Starhold's Fate

by J. Alan Field

  The engagement quickly turned into a free-for-all as the enemy battlecruisers lost the element of surprise and any semblance of formation or discipline. While superior Sarissan forces pounded away at the shrinking number of enemy targets, a text alert popped up in front of Pettigrew. It was from Lieutenant Aoki, operating from her station two decks below on the flag bridge.

  “Main Massang force now engaging Earth flotilla.”

  * * * *

  Earth titan Vanquisher

  Fleetmaster Maria Rhaab was not just any battle-tested veteran. The EarthFed space commander was a seasoned campaigner in not one but two universes, and no other person alive could make that claim. This was her third Battle of Earth and her fifth war overall. For all of that, the unfolding situation still filled her with trepidation.

  “Perhaps I’m growing soft,” she muttered, quietly sharing her concerns with John Favian, captain of her flagship. “Or maybe I’m just growing old.”

  “Or it could be neither, Fleetmaster,” countered Favian. “The Massang are almost certainly the forerunners of the Adversary. Their darkness is rooted in the very DNA of every New Earther. Facing them would give any sane military leader pause.”

  It was time to push aside her private fears. Rhaab’s signature husky voice projected the confident air of command her people were used to hearing.

  “Status report, Captain. Where are our allies right now? The Massang are nearly in weapons range, which means we will be getting a face full of those damnable surgewaves in short order.”

  Favian checked his report screen. “Pettigrew is fighting a squadron of enemy battlecruisers. Tovar’s ships are continuing to Gate into the system, but if you ask me, they’re taking their jolly time about it. I wish they had sent those ships through before the Massang arrived.”

  “And leave Sarissa vulnerable? No, they rightly chose to protect their own world until we were certain of Harradoss’s target. Exactly how far away is the Massang fleet?”

  An alarm roared as a watchkeeper shouted, “Missiles incoming!” Rhaab’s immense flagship trembled as a batch of enemy projectiles struck home.

  Favian cocked an eyebrow. “I believe they are within missile range, ma’am.”

  Rhaab did not appreciate the humor. “Dammit, Favian!” she yelled gruffly. “Number six shield array just allowed five enemy birds to smack into my brand-new ship. The battle hasn’t even begun and we’ve already taken damage to our forward armor.”

  “Minor damage, ma’am,” assured the contrite captain. “Apologies, Fleetmaster. We are on it.”

  “Sub-commander Gullan—show me where the enemy troop transports are.”

  Rhaab examined the tactical presentation. The vessels in question were highlighted at the rear of the Massang formation.

  “Those troop ships are our top priority,” Rhaab said in her firmest tone. “Vanquisher will advance with First and Second Divisions. I want to force the action here. Third Division will stay behind and coordinate with our orbital defense platforms to prevent any planetary bombardments or landings.”

  Favian cleared his throat. “Um, Fleetmaster—as Vanquisher moves through the enemy formation, every one of those enemy battleships are going to tee off on us.”

  “That’s the idea, Captain. The more the Massang heavy ships focus on us, the better chance our cruisers and destroyers will have to kill those troop transports.”

  Favian looked skeptical. “And if the troop ships outflank us and slip by during the battle?”

  “Then Third Division’s gunships will intercept and destroy them.”

  Rhaab turned away from Favian and faced the surrounding crew. “Not one!” she shouted hoarsely. Her clinched left fist held aloft before her, Maria Rhaab’s eyes moved from spacer to spacer. “Not one Massang monster sets foot on Earth. We—you and I—are the defenders of our people, the defenders of our world. Somewhere below us, a child plays in a Bakkoan park—a child we must not fail. Revered elders enjoy their home in New Tokyo, a family in Subashi, a young woman in Port Cairo… these are all people that we cannot and must not fail. No one on Earth deserves the dire fate of a Massang victory. It is a destiny too cruel, and one that would surely mean misery, slavery, and death for our people. We will not allow it! Onward to victory!”

  As Vanquisher and her consorts moved forward to engage the enemy, a coordinated launch let fly over a thousand missiles directed at the oncoming Massang vessels. Most of them were aimed at the dozen battleships which Harradoss still controlled.

  Behind that massive salvo, the Earth defense flotilla swiftly repositioned themselves, smaller escorts such as corvettes and gunships closing ranks with Rhaab’s titan for mutual support. Meanwhile, the trio of Sarissan cruisers under Rhaab’s command—Majestic, Ursus, and Resilience—steered a wider path off Vanquisher’s portside, edging away from the main fleet.

  As the distance between the two sides narrowed, missile exchanges became torpedo exchanges. Torpedoes were shorter range weapons but more accurate and with a higher explosive yield. Rhaab had once heard an ancient phrase: “more bang for the buck.”

  Closing to within twenty kilometers of the Earth fleet, the Massang warships carrying surgewave projectors opened fire. A tsunami of warped space-time crashed against the shields of Vanquisher. Secondary shield generators kicked on to replace damaged primary systems as engineering crews raced to make repairs. Auxiliary shielding was a luxury most ships didn’t have. The sheer size of the titan afforded it the ability to withstand what other warships could not, but even Vanquisher labored under the cumulative rage of the Massang weaponry.

  “Let them come just a bit closer,” directed Rhaab from her perch on the noisy Vanquisher bridge.

  “Ma’am, with respect—our escorts are getting slaughtered,” argued Favian. “We’ve lost nineteen destroyers and gunships. Surgewaves are killing most of the life pods, too. The pods can’t move away from the battle area fast enough. We need to break out the lances and we need to do it now.”

  “Can we extend our shields to protect the escorts?”

  “Fleetmaster, right now, our shields can barely protect this ship.”

  “Very well,” relented Rhaab, still not wholly convinced the timing was right. “Ready all particle lances batteries.”

  The particle lances were new weapons—focused energy beams embedded within a sheath of chaotic energy. In testing, the destructive effect on even the strongest armor was remarkable. The weapon might be a gamechanger, but it had yet to be used in actual combat.

  Rhaab blew out a deep breath. “Captain Favian—order the Majestic group to start their run. Weapons officer—fire particle lances!”

  Ten emerald tinted beams of light leapt from the titan, crossing the void in an instant. The opposing sides were still too far apart to engage conventional beam weapons, but the particle lances covered the distance with ease. Shields were ineffective against beams, the new energy rays bypassing those Massang defensive barriers and slashing directly into the enemy ships. Much of the initial barrage was aimed at the Massang battleship Parsax, which convulsed under the withering attack. Internal explosions and damage to its environmental generators forced the large vessel to drop out of the fight.

  “Enemy ships increasing speed,” alerted Favian. “They are closing to energy weapons range.”

  Rhaab tapped orders into her command console. “Fire particle lances again as soon as they recharge. Make ready focused beam cannons.”

  “Another round of surgewaves incoming!” yelled a watchkeeper.

  “We can’t take this indefinitely,” Rhaab mumbled to herself, hoping nobody heard her thinking out loud. “Can our particle lances reach the troop transports yet?”

  “A few of them,” answered Favian.

  “Then target those transports with the next round of fire.”

  While fresh surgewaves battered Vanquisher, the three Sarissan cruisers abruptly turned to starboard, cutting across and above the enemy formation. The design of most Massang warship
s made them more vulnerable from above, where they were lightly gunned and weakly armored. Earth’s allies had timed it perfectly, passing close and fast while strafing the enemy with particle beams and torpedoes.

  As effective as they were, the Sarissan’s luck soon gave out. Resilience took direct hits from a cluster of Massang missiles. As the ship slowed, other enemy vessels seized the opportunity to attack. Blood was in the water. Within minutes of being separated from its comrades, Resilience was gone.

  Majestic and Ursus pressed the attack, but the damage to both was mounting. Two Massang battleships simultaneously swung upward with particle beam batteries blasting at Majestic’s ventral armor. As the three ships did battle, brilliant flares of green light passed close to them. Vanquisher had just fired off a fresh round of particle lances. Five klicks from Majestic, two of the Massang troop vessels exploded in twin fireballs—their flames quickly suffocated by the vacuum of space, along with thousands of Massang warriors expelled into the Black.

  Captain Favian walked to Rhaab’s side. “Ma’am, this ship is in trouble. Damage control estimates as much as thirty percent of Vanquisher has either been destroyed or is uninhabitable. Should we consider evacuating at least part of the crew?”

  “And just how long do you think a life pod would last out there in that chaos?” asked Rhaab. “The next round of surgewaves would kill them for sure. Request denied.”

  “Fleetmaster, Captain!” shouted Sub-commander Gullan. “Incoming missiles—hundreds of them!”

  “Ready the flak cannons!” called Rhaab.

  Gullan shook his head. “No, ma’am—we are not the target. The missiles are friendlies. They are headed toward the Massang!”

  Rhaab checked the sensor screen. “It’s Pettigrew’s fleet. We might win the day yet, Favian. We just might…”

  27: Steadfast

  Massang battleship Chisellion

  Harradoss listened to his new adjutant ramble on. As impossible as it might seem, Captain Terux was just as irksome as Phersu—perhaps more so.

  “…twenty-one Earth destroyers and seven cruisers, including two Sarissan ships fighting in their ranks.”

  “An excellent report, Terux,” conceded Harradoss after the captain’s excessively detailed account came to a conclusion. “They cannot stop us!” he bellowed loudly, glancing around the command chamber in order to soak up the approval of his people.

  “And what of the Earth titan, Captain Terux?”

  “Heavily damaged, but still operational. Their new energy weapon is proving to be most troublesome, First Protector. Those green beams have destroyed or incapacitated four of our capital ships, as well as two heavy cruisers. We have nothing to counter it.”

  Harradoss sneered. “The answer is simple, Terux—destroy that titan! Once you do that, our triumph will be guaranteed.”

  Terux stroked the vertical ridges of his reddish-orange face, moving uncomfortably close for a private word. “First Protector—in all honesty, a victory is but a remote possibility at this point. The second line of Earth defenders remains intact. Forty percent of our invasion force has been destroyed and the remaining troop ships are under attack. We have already lost a total of six battleships. Meanwhile, Pettigrew’s fleet bombards us from the rear and we will shortly be within range of his particle cannons.”

  A dismissive moan came from deep in Harradoss’s throat. “What of the other Sarissan force? The one transiting the Gate?”

  “They have formed up and are heading our way. They arrive within the hour.”

  Harradoss haughtily raised his chin. “Then, Terux—why have you not ordered our ships forward? We must begin our troop landings at once, before the second Sarissan force arrives.” The staffers in the command chamber were all looking to him now. These true believers needed inspiration, a beacon to show them the way. Harradoss would be that guiding light, just as he had been so many times before.

  “Half our fleet will remain here to fight a holding action. The other half will come to course three-two-two point six. We will advance into a geosynchronous orbit above the Earth capital, Bakkoa. Once in position, we will bombard the city. The enemy will stand down to save the civilians on the surface. At that point, our warriors will land and assume control of the planet. These beings are weak-willed. I guarantee the humans will capitulate.”

  Terux vacillated. “First Protector, the course correction you ordered will place us in a direct line of fire from Pettigrew’s fleet.” Chisellion trembled as if to agree. The ship had taken three Sarissan missiles on its starboard armor.

  “You have not become a defeatist, have you Terux?” snarled Harradoss.

  The captain stood his ground. “No, my lord, but what you ask is impossible.”

  To his credit, Terux did not cower as Phersu had. Harradoss reached out, placing an arm around the sturdy officer.

  “My good Captain Terux, we need to speak somewhere in private—the corridor will do. Walk with me.”

  * * * *

  “Pettigrew to Leversee. Take Cruiser Division Five to reinforce the EarthFed titan, ASAP. They’re taking a real beating over there.”

  “Leversee here. Order acknowledged, Admiral. We are on our way.”

  Pettigrew’s fleet was now in a position to fully engage the Massang forces—and with any luck, destroy them. His flagship, Typhoon, advanced in concert with four allied heavy cruisers and four destroyers. Their target: a cluster of three enemy battleships—half of Harradoss’s remaining capital assets. This particular trio had been engaged in the siege of Vanquisher and were only now swinging their forward facing surgewave projectors around to meet fresh attackers. The Massang were almost in a position to open fire, but it was too late—they had been outmaneuvered by Pettigrew’s ships.

  “Fire!”

  Scores of Cheetah missiles made the short lethal run to the Massang battleships. As they struck their targets, the Sarissans also fired a corresponding round of particle beams. The closest enemy vessel, identified as the Scepter of Rasquin, was quickly overcome by the assault. Explosions ripped through its bow and compartment after compartment burst open, emptying its contents into space. Massang spacers were sucked into the Black, along with chunks of metal and other debris.

  To the aft of the mortally wounded Scepter of Rasquin, another enemy battleship managed to fire their surgewave weapon, followed by a cluster of missiles. Their target—a Sarissan cruiser four klicks off Typhoon’s port—dealt well enough with the onslaught, but two nearby Imperial destroyers did not.

  Harpy was hit hard and began to vent atmosphere, so the vessel promptly made a turn for safer space. It would attempt some quick onboard repairs and return to the fight, or failing that, head for the closest EarthFed spacedock. It’s sister ship, Alicia, was not as fortunate. Life pods were already departing that destroyer.

  “Helm, bring us to course two-three-seven mark ten,” directed Pettigrew while punching at a comm button. “Typhoon to task force. Cythera, hang back to screen destroyer Alicia and assist with the recovery of her life pods. Everyone else, concentrate fire on designated target.” He tagged the enemy battleship which had fired the last surgewave.

  “Do we have IDs on those other two battleships?” asked Pettigrew.

  “Negative, sir,” answered a watchkeeper. “CIC is calling them Bandits Alpha and Beta.”

  The ruined hulk of Scepter of Rasquin was drifting now and its two companion vessels were coming around it to establish a clear firing arc at Pettigrew’s task group.

  “Big mistake,” he muttered while watching the battle display. The enemy pair had momentarily separated, one tacking to the starboard of the disabled Rasquin, while the other vessel went to port. “Space warfare one-oh-one, ladies and gentlemen. By splitting up, they just lost any chance of survival. Tactical Officer, open fire on Bandit Alpha.”

  Bandit Beta was momentarily screened as it lurked behind the portside of Scepter of Rasquin, so the enemy ship designated as Alpha took the full measure of firepower from
Pettigrew’s battleship and remaining three heavy cruisers and two destroyers. During the last moments of Alpha’s demise, one of Pettigrew’s cruisers broke ranks.

  “Admiral, Hussar is veering away from the target,” advised Swoboda from his station.

  “Acknowledged. Has she been hit?”

  “Negative, sir. She’s—well, I’m not exactly certain what she’s doing. Wait just a minute… Admiral, I think—"

  “Damn it to hell! Hussar’s going for that other battleship! What the devil does Kilkenny think he’s doing?” cried Pettigrew while punching down on a comm key. “Captain Kilkenny, this is fleet command. Reverse course and return to the line of battle. Kilkenny, that’s an order!”

  Nyondo commented from the pilot’s seat. “He’s trying to duck below Scepter of Rasquin and hit Beta from underneath.”

  “He’s trying to be a damn hero, that’s what he’s trying to do,” Pettigrew said bitterly. “It’s not going to work, Kilkenny. Look at the live drone report—Beta has already affected a ninety-degree roll. All Hussar is going to get when they slide out from the cover of Rasquin is a full-on broadside of beams.”

  Both ships fired simultaneously, but Hussar got the worst of the exchange. Even without employing surgewaves, battleship Beta’s heavy particle beam batteries were at near point-blank range, slicing through the Imperial cruiser’s armor and exposing deck after deck to open space. Hussar counterattacked as best it could, but the fight was one-sided and brief. Within three excruciating minutes, the Sarissan cruiser was adrift in an uncontrolled spin, with the few life pods that actually made it away from the ship scattering in all directions.

  The sullen mood of Typhoon’s bridge was broken by the voice of the communications officer. “Sir, we are receiving a signal from that third enemy battleship, Bandit Beta. They are identifying themselves as the Chisellion.”

  “Chisellion?” said Swoboda. “That’s Harradoss’s flagship.”