Then again, too late was better than too early. If the Tau Ceti ships pulled off without severe losses, that is. They would hang around the Khalia awaiting reinforcements, and the alien combined fleet wouldn’t dare risk diversions under those circumstances. The Weasels would either beat a retreat or else see about their own reinforcements. It wasn’t likely either side wanted an even slugging match. Then one or the other would lose its fleet in being. The Khalia certainly had an empire of sorts, just as the Fleet had to be around to hold the Alliance together. Perhaps the Weasels had weasels of their own to raid ’em. Too early, too late, too nothing. We just had to be on time!
* * *
Because the Hydra had the best sensors, she led the way. She dropped back into normal space and shot out a beacon buoy even as the crew maneuvered the ship into the proper position and spun her so that the launch tubes would come on line. Every three seconds and another wave of twenty little STCs were sent arrowing toward the black hulks which were the Khalian dreadnoughts. The whole process was over in thirty seconds, and the Hydra was back into FTL under a minute later. Just before that happened, I saw the little specks of the rest of our ships suddenly appearing on the screen. Too bad. The Hydra had come in about a million kilometers too far out. There’d be some long-range exchanges after all.
My personal intercom clicked, and I switched to command channel.
“Care to join me on the quarterdeck, General?” Cunningham had a fine sense of the anachronistic.
“I’ll stay here with my men, thanks, Ted. As soon as they go to quarters, though, I’ll take you up on your offer.” In just a couple of minutes the second call to battle stations sounded, and Major Brady, CO of the marine spacecraft teams, led the ten crews to their boats. I watched them seal up, then headed for the forward elevator.
“Permission to come on deck, Admiral.”
“Permission granted, General. Just take a spare seat and lock in. We’re dropping out again in ... forty-four seconds now.”
A blur, then streaks, and suddenly the whole of space appeared on the huge viewscreen. Magnification brought what was happening up close When we had first come into the space where the two forces were moving to engage, the Khalian main body had been in line ahead, a division of their supercruisers fore and aft, the line of three lumbering dreadnoughts. A half-dozen or more smaller vessels were scattered around the line in a screening formation. It appeared to be a perfect opportunity, and the commander of the Fleet task force had taken it thus. His array was arrowing toward the Khalia in five columns. On the far right and far left of the formation were flotillas of destroyers led by the small cruisers from Tau Ceti. The right-hand group was echeloned so as to cover any move which would involve a turn of the Weasel line ahead to hook to their lift to hit the flank or rear of the Fleet vessels. The other flotilla was in line with the three main columns moving to attack. Farthest right of these heavies was a division or four of the fleet’s grim battlewagons. Next to it, in the virtual center of the formation, was a division of five more of these big starships. The first four were evidently meant to tear up the leading cruisers, while the five battleships to their left hit the three dreadnoughts. There was also a column of smaller ships, the two new battlecruisers, and a pair of the Fleet’s heavy cruisers trailing them, meaning to mix it up with the trailing division of six Khalian attack cruisers.
It was a very sound bit of tactics. The right-most division of four of the Fleet’s battleships would savage the attack cruisers in the Weasels’ lead with ease. The flotilla echeloned rearward would then run in and finish cripples, while one or more of the big ships turned to aid the center division of five battleships, which would by then be locked in combat with the dreadnoughts. That would give the Fleet at least two-to-one on the Khalian big boys, and the Weasels could kiss it good-bye. The action at the tail of the line would be the hottest for the Tau Ceti bunch, no doubt. There the match was about even, and both sides would take losses. No matter. With the head stopped and lopped off, there would be plenty of time to work on the middle and then get back to the tail to make the action a defeat in detail.
That had been a few minutes earlier. Of course the star admiral of the White commanding the task force about to engage the Khalian fleet was unaware of what else I had seen as the Hydra blinked in and out. Moving at full speed in line ahead was another formation of Weasel ships. A division of six dreadnoughts was coming up so as to be in position behind the attacking columns of Alliance vessels. They would be the hammer for the anvil of the other line of Khalia. They had a flotilla of screening raiders with them, but these attack destroyers were really along for the ride and the mop-up after the main action. The three football-like raiders were in line ahead to the left flank and rear of the dreadnoughts already beginning to maneuver off toward the left so as to catch the Tau Ceti boys’ smaller destroyers.
What had happened with our STCs in the interval? Now we’d know. All sorts of alarms were hooting and walling, and the com channels were going crazy. Nonetheless, the Hydra spun and the last twenty of our little boats were launched in two waves of ten—marine first, naval second. It was no wonder that the ship and its crew were making a bedlam of it. We’d come into normal space between the two columns of Khalia hot-rocketing it to the engagement. Streaks and flashes from plasma cannons and exploding missiles showed that there must still be some of the STCs in action against the six dreadnoughts. No! There was the whole of the Confederation’s navy swinging to cut ahead of the Khalian column in a classic T-crossing maneuver, Then I got a good look at the division of big Weasel battlewagons. There were only three in proper order. Two others were straggling and out of position, and way back was the sixth, dead in space.
“Bravo niner, you just put that one into the bastard’s ear!” It was one of my boys cheering. I’d switched to their com channel, and the STCs crews were chattering like a band of monkeys as they fought. About that time I saw one of the straggling dreadnoughts shimmer, and there was a sudden sun glow near its stern.
“Aww shit,” another voice cried over the channel. “Those bastards just got Charlie! Look it. That little streak of molten stuff is all that’s—” Then there was a sudden silence, and I saw another tiny bright spot fade away on the viewscreen. I couldn’t take more of that, so I turned my gaze to the duel going on between our lone capital ship and the four frigates supporting it.
Not much better viewing there. Just as I focused on that engagement, one of the frigates was bathed in a hellish fire and fell out of line. The leading dreadnought was taking a real pounding, though. Its screens were glowing where they were taking hits from missiles and cannons. Quite a few were getting through, too. I wondered when it would have to drop its defenses. Soon, I thought, and then you could scratch one Weasel battlewagon for sure. Already the Retaliation was switching its concentration of fire to the second Khalian dreadnought, leaving the lead vessel to be pounded by our big frigates. This wasn’t so bad after all. The captain of our liner knew something I couldn’t see, or else he’d never have redirected his fire. The first dreadnought began to glow, its outer hull incandescent forward. That was it for him!
The Retaliation was coming about, tacking so as to get into position to pass down the enemy column, her escort of three frigates following bravely. I didn’t want to think about the pounding all five ships were taking from the Weasels’ big vessels, the casualties mounting and damage sustained. Where were the other frigates? Then I saw them. It was crazy. The two other cruisers, along with our four corvettes, were coming into position on the other flank of the Weasels’ dreadnought division, popping away at those big still ships as if they could seriously harm them. They were supposed to be after the escorting raider-class vessels, not mixing it up with heavies!
“Whum-whum-whum!” The deck vibrated, and the air compression hurt my eardrums. We’d taken hits there for sure. I’d been so wrapped in watching the action elsewhere that I’d ignored the screens sh
owing what was going on around the Hydra. Now I understood why the second squadron had gone in after the Khalian dreadnoughts. All three of the escorting raiders were well away from them and coming in after the Hydra. I was going to see firsthand just how accurate Ted was in his claims that his ship could fight as well as tote around STCs.
“Damage report.”
“Starboard seventy-twos hit, sir. Two launch locks destroyed, three seriously damaged. Casualties not fully reported sir, but as soon as they’re in I’ll feed ’em to Myrtle.” The officer reporting referred there to Hydra’s computer. The damned thing was near sentient, and I could understand the personification, especially since “her” voice wasn’t very sonorous ....
“Launch those Stonewalls, Commander, and get those cannons into action!” Cunningham sounded angry. He had reason to be. We shouldn’t have taken those hits. “What’s wrong with Myrtle?”
“She’s overloaded, Admiral. Trying to keep track of the STCs, the actions around, and handle all the rest of what’s going on has slowed her down by a full second!”
That was heartening at least. There were still STCs out there, a lot of ’em in fact, or else the computer wouldn’t be in trouble. Ted’s instructions were simple enough. Manual override whenever a missileer officer or gunner felt like it. The Hydra immediately began humming and giving occasional lurches. Cannons and rockets were shot off; incoming stuff was being fired at or screened out. Her armament wasn’t particularly heavy, but the Hydra had a lot of small stuff. I watched a whole flock of glittering specks impact on one of the Weasel raiderclass destroyers, and another, and another. In a minute or two there wasn’t a Khalian ship there any more, although in the meantime the Hydra took more damage. It was going to be a rough go, but I was sure that Ted was right about his baby. The Hydra could take it—and hand a lot back too. The launcher was being conned around so as to head back our fleet. That was also where the STCs were.
Spaceships don’t just stop dead when they’ve been put out of the fight. Velocity remains constant, of course, in near-frictionless conditions. Disabled craft are a handicap, though, so Fleet, Khalia, or Confederation SOP is to use retros and bring the disabled vessel to a halt so as to keep her out of harm’s way and not interfere with those ships still in fighting trim. That applies only to the severely damaged craft, naturally, those ships virtually powerless to defend themselves any longer or get off any fire. Happily, I now saw that three of the Khalian dreadnoughts were in just such condition. No—make that four! The lead ship had just broken in two parts. That left only two of the Weasels’ big boys. Then I got a look at our own losses and felt sick.
The Retaliation and a pair of our frigates were still in there slugging, although all three were battered. The squadron on the other flank of the Khalia was in worse trouble. Of the two cruisers and four corvettes which had been in line, only the last little destroyer and the tail-end frigate were still firing. How the corvette had managed to survive until now was in itself something of a miracle. Not only had those two survived, but they were closing on the dreadnoughts before my eyes! Then another of the Khalia went off course, and I could see the little flashes which indicated STCs in action. The dreadnought must have been caught by a cluster of stalker mines dropped earlier. Those deadly canisters would move toward any mass which didn’t broadcast on a set frequency to warn them off. With their fifth battlewagon out of commission, the Weasels were just about finished.
Their raiders weren’t about to have done with the Hydra, though. The exchanges of salvos and cannonry continued unabated, with the Hydra taking a whole lot more damage than any ship should. About half of her launch locks were out of commission now, as were the cannon blisters and missile ports. Ted had been a little overconfident about his baby after all. I began to wonder if he and I would be around to celebrate. There wasn’t time to worry about that sort of crap, though. I actually had a function other than supercargo. Cunningham was frantic, trying to deal with the attacking heavy destroyers while having to begin the process of recovering his boats on the side away from the action. Only a handful were now trying to come home, but that was sufficient. The little STCs hadn’t fuel or anything else for extended operations, and they had to be taken in soon.
The Hydra was moving into the fray, however, and it was time for me to act. “Admiral Cunningham, permission to launch boarding parties?”
“Take your boarding parties and—” Ted snapped his mouth shut, realizing that he was beginning to lose it. This was his first major action, too, and I understood. “Sorry, General Hohenstein. Commander Jensen is in charge of that. If he can get those longboats into a launching lock and get them away without interrupting STC recovery, you have permission.”
I hurried below to where the companies of my grunts were packed into the boarding craft, waiting their turn. Each stripped-down company occupied one of the so-called longboats. The boats were actually specially built boarding craft, complete with heavy-duty, short-range laser and nitroplast, application arms. Flat-nosed and blocky, these were good for only unopposed approaches, which we had, almost. Four boats were still only enough for a single dreadnought. Then these tubs would have to head back to the Hydra, load fresh troops, and set out again. The rest of the boarding craft were scattered around among the other ships in the Confederation’s little navy, and it wasn’t likely that many of them would be able to get away. Maybe those from the Retaliation and just possibly a couple from the frigates ... if any survived intact when the Khalia were finished. I was too busy with my own worries now. Colonel Keogh was going with the first wave, so I gave him final instructions and saw the four longboats off.
“Why’s there so little incoming stuff?” I asked the launch officer.
Commander Jensen was sweaty-faced and grim, but at that he managed a weak smile. “I just heard the admiral say that the last of the Weasels’ raiders had bought it, General,” the fellow said with a lot of pride in his voice. “Hydra isn’t a ship to mess with and has now proved it!”
I bit my tongue not mentioning the terrible pounding we’d taken in the process of getting rid of what amounted to only a trio of upgraded destroyers. “I’ll be damned, Commander,” I grinned in reply, then I was all military again. “The next companies of marine boarders will be assembling here in a couple of minutes, Mr. Jensen. Tell my officers where to stow their men so that they don’t get in your way until the Longboats return.”
“Aye, aye, sir. I’ll keep those gr— your troops safe and sound until the boats are ready for a second wave, General. Sorry we couldn’t manage more than four, but ...”
“Understood, Commander,” I said, half turning to head back to the fighting bridge.
“Pardon, sir, but I did want to say that you marines are all right.”
“Eh? What do you mean, Commander?”
“It was your bunch that got the fourth Weasel big boy, General, but, the cost ...” He trailed off, seeing my expression.
“I hadn’t picked that up, Mr. Jensen, what with all that’s going on.”
“Oh ... Sorry, sir. I just heard myself, actually. We just took in the only remaining STCs, sir. Only three of your crews came back.”
I turned without a word and left, making my way forward and, above with a dragging step. My feet felt as heavy as my heart. This was a bitter victory. Still, it was a victory, no doubt. That was evident from the faces, the voices, and the viewscreens on the bridge. Ted Cunningham was too busy to notice me when I returned, so I slipped back into my seat without formalities. Donning the com gear, I switched through the various channels as I looked around to see the results of the action on the many screens of the big compartment.
The Retaliation had locked herself to the single active Khalian dreadnought. There would be no need for boarding by longboat there. I wondered how the Liberated Marine Division units who made up her marine complement would do in the ensuing melee. The 2nd Division was a tough lot. What price th
e Weasels would make them pay was the only question. The Hydra was limping toward the liner to join the pair of covering frigates with her. The bold little corvette and its frigate companion were amidst the others of their group. They were going to render assistance to their disabled comrades. Some of the damaged ships could be jury-rigged and operational again in a few hours, especially if they had spare parts and help from their more fortunate sister vessels. Some were expanding clouds of radioactive gas.
“Longboats returning, General. Permission to scrub the next wave of boarders and use them for STC crew rescue, sir.” Jensen’s tone was perfunctory, as if he was certain that there was no question of the matter.
“Permission denied, Commander. There’s a Weasel dreadnought out there, and it’s our duty to see that she’s boarded and taken as a prize. Survivors will have to wait.”
“But they have only an hour’s oxygen at best, General. Your own—”
“That’ll do, Mr. Jensen. Follow orders.”
“Aye aye, sir!” Commander Jensen said with a grim face. He began issuing orders over the communications band assigned to grunt work. In minutes the second wave would be off, so I scanned the screens quickly to assess what was happening.
The Hydra was moving in a slow circle which took her through the areas where the first and second groups of STCs had been launched. All operational boats had been recovered, but there was still the likelihood that amidst the debris littering space here, there were living crewmen awaiting rescue. Only a pair of tiny rescue craft was available. But they gave the poor beggars drifting out there at least a glimmer of hope.
The Fleet Book Three: Break Through Page 12