said. “They had split up the last we heard. The I&R platoon went off to rescue that downed flyer. The rest were on the move as well, going off to rendezvous with the others after the pickup. There are Feddie troops in the area as well, this new lot.”
“Alonzo, after we get the fighters in, we’ll all jump out past Boulder, rendezvous with Thames, and wait for the Federation battle line to show itself again. Get the coordinates set up, ready to transmit to the other ships.”
“Aye, sir.” Rinaldi started working at his console. “Won’t take a minute to get the preliminaries.”
“Gabby, get me Hardesty and Murphy of Repulse.”
That connection took less then fifteen seconds.
“I want a full spread of missiles launched toward the transports,” Truscott told the two captains. “Make the spread wider than normal. Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch part of the battle fleet when they jump back in. If we’re still in position fortyfive seconds after the first spread, launch a second. But leave a clear patch to pick up our fighters.”
“Should I make a jump and send in the spread from another direction?” Murphy asked.
“Good idea, Captain,” Truscott said. “Cut down on their maneuvering room. Just remember to leave room for our operations.”
“Will do, Admiral.”
“Okay, coordinate your releases but get it done as quickly as practical.”
Truscott smiled after he broke the connection. The tactic might not do any good, but it would give the Federation skippers something new to worry about. And the transports might not be able t
o defend against that much fire all at once if the battle fleet didn’t return in time to get caught.
“Weapons. Still nothing on the Federation ships?”
“No, sir.”
When Sheffield made the jump to retrieve her remaining fighters, there were a lot of nervous people on all three Commonwealth ships, waiting for the Federation battle line to return. Victoria and Repulse were posted to shield Sheffield. Captain Hardesty threw away more pages of the rule book by bringing the Spacehawks in all at once instead of a squadron at a time. Still, it took twentyfive minutes to get all of the fighters in and the LRCs retracted.
One more Federation transport was out of commission, broken apart by one or more missiles that struck while the Commonwealth ships were in Qspace. Another appeared to have minor damage.
“Give the transports another spread just before we jump out,” Truscott told Hardesty and Murphy.
As soon as the missiles were clear, the three Commonwealth ships made their Qspace transit, coming out behind the larger of Buchanan’s two moons, the Boulder. There was still no sight of the Federation battle line.
Arias Rivero made sure that all of his injured got to hospital, and he talked to groups of the uninjured.
Everyone seemed to be in shock. Responses were dull. Eyes stared blankly. People from Victoria’s crew moved among Lancer’s people, pushing tea carts and offering refreshment and words of encouragement. There were promises of a hot meal and beds.
“Keep on top of things here, Mel,” Arias told his first officer. “I’m going to the bridge. I’ve got one more report to make to Admiral Truscott.” And I’m not looking forward to it.
It was a long walk. Rivero was announced formally when he reached Victoria’s bridge. Captain Naughton got up from her seat to shake his hand.
“I wanted to thank you for picking up my people,” Arias said.
“Glad to help. You and your people did a good job.”
Arias shrugged. “Not all that good, or I’d still be on my own bridge.”
“You did what you had to do,” a new voice said. Arias turned and saw Admiral Greene, just coming onto the bridge.
“I lost my ship, sir, and too many good people,” Arias said.
“I know it’s not easy to face, but you’ll get another ship,” Greene said. “People can’t be replaced, but your people didn’t give their lives for nil. In large part due to your work, we’ve done for more Feddie ships than we had at the start of this donnybrook, and blunted their second attempt to take Buchanan.
You and your people did your job, and came out of it luckier than you might have. You saved most of your crew. There are several Feddie ships out there that didn’t manage that, even with superior assets.”
“Thank you, sir. Do I need to report to Admiral Truscott right away?”
“No. Unless you’ve come up with something that our ops people can use?”
“I can’t think that far right now, Admiral,” Rivero said. “I’ve gone numb from the neck up.”
“The transports have gone to Qspace, two of them anyway,” the flag duty officer reported. Truscott was working with his flatscreen, repeatedly adjusting the scale and orientation, looking for the Federation battle fleet. Nearly an hour had passed since the enemy dreadnoughts had jumped to Qspace.
“Ops, start moving us. Random jumps, location and timing. Keep all of the ships together, but we move.
If anyone needs resupply urgently, set it up for when we’re farthest out. I don’t want us to stay in the same place longer than ten minutes, but don’t get us too close to the ninetysecond minimum for now.
Let’s not press our Nilssens any harder than we have to. As soon as you have the first jump plotted, get the fleet out.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Intelligence. We’ll need a quick view of our surroundings each time. And updates to the Marines on the ground. With us moving in and out, they’ll be guessing on the movement of the Federation troops.”
“Obviously, Admiral, you’d don’t believe the Feddie fleet has simply gone home,” Captain Rinaldi said.
“Not for a minute.” Truscott watched his monitor as the gray of Qspace wrapped itself around Sheffield.
They know they outnumber us. They’ve put more troops on the ground. They’re here, somewhere.
Once they decide on a way to counter our tactics, they’ll come looking for us. Right now, we need to keep the Federation from interfering with our ground operations. As long as they can’t fully support their troops, our Marines will hold the edge.”
“Admiral, they may not know our strength,” Rinaldi said. “If they assume that it takes more than ninety seconds to cycle for a jump, they may believe we have several times the number of ships we actually have. It depends on what they think is possible.”
“We can’t count on that,” Truscott said. “The fact that none of our ships made it back from Camerein suggests that they use Qspace more efficiently than we used to. Until we know what their limits are, we have to assume that they can move in and out of Qspace at least as quickly as we can.”
The Commonwealth ships passed through Qspace four more times before there was any change in the view around Buchanan. The Federation battle line was back.
“They’re on a minimal deflection course for the settlements” was the report from weapons.
“Put Repulse and Sheffield on a headon intercept,” Truscott said without hesitation.
“Sir, by the time we can cycle back through, that’ll mean coming out of Qspace little more than a hundred miles above the surface. That’s awfully close, especially for Sheffield.”
“So they’ll never expect us there,” Truscott said. “Do it.”
When the two Commonwealth ships returned to normalspace, the Federation line was starting to separate. One dreadnought and two escort ships held an easterly course. The other two dreadnoughts and one escort were burning toward a polar orbit. Each formation stretched out into single file.
“Take the ships heading east,” Truscott ordered.
“Looks like they plan to stick around, Admiral,” Rinaldi said after he relayed the orders. “Give them a little time and they can stretch those formations to keep at least one ship on a lineofsight to their troops on the surface constantly.”
“That’s one thing we want to avoid,” Truscott told him.
There was little delay in the Federation’s return of fire this time, but it was obvious that the Commonwealth ships had come from the heading that the enemy was least prepared for.
“Ninety seconds and out,” Truscott said.
“Already laid in, sir,” the navigator replied.
“We’ll have to start crossing the tee,” Truscott commented as Sheffield was rocked by a glancing blow.
“Come across between ships again, limit their options.”
Ninety seconds—the longest minuteandahalf of the day for Sheffield and Repulse, exposed to all the fire from three enemy ships, up close. Repulse lost the nozzle of one forward maneuvering rocket.
Sheffield took another hit, one that sprung the gaslight hull over a storage compartment.
“We can’t go on like this indefinitely,” Hardesty told Truscott after the ships jumped back to Qspace. ‘
‘Even if they don’t get lucky and do for us the way they did Lancer, the way they’re degrading our abilities…” He didn’t need to finish the thought.
“We have no choice,” Truscott said. “We’ll concentrate on that same formation. This time, we’ll go in north to south, top acceleration, either end of the dreadnought. Time it so we make our jumps out when we’re directly in the Federation line. Shade both ships close to the dreadnought. We’ve taken out two of them. Let’s try for a third.”
There was no way to know if it was coincidence or conscious timing on the part of the Federation ships. Sheffield passed ahead of the dreadnought. Repulse went behind. Neither Commonwealth ship scored or took any significant hits during their approach, but at almost precisely the same
instant that they made their transit back to Qspace, the three Federation ships did the same thing.
As soon as Sheffield came out of Qspace, it was clear that something had finally gone wrong with a jump. There were twenty seconds of absolute confusion. Neither Commonwealth ship was where it was supposed to be, and they weren’t as close together as they should have been.
“They jumped at the same time we did.” The flag navigation officer said, guessing. “We’re a million miles too far out. Repulse is even farther out of position.”
“Any trace of the Federation ships?” Truscott asked.
“No… wait.” The navigator squinted at his monitor and made several adjustments. “The dreadnought. It must have broken up into a million pieces. We can’t track all of the debris.”
“Just the dreadnought?” Truscott asked.
“Yes, sir. Everything we can trace comes from where it was.”
“Get damage reports from Sheffield and Repulse,” Truscott said. He adjusted his own monitor to show the debris from the Federation dreadnought, then ran it backwards to show the chunks moving back toward their origin. The computer complied, but it could only show where the pieces came from; it couldn’t reassemble them.
“Any sign of where those escorts came out?” Truscott asked.
“No, sir. They must have gone out a considerable distance, like before. And if they’re as off course as we are…”
“They’ll recover. They were at the ends of the line. They might not be as far out of position as we are,”
Truscott said. It was an intuitive conclusion. The dreadnought in the center had been destroyed, caught by Qspace bubbles on either end. Truscott frowned as he tried to reason out what had happened. Why had the Federation ship been destroyed while the Commonwealth ships had not? They must have started their jump just an instant behind us, he decided, and got squashed in the middle. The two nearest ships had been thrown off position, apparently in relation to their mass. The end ships: their deviation should be less than that of Repulse at least. It was something else that the theoreticians would have to look into, but Truscott could think of no other possible explanation.