“I’m not sure about this,” the man said.
“You’re telling me that Intelligence doesn’t have access to a fabricator at all times?” Orlova said. “Have all of this waiting for us on arrival. Then we can make our own way from there.”
“Great,” Bryce said, clapping her hands twice. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
Chapter 28
Marshall was grateful that space battles were fought under zero-gravity conditions, not because it reduced the potential for impact damage and increased maneuverability, but also because it was the only way that everyone could fit on the bridge of the Wyvern. He hovered behind Cunningham in the captain’s chair, looking at the tactical display on the viewscreen while Caine issued a constant stream of commands from her station, trying to keep all three scoutships coordinated.
“Final reports from the others ships?” Marshall asked, turning to the communications station.
“Gilgamesh is ready for action, sir, and reports at full battle readiness. Thermopylae is still having problems with her topside missile tubes, but her laser is calibrated and ready to fire.”
Nodding, he said, “Battlecruisers are to pick an enemy capital ship and let them have it, one on one, as laid out in Plan Six. Each ship’s fighters to provide support for their targets.”
“Plan Six, aye, sir.”
Leaning back, Cunningham said, “You’re giving them their heads?”
“If they’re shooting at the bad guys they’re probably doing something right, and that leaves us with one to go right down the middle with our fighter squadron to help.”
“I hate to remind you about this, but according to the book throwing three scoutships against a battlecruiser results in three fewer ships in the Triplanetary Fleet.”
“I know,” Marshall replied. “We’re taking a risk, but look on the bright side. If we pull this off, then we’ve managed to prove that scoutships have a place in the line of battle.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No, actually, I think that what we’re trying here today is an act of desperation.”
Turning to face him, Cunningham said, “Then what the hell are we playing at?”
With a shrug, Marshall said, “Look at it this way. Whatever happens today, we win in one manner or another. Victory’s going to mean months of trying to convince the Senate that we need to build larger ships after all.”
“Two minutes to contact, sir,” Caine said. “I think we’re as ready as we’re going to be. Countermeasures are meshed, and missile firing systems locked in. I can give you a salvo as soon as you want.”
“Contact Dragomirov,” Marshall said, “and tell him to get his birds in the air. I want a coordinated strike; with a little luck we might overwhelm their countermeasures. Once the fighters are up, the auxiliaries are to proceed to the hendecaspace point and prepare to leave the system if all of this goes wrong.”
“Aye, sir,” she said, tapping a series of controls. As Marshall watched, he saw a cluster of ten small dots detach from the tender to their rear, course projections immediately leaping forward towards the central of the three battlecruisers heading for their formation. On either side, the Gilgamesh and Thermopylae began to drift slightly away, matching efforts from the enemy to flank them, charge for their retreating auxiliaries; Cunningham looked up, but Marshall shook his head.
“Just a feint. The auxiliaries don’t matter to him now, he’s got to knock down our combat strength if he’s going to win the ground battle on the asteroid. He knows that if he doesn’t, his forces will have to surrender.” With a smile, he said, “This is a battle that neither of us can afford to lose.”
“Ever seen a battle that wasn’t?” Cunningham replied.
“Sixty seconds to contact,” Caine said. “Getting close now.”
“Sir,” the communications technician said, “We’re getting a message from the lead battlecruiser.”
Nodding, Marshall said, “Trying to distract us just before the battle. Put him on.”
“Audio only, sir. Putting you through.”
The voice from the speakers was gruff, stentorian, obviously belonging to a man used to being obeyed instantly. It came immediately to the point.
“I’ll allow you to pull your troops out without interference if you leave the system immediately.”
“My orders do not permit me that option.”
“You are aware that this is an act of war?”
“I’m well aware that the Cabal has undertaken numerous operations that could be classed along those lines in the recent past, up to and including the seizure of a battlecruiser and her crew.”
The voice changed, softened, and said, “We’re soldiers, not politicians, Captain. My tactical assessments give me the win.”
“Mine suggest otherwise.”
“Do hundreds of people need to die today?”
He paused, then said, “No. Stand off and maintain position.”
“And allow your troops to continue securing the asteroid?”
Looking down at Cunningham, Marshall replied, “I’d listen to a ceasefire offer.”
“You can remain in the system, but that asteroid belongs to the Cabal, this system belongs to the Cabal, and I will stand in its defense until instructed otherwise.” There was a brief pause, then he continued, “I give you ten seconds to reply.”
Marshall paused for a second, then said, “Lieutenant Caine. Fire when ready.” Looking back at the communications technician, he added, “Close the channel.”
“Is this wise?” Cunningham said, quietly. “We’re on the verge of a peace treaty.”
“I’m not the one who decided to do this, John, but now that we’re here we’ve got a job to do. No matter how we personally feel about it.”
“I just hope you know what you are doing.”
“So do I.”
“Contact in fifteen seconds. First missile salvo will be away in twenty.” She looked across, and said, “If this doesn’t work we’re back to short salvos, Danny.”
“Better make it work, then.”
“Begin random walk, Mr. Kelso,” Cunningham said. “Make sure to lock in tactical co-ordination with Dragon and Griffon.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Energy spikes ahead!” Caine said. “Gilgamesh is exchanging fire with its target.” Glancing up at a display, she continued, “Three missiles heading right for us.”
“Specifically?” Cunningham said. “Get that salvo up and start riding the countermeasures.”
Marshall pushed back a little, finding himself in a strange situation, trying to look over the whole battle whilst being swept up in events on the ship he was riding. Gilgamesh was closing on its target, her fighters sweeping in for a second wave of shots, and Thermopylae opened up with its laser, ripping holes in the hull of its foe; different ships, different command styles.
It would be so easy for him to push forward and take command of Wyvern; Cunningham probably wouldn’t even object, but that wasn’t his job right now. He moved over to the communications station, looking down at the technician. Reaching over, he pulled up a tactical display on one of the small monitors, focusing his attention on the readouts as they came in. A strike on Gilgamesh, near her engines, but she’d already got some good blows in.
“Fighters launching, sir. Four of them, heading for the Gilgamesh,” Caine said. “Or us, impossible to tell at this point.” She paused, then said, “Two missiles still incoming.”
“This is going to be fun,” Cunningham said. “Damage control teams prepare for impact.”
Thermopylae was getting some good strikes in, lashing out again with its laser, radiators furiously glaring as heat dispersed out into the endless cold of space, a trio of missiles ranging out in the follow up. Dozens of missiles were in the air now from both sides, dancing around each others as his tactical offi
cers worked their magic, trying to push their warheads home while knocking down those of the enemy.
“One missile coming. Hang on, everyone!” Caine yelled.
“Turning ship, sir,” Kelso said, an instant before the world shook, the sound of furious tearing metal ripping through the hull, brief screams of escaping air before the automatic cut-offs locked down the damaged section. The view on the screen was tumbling, Kelso desperately trying to regain attitude control, frantically stabbing controls. The formation was breaking up; Dragon had launched a second salvo by itself, two more lone missiles reaching for a target.
“Damage report!” he yelled, pushing over to the engineer.
“Secondary power relays, long-range communications and most of our lateral thrusters, sir. Best guess four dead, two others on their way to medical bay with serious injuries.”
“Kelso, get us stable!”
“Three impacts on enemy battlecruiser,” Caine reported, “Non-critical areas. We’re not having enough of an impact.”
Marshall looked up at the screen; Gilgamesh was doing better than Thermopylae, the former’s target pulling away. He tapped the communications technician on the shoulder.
“Get Captain Gorski, tell him to move up in support. We’ll just have to let one of the battlecruisers get away. Deadeye, any idea where it’s going?”
“Far hendecaspace point.”
“If he’s running, let him run,” Cunningham said. “We’ve got bigger problems.”
“I have regained attitude control, sir,” Kelso said. “Trying to get us back into formation.”
Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Get us in closer to the enemy. Dragon and Griffon to continue salvo fire from range.”
“We’re going to take the hits?” Cunningham asked. “This isn’t a battlecruiser, Danny. We can’t take much more of this.”
Pointing up at the screen, Marshall replied, “Gilgamesh is on the way, John. We’ve got to buy some time for them to get here, and there’s no point having three wrecked ships instead of just one.”
Nodding, he said, “Kelso, take us in to point-blank range. Deadeye, get some more missiles up, but keep them close. We’ll use them was point-defense.”
“Fighter cover, Deadeye,” Marshall added.
“They’re fired their missiles, Danny,” she said. “Six of which are still running. They’re getting a handle on our systems, only one in four is getting through.”
“They can still use their countermeasures to give us some cover,” he replied. “Have them try for a close pass when we get to closest approach.”
“Next salvo up,” Caine said. “Another in the tubes.”
“Full power on the engines,” Kelso said, the ship tilting to the side. “Damn it, we’re still venting.”
The engineer turned back from his station, frowning, and said, “We’re in trouble. That was one of the spacetight doors going.”
“Damn,” Cunningham said, turning to Marshall. “These ships are too new. We never had a chance to finish the stress testing in actual flight.”
“The simulations…,” Kelso said.
“To hell with simulations,” Cunningham snapped back. “We’re stuck with bitter reality. Continue the dive, Sub-Lieutenant, and let her run.” Tapping a control on his console, he said, “This is the Captain. All personnel not on list alpha, get to the escape pods on the double.”
“I’ll get Hadfield’s SAR shuttles on the way,” Caine said. “Coming up on our next salvo. Just scored two impacts on the enemy battlecruiser.”
Through all the chaos, Marshall looked at their target, now battered and bruised, tears in the hull armor and the brief jets of leaking air that illustrated its damage. Her helmsman was obviously having trouble keeping a steady course, but the three lights rising from her missile tubes were evidence that it still had plenty of teeth.
“Where are they going?” Marshall asked.
“Right for us,” Caine replied. “Fighters moving in to provide cover, and I’m getting our two birds into interception position.”
“Which still leaves one heading for us.”
Marshall tapped the communications technician on the shoulder again, saying, “Get to an escape pod. I’ll take it.”
“Sir…”
“Go.”
He settled down at the console, relieved to have something to do at last. Thermopylae was well clear of the rest of the action now, engaged in personal combat with its foe, and by the looks of it was coming out a little ahead; Gilgamesh was turning in, closing on the battlecruiser that was Wyvern’s nemesis. The battle had quickly devolved into a series of independent engagements, and all that mattered for the next three and a half minutes was the Wyvern, their target, and the fighters providing cover.
“Wyvern to Dragomirov. Status, please.”
“My God, they’ve got the big man himself talking to us today.”
“I gave the communications technician the afternoon off. How are you doing?”
The buoyant pilot’s voice dropped, “Six still flight-worthy, two on their way to their final landing, two bailed out. What about Wyvern?”
“Not making any long-term plans, let’s put it that way.”
“Enemy fighters have turned,” Caine yelled. “They’re smelling blood.”
“We’re on it,” Dragomirov said. “I heard her. I’ll send four of my boys in to mess them up a little, try and panic them.”
“You don’t have any missiles left.”
“No, but we do have that undetectable superweapon that they don’t know about. Besides, our countermeasures packages are working just fine. Dragomirov out.”
Nodding, Marshall turned his attention back to the monitor. Another two salvos in the air, one from each side, about to cross each other’s paths, adding to the devastation. Wyvern’s course plot was taking them awfully close to the enemy, but unless they could do something about the incoming missiles, that wasn’t going to matter very much.
“Good God!” Caine yelled. “Thermopylae target just exploded!”
“One down, one running, one damaged,” Cunningham said. “We’ve had worse days. As long as we live to see tomorrow I’m willing to call this one a win.”
“Closing on target,” Kelso said. The ship rocked, and he continued, “Ten escape pods away, all on safe trajectories.”
Four missiles were still tracking towards the scoutship, Caine frantically attempting to block them with the countermeasures systems, her hands almost a blur over the controls. It didn’t seem to be having any affect at all as they dove for Wyvern, Marshall involuntarily gulping as they approached.
“Energy spike,” Caine said, and Marshall closed his eyes, but she continued, “Gilgamesh now in firing range, full salvo heading for the incoming missiles. Enemy battlecruiser is turning away.”
“Breathe again, people,” Cunningham replied. “Kelso, get us out of dodge. We can leave this one to the big beasts.” Sitting back in his chair, he said, “Well, Danny, we tore the guts out of the ship, but I think we won this one.”
Looking up at the display, Marshall saw the two remaining ships heading out, deeper into the system, and nodded. “This battle, anyway. Contact the rest of the fleet, start getting damage and casualty reports. Time to lick our wounds.”
Chapter 29
One of the luxuries that winning the Battle of the Lower Corridors had brought was the presence of fresh supplies from the battlecruisers orbiting the asteroid; Cooper was wolfing down something that at least tasted like chicken, a welcome change from the ration packs that were still building up in the captured storage rooms, Brownworth insisting that they prepare for the possibility of an extended siege and build up their supplies.
He heard a crack in the distance and looked up, before heading back to his meal. The fighting in this area was over, the breakthrough from the airlocks giving them
control of more than a third of the asteroid, and most of the key installations that the original plan had hoped to capture, but even in these supposedly safe areas he was keeping his pistol in his holster and watching for any signs of trouble.
Forrest drifted up behind him, a flask of coffee in his hand, and said, “Interested?”
“Always,” Cooper said, waving the sergeant to his side. “Feels good to be back here for good this time.”
“You think we’ve got this one?”
Nodding, Cooper replied, “If it’s just down to us ground-pounders, then yes. They’re broken, Sergeant. You could see it when they scattered. We’ve got most of their supplies and the capital ships can stop anything else getting to them.” Another crack echoed, and he continued, “That doesn’t mean we don’t have to be careful.”
“Pacifying this place won’t take days or weeks, Ensign. It’s going to take months, and we’re still going to be taking casualties for most of that time. I don’t think most of the men are appreciating that. They think this battle’s won.”
“Give them a break,” he replied. “This was their first time, for almost all of them.”
“They performed well in battle,” the sergeant conceded. “Not that I liked the casualty rate.”
“We got the numbers?”
“Twelve percent dead, forty-one percent wounded. Most of them will be back on the line in a few days.” Shaking his head, he replied, “That’s not counting the ones we lost on the carrier, of course.”
“Yeah,” Cooper said. He smiled, and continued, “Are we getting too used to this?”
“Turning into a real veteran now,” Forrest said. “One-year wonder.”
“Come on, Sergeant…”
“Relax, I’m kidding. Sir. It wasn’t this bad in the big damn war. Not really. We had a lot of big actions, but it was always two months of prep for two hours of fighting. Now we’re doing hit and run stuff, ground assaults, none of which was in any of the manuals I read.” Gesturing at a snoring trooper at the far end of the corridor, he said, “That’s the future of this outfit. We’re going to need the numbers.”
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