General Honorius waved his hand at the central screen as a myriad of small craft swarmed all over the Anchorage.
“Your weapons are impressive, Colonel. But defensive fire will not win the day.”
He signalled towards the many craft swooping in to land across the Anchorage while muttering barely coherent words, most of the effect lost by the long time it took the translators to do their work.
“This battle will be a disaster if we cannot extract our people. We have to protect Kalar. How did they get past us?”
Gun took three steps closer and shook his head.
“Who cares, General?”
Spartan sensed the mood and could see what the situation demanded.
“CTC has clearly passed on the specs for our original engine designs to the enemy. We’ve seen ships similar to this one before. Just be thankful they didn’t get access to the designs of the engines in these ships.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Gun chuckled.
“Because the Navy took over control of the project at that point.”
Something flickered in Gun’s eyes.
“Maybe that was the moment CTC took the money and stole what we’d already worked on.”
Spartan shrugged.
“That’s for another day. Right now the Star Empire has limited access to the prototype pulsed engines, and that gives them an advantage over all ships, except ours.”
“True,” replied Gun, “And right now we have more pressing matters.”
As if to emphasise the point, a pair of X1 drone fighters moved past, followed closely by a single Jackal gunship. All three opened fire as enemy fighters swarmed around the capital ships.
“We have our mission.”
The General looked to the Alliance officers, but a mere Byotai General would not cow Colonel Gun. The fleet and the ground forces it carried were his responsibility, and he considered every one of them his children and his brothers.
“We preserve the fleet and the people, General. They come first, no matter what. The Anchorage has been utterly overwhelmed. I’m calling back all my units.”
Spartan and Gun saw the anguish in the General’s face, but neither was prepared to lose everything to safeguard a lump of rock and metal for another few days. Colonel Gun moved to his position at the centre of the command deck and continued calling out orders to his officers. Spartan watched him with amusement as he directed the battle with a barrage of commands. Honorius remained locked in front of the screens, unable to tear himself away from the fight.
“Gun. This is getting messy, fast.”
His friend nodded in agreement.
“I know. We need to keep the fleet together, or we’ll lose this one.”
He paused for a moment and then pointed at the enemy ships. Three in particular were proving much more efficient than the others. Their gunfire was almost continuous, coming down like rain on the allied fleet.
“It’s time to bring our own fire to this fight. Hit them with everything!”
Victorious was a powerful vessel, but her status as the flagship brought her more attention than any other vessel in the flotilla. Gunfire from the Star Empire cruisers lashed her flanks, many shots damaging the layered armour.
“Hull breaches on levels six through seven,” called out the Chief of Engineering, “Repair team inbound.”
Captain Delatorre shook his head.
“Negative. Seal the compartments and withdraw inside. No repairs until the fight is over.”
It was a hard lesson, but they all knew it was the correct thing to do. Once a compartment had been breached, it created a weakness in the ship. Sending people nearby exposed them to danger, in an already compromised section.
“Keep the damage teams back and at the key positions. If we lose power, we’re dead.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Spartan watched the unfolding battle with a mixture of irritation and frustration. The three Confederate Class warships split apart into a wide line, presenting their bows to the opposing line of Star Empire cruisers. They were outnumbered more than two to one, but that didn’t stop them facing off for a major duel. Spartan wanted to get stuck in, but so far General Honorius and Colonel Gun had held him back from launching attacks with his troops. So he moved to the bank of three massive displays at the centre of the command deck.
“This is not what we planned, Gun. We cannot stay here and fight every fleet we come across. At some point, we have to head back.”
The other two officers nodded in agreement.
“I know. We’re supposed to be returning to Taxxu. Trust me, I know. But we cannot do a thing until all our assets are here, and in once piece. More or less.”
General Honorius spoke through is translator. His voice was calmer and less emotional than before.
“You are correct, Spartan. But Katanga’s forces could turn the tide of the coming battle. We cannot leave him here. If we are to leave the Kalar Anchorage, then it must be all of us, or none of us.”
Spartan remained unconvinced.
“Perhaps. But what good are they if we lose half this fleet getting them out of here? I cannot allow these ships to be destroyed on a vanity project, General. We have Z’Kanthu and a contingent of his ground forces still in the fleet. I would argue they are a bigger asset. Hell, they are a bigger asset!”
General Honorius did not seem impressed by his argument, but Gun continued to argue on his behalf.
“True. We will stay here as long as we have to, though. You saw the orders from the Admiral. He wants us back, and he wants Katanga back, too. If we have a chance, we’ll bring back both.”
Gun then snorted angrily to himself.
“One day we’ll actually get to have a fair fight, one where we don’t have to race about instead of actually finishing a battle.”
He clenched both of his massive paws.
“For now we fight our way out. But first we need to clear a path for the Byotai to break out. We can’t leave half the crews behind, and every minute is making that harder.”
He pointed to the line of enemy ships lying between them and the Anchorage. Shots moved back and forth between the many different ships, and to the uninitiated it must have looked nothing more than a mass brawl. The effect was much worse when torpedoes and missiles from each side left their long trails behind as they accelerated towards their targets. Defensive fire from the assault carriers, transports, and cruisers filled every direction with superheated metal.
“How long until the place is fully evacuated?”
Five-Seven, the second-in-command of the ship shifted his eyes as he scanned screens of data. He knew the ship almost as well as Gun and Spartan, and his crew of Thegns performed with incredible efficiency. None of those on board gave him more than a second look anymore, but General Honorius still found it strange to have a Thegn as part of the crew. The foot soldiers of the Biomechs had been their archenemies. Spartan might trust the thing, but he always maintained a wary distance.
“Evacuation is sixty percent complete. Estimated time is two hours to get every fighter, shuttle, and transport on board.”
Five-Seven could see that was not the answer they wanted to hear. In the past he would have said no more, but experience told him they expected more, and one thing he always desired was to be as useful as he could.
“Our ships are not designed for this turnover of spacecraft, and many are struggling to break the blockade. If we were not in the middle of a major battle, this would be much easier.”
Spartan brought his fist down on the computer system, breaking the discussion.
“That’s way, way too long. Every minute here risks our fleet. We cannot just wait here to load them while fighting a simultaneous battle.”
He considered his options, and then pointed to the widely spaced group of heavily protected Spartan Class landing ships.
“What about our armoured transports? Can we use them to speed things up?”
Captain Delatorre
brought up the view of the three Spartan Class landing ships.
“All three are fully engaged handling the shuttles. They are working at double capacity, but the enemy is sending in fighters to slow them down.”
His expression was one of resignation.
“Frankly, I’m amazed a single shuttle is making it aboard intact. Our people are putting up one hell of a fight.”
Spartan knew immediately what was happening. He looked at the battle as though it was a ground operation. If this were him, he’d have used the evacuation as an opportunity. He’d done basically the same himself on numerous occasions. Create chaos and confusion, let the enemy attempt to withdraw, and then when at the most vulnerable, strike.
“The attack on the station, it’s a bluff. They can take it any time, and right now they need all their ships mobilised to take on the Admiral. Unless…”
“Go on,” said Gun, “Tell us?”
Spartan licked his lips as he walked towards the screens. The left unit showed a close-up image of a transport loading on shuttles.
“What if they want to cause a panic and an evacuation of the station, to pin us here so that we have to make a choice. Either we leave and risk losing tens of thousands of Byotai, and Katanga’s ships. Or we stay, and are destroyed piecemeal. Either way, we’ll be stuck here long enough for the big…”
Before he could say more, a unit of three vessels appeared a short distance away. They came in fast as though simply materialising out of thin air. For the tiniest of moment he thought it might be IAB reinforcements, but Spartan knew his luck never seemed to run in that direction.
“New contacts, three ships, all transmitting Star Empire IFF signals, and fifteen thousand kilometres away. They’ve arrived at long-range and will be here in twenty-three minutes. They are launching fighters. Four squadrons, plus bombers,” said Captain Delatorre, “Their flagship is demanding we close our gun ports and surrender. Her commander is a Military Tribune Naciss.”
Commander Higgins recognised that name immediately and rose to his feet.
“Sir, I know that name.”
Spartan looked at him, tilting his head in a questioning manner.
“Well?”
“Sir, he was the leader of the Nozu-Kuba People's Militia. He’s psychotic and bent on the destruction of anything Biomech tainted. He’s a true believer.”
Colonel Gun heard this and groaned with irritation.
“And now he leads this motley fleet. I assume Tribune is a promotion.”
Spartan was unsure, but Commander Higgins nodded quickly.
“Yes, Sir. The hierarchical system has a rough parallel in our old Roman military system. That’s why Command has used relative titles. Princeps at the top, generals and admirals are Legates, and then to the Tribunes.”
“And the Centurions?” Spartan asked.
“A class of professional officer, Sir, according to the report.”
“Impressive,” said Gun, “When I have time, I might need to have a look at that report.”
Spartan gave him a strange look, but Commander Higgins couldn’t quite make it out from where he stood. He could, however, see the General, and he seemed most amused by what was happening. Finally, Gun rubbed at his chin and turned back to the data showing for the new ships.
“So, we know who their commander is, and he is motivated. That changes things.”
Gun pointed at the central screen, but they already recognised the silhouette of the infamous ship, one that continued to elude capture. They’d seen her lines many times now, from the front and along the flanks. Spartan bared his teeth as he looked at their old foe.
“Well, I’ll be damned if that ship is not the Raiukat. The ship keeps appearing and kicking our asses.”
Captain Delatorre called out to them.
“That’s not the Raiukat, Sir. Sensors show a different signature and weapon layout. It appears to be the same basic class. Her IFF is broadcasting loud and clear. She’s the Grand Cruiser Tabarzinn.”
In less than thirty seconds, the three arrivals opened their gun ports and activated their long-range scanners. Warnings triggered inside Victorious, but even that wasn’t enough to trigger a panic. The crew remained calm and resolute, as always.
“Okay, that changes things,” said Spartan, “Those three, plus the eight advanced cruisers, and the four Leviathans makes us about even. If we stay, we will win, but I promise you, we’ll suffer for it.”
“It’s worse,” said Gun, “Look.”
“It always is, isn’t it? One day we might actually have numbers and time on our side.”
All eyes turned to the imagery of the four massive transports on the left-hand screen. It shifted from the Alliance vessels and towards the middle of the battle. What the huge Leviathan style ships lacked in military capability, they more than made up for with their hidden arsenal of spacecraft. Red icons appeared all around them as many more craft moved out from inside the protective enclosure of their hulls.
“Are you kidding? Seriously, are you seeing this?”
Spartan moved closer and enlarged the image of a single transport. Large doors at its flanks were wide open, and smaller ships were slipping out. He counted three before looking back.
“They are holding three or more light cruisers inside their hulls?”
“Confirmed,” said Captain Delatorre, “Anicinàbe Lancer light cruisers, ten, no, fifteen of them in total, and deploying around the transports. They’ve used the transports as carriers for their warships.”
Spartan added up the numbers in his head.
“Twenty-six warships and four heavy transports. Against three of our ships, eight Byotai attack cruisers, and our three armoured transports.”
He looked to Gun.
“This is not good.”
Gun didn’t look worried.
“Agreed, we will have to speed things up. We move in closer, engage the enemy, and reduce the time for our friends to reach us. Then we get out of here.”
General Honorius’ eyes opened wide.
“You want to run the guns of their cruisers?”
Before Gun could speak, Spartan intervened.
“Not that easy, old friend. We all know the options. We’ve talked about them enough.”
He sounded irritated, but not with those around him. The situation frustrated him, and Spartan was a man of action, not words. He wanted to do something, and anything was better than standing around talking.
“We can jump with the interstellar drive, but not the Byotai. Either we leave them behind, or we stay here and fight it out. We decide…now.”
That made Gun’s upper lip quiver.
“Spartan is right. Time for talk is over, and I’m bored of running. It’s time to fight.”
He gave the General a brief look but could tell the old Byotai agreed with his assessment. Losing Katanga’s ships would be a great tragedy, but yet another withdrawal in the face of the enemy, especially in their current circumstances was just too much.
“This is Colonel Gun. Target the light cruisers first, and follow us through. Get in close, I mean within five hundred metres. Fire at will.”
He then contacted Katanga in person. An image of the Warlord appeared on the central screen. He was dressed as before and flanked by a cadre of hardened warriors.
“General. What is your status?”
The Warlord grunted before answering.
“My ships have all detached from the Anchorage. There are many civilians, engineers, and soldiers still trying to leave. I cannot linger closer to the station, though. My ships need space to move so I can engage the enemy.”
Spartan moved in closer.
“We are moving in. We have twenty minutes to cause as much damage as we can, then we’re leaving.”
The Byotai looked surprised.
“Twenty?”
Gun nodded.
“Yes. Twenty minutes. We have to leave before the reinforcements arrive. If not, we’re all staying here, and it won’t
end well. They could bring in more at any moment. So we do what we can, with what we have.”
Katanga shrugged.
“I have no problem with that. Kalar is as good a place as any to…”
“No,” said General Honorius, “Our Human friends are correct. The decisive battle will not be fought here. Not today. But there is still time to fight. Ready your warriors for one great effort. Before we leave we must smash them. Leave their ships burnt and ruined.”
He pointed at the screen, selecting a single location at the centre of the blockade.
“We will work together, or fall together. Agreed?”
Katanga appeared to agree, though somewhat begrudgingly.
“Very well. What is your plan?”
Spartan listened as Gun outlined the suicidal plan. It was as short as it was violent, and as Katanga listened, his grin widened. Gun finally stopped, and the Byotai roared with amusement.
“Jötnar, you are even crazier than me. I am in!”
“Good,” said Gun.
He then moved to his own officers and issued further orders. The mighty Jötnar had never chosen to be a fleet commander, but now that role had fallen upon him. Spartan might have even felt sorry for his old friend, but Gun never second-guessed his decisions, and that made all the difference. He might have started life as an artificial killing machine, but he was now one of the most experienced commanders in the Alliance. Every person in the fleet knew that Gun would make a decision, and stick to it. There was no doubt, and that instilled every one of them with fire, grit, and determination. After nearly thirty seconds of talking, he pointed to the central screen and the centre of the enemy line.
“Take us in, and use everything we have.”
“Yes, Colonel,” said Captain Delatorre, “All power to engines and forward guns.”
Spartan watched the screens as the forward guns opened fire. This revised version of the Confederate Class ship was a powerful vessel, perhaps the most powerful in the entire Alliance arsenal in a head-on fight. It shuddered ever so gently as it unleashed a veritable arsenal of weaponry. The combination of super-heavy particle cannons and mass driver bombardment cannons proved devastating. Spartan let a small smile form on his face as a cruiser disappeared under the heavy fire. All three Alliance warships did the same, concentrating their fire on the three nearest cruisers to the Anchorage.
Star Crusader: Siege of Kalar Page 11