Black Dawn (Blood on the Stars Book 8)

by Jay Allan

  At least for whatever time we’ve got left…

  “I know you are, Captain…I just wanted to say, if it comes down to taking a risk, even a wild one…if we don’t get partial power restoration quickly, none of it’s going to matter anyway.”

  Fritz had restored some scanner input as well, enough for Eaton to see the two ships about to finish off her flagship. Tactically, she understood it was vital for her to know what was out there…but if she wasn’t going to get a chance to even fight back, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have preferred the blindness.

  “Understood, Commodore…and we’re going to be taking some chances for sure.” A brief pause. “Make sure everybody’s in their harnesses up there.” Eaton caught the edge in Fritz’s voice, and her gut told her they were all in for a rough ride.

  Eaton heard the click signaling that Fritz had closed the line. Technically, Fritz was the junior officer and should have waited until Eaton had dismissed her, but Sara didn’t care about that. Fritz, perhaps more than anyone else on Repulse, would determine how much longer they all lived. The engineer didn’t have time to waste on rank etiquette, and no one had less of a problem with that than Eaton.

  She reached out and grabbed the arms of her chair as Repulse shook yet again, taking another hit from the incoming Hegemony battleships. Her vessel was tough, but she was painfully aware it couldn’t take much more of the pounding. Luck had been with her for the last few shots. They’d been solid hits, but— save for the one—all in non-vital areas. If one more shot struck the ship in its guts…that would be the end.

  Eaton wanted to believe her ship—her whole fleet—had more fight in it, but she wasn’t sure it did…and she suspected it didn’t matter, either. Did it really make a difference if they survived an hour longer? They’d still all be dead, and taking out one or two more ships wasn’t going to stop the Hegemony.

  C’mon, Anya…I know what you did on Dauntless so often. We’d all counted you out…and somehow, you did what had to be done. Do that for Repulse, work your magic one more time…

  * * *

  Stockton looked again at the figures on his fuel gauge, watching the numbers drop every time his eyes darted back. But he was almost back to Repulse, close enough to attack the two enemy ships that were killing Commodore Eaton’s flagship.

  Repulse had absorbed shot after shot, each one noted with a tightening of Stockton’s innards. All the while he had been racing back, he’d expected to see the hit that finished the massive battleship. But, even crippled and unable to respond, she’d stood and took everything the enemy could send her way. She’d held long enough for Stockton’s fighters to arrive.

  He wasn’t sure his people could save Repulse, even though they’d made it back in time. The two enemy ships had their own damage, but they were still in reasonable condition, and normal strafing runs weren’t likely to have a massive effect. He was staring at the updated scanner readouts, looking for weak spots to attack, but so far, he’d come up with little for his efforts. There were hull breaches, but they were mostly small. That didn’t mean there weren’t sensitive spots, damaged locations where hits could penetrate and cause critical damage. But it did mean it was going to be hard to hit such precise and rare targets.

  Damned hard.

  He nudged the controls, bringing his sleek fighter around toward the nearer of the two ships. The closer one was the most damaged, and the one his squadrons could most likely hurt. He looked down at his readouts again. It was also the only one he was sure his people could reach with enough remaining fuel to execute a solid attack run.

  He knew this last assault would leave him virtually dead in space, and he was sure his pilots did as well. But they’d launched into the battle knowing the reality of the situation, and, like him, they were all veterans who’d faced death before. In their own ways, they were each ready for it every time they went down the tubes and back into the fight. If the end had to come, he was also certain it would come easier to them if it achieved something, like saving Repulse.

  He could see the target getting larger on his scanners. The ship was heavily engaged with Repulse, and it was immediately apparent that the focus on the Confederation battleship degraded the effectiveness of the enemy’s point defense turrets. They were still firing, but not all of them, and not as accurately. Stockton didn’t know if it was a limitation of their information systems or power transmission, or simply the Hegemony’s lack of anti-fighter doctrine. He didn’t care. Anything that took the heat off as his people came in was welcome to him.

  His eyes moved over his screens, scouring the enemy ship for weak spots. The vessel had taken a number of hits. Some of them had been glancing blows, leaving partially-melted and refrozen gouges across the hull…nothing his fighters could exploit with any real effectiveness. But there were two solid hits, both of which had left twenty meter or larger breaches. The cuts looked deep as well, giving him hope they exposed some vital systems.

  Hitting a twenty meter wide target while coming in at attack speed wasn’t going to be easy, not even for ace pilots. He thought about giving his people a final pep talk, but he decided that was pointless. Those that had followed him were committed…and they knew what to do. And actions spoke far louder than words. He would show them, not tell them. He would hit one of those holes in the hull, no matter what it took…and demonstrate to his pilots they weren’t impossible targets after all.

  He adjusted his vector, choosing an angle of assault that would give him the best possible shot. Success would be measured by fractions of a second, and coming in the right way might give him an extra tenth of a second. That could be the difference between a hit and a near miss.

  He checked his guns, making sure they were fully charged. He wasn’t sure how many shots his reactor could power. He’d turned off the safeguards that diverted all energy from weapons to engines when fuel levels dropped below three percent of capacity. He hadn’t come all this way to have engine power for an extra fifteen minutes. He’d come to blast that damned enemy ship, and to do that, he needed energy for his lasers, even if that left him helpless after the attack run.

  Next, he cut down his thrust and evasive maneuvers to minimal levels in a bid to save enough power to ensure he could finish his assault. It made him a better target for the enemy, but the defensive fire was still weak, and the steadier course would help his own targeting as much as that of anyone shooting at him.

  He flipped the arming switch, activating the already-charged laser turrets. His guns were ready to fire.

  The range was close now, and even the spotty enemy fire was beginning to feel dangerous. A few laser blasts came within five hundred meters or so of his ship. Not near enough to cause any damage, but close enough to make him feel a coldness in his spine.

  His eyes flicked down, checking on the growing formation behind him. Almost one hundred fighters had formed up, following his lead. Many of them were close now, tucked in right behind him, and the rest were rapidly approaching. That meant some had burned even more fuel than he had. They’d all make it through their runs—he hoped they would—but he’d have people running out of juice almost immediately after. Without enemy fighters out there to pick them off, they wouldn’t be in any danger at first. But their emergency life support wouldn’t last forever, and he doubted any of them expected Repulse and the other Confederation ships to survive much longer, even if they saved the flagship from immediate destruction. The best his stranded people could hope for was to live long enough to watch their comrades on the big ships fight to the end…and then slowly suffocate or freeze to death.

  The range meter dropped below ten thousand kilometers, pulling Stockton’s attention from his morose thoughts to the attack at hand. If this was going to be his final fight, the last thing he was going to do was miss. He checked and rechecked his targeting, made minor changes to the gun sighting. He knew his attack angle to a thousandth of a degree, and he’d imagined the run a hundred times in his mind, over and over again as
he came closer.

  His hand tightened around the throttle, his finger over the firing stud. Eight thousand kilometers.

  He stared straight ahead, began taking deep, regular breaths. He needed everything his AI could give him…and all he could dredge up from his gut, too. He could feel his heart pounding, the sweat pooling on his shoulders, dripping down his back under his flight suit.

  Thoughts intruded of the people who were important to him—those gone, like Kyle Jamison, and those still here, like Stara…waiting on Repulse to see if he would save her, or at least buy her a few more moments…

  He pushed it all out of his mind. It was time for Raptor Stockton’s last attack.

  * * *

  “Twenty seconds, Commodore. I’m restarting the reactor, and then I’m going to feed the energy through the lines to the batteries, at a far faster rate than regs allow. It will either work…or it will fail catastrophically, and we’ll be blown to atoms.” A short pause. “The bright side is, if the worst happens, I doubt we’ll even have time to know it didn’t work.”

  Eaton’s hands tightened on her chair. Fritz hadn’t given much warning—or time for her to cancel the operation—but she had told the engineer to take some risks. Apparently Fritz had taken her words to heart.

  “Good luck, Anya.” There was nothing else to say, really. Just a few more seconds…and if they were all still there, chances were the guns would be up almost immediately.

  We’ll be back in the fight.

  Eaton glanced around the bridge. She’d had Fritz on her headset, and none of her bridge crew knew what was about to happen. There was nothing to be gained by telling them.

  Besides, there really wasn’t time.

  A few seconds later, the lights on the bridge—and every instrument she could see—went dark. She could feel the ship vibrating, and then it shook violently, lurching to the side, throwing most of her people hard into their harnesses. She could hear yells that told her there were broken bones and other injuries on Repulse’s bridge. It took her a few more seconds, and the return of the lights and instrumentation, to realize that her ship was still there.

  And that means…

  “Commodore…gunnery reports starboard batteries are online, with power flowing to all active guns.”

  “They are to open fire as soon as they’re fully-charged.” She looked up at the restored screen. Stockton’s fighters were moving in on one of the enemy ships. She wasn’t sure what they could do with nothing but lasers…but that was “Raptor” Stockton out there, and he had almost a hundred ships coming in with him. The odds didn’t seem all that encouraging, but she figured Stockton was as good a bet as any she was likely to see.

  “All batteries are to lock on target beta, Commander…and they are to continue at their maximum rate of fire until ordered to stop.”

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  Eaton felt a burst of hope, one she knew had little to do with reality. Even if Stockton managed to take out one enemy ship, and her gunners the other one, they’d only buy a brief respite. The enemy fleet still had enough ships to finish her entire force in almost any conceivable scenario. But she was only thinking moments ahead now…and she would consider defeating the two enemy ships to be a victory. Even if it turned out to be the last her people would ever see.

  She could hear the distant humming as the batteries opening fire. She watched the screen impatiently, her hands balled up into fists, waiting to see if her people managed to score any hits.

  * * *

  Under one thousand kilometers.

  Stockton was close…but he was going to get closer still. He had the targeting system locked on the small gash in the enemy ship’s hull, and his eyes were focused there as well. He tried to let himself relax, to allow his instincts to participate as well as his intellect and his ship’s hardware. A lifetime in a Lightning’s cockpit had utterly convinced Stockton that such unmeasurable things were integral components of a pilot’s skill.

  He’d stopped checking his fuel status and the positions of his squadrons. There was nothing he could do about any of that now, anyway. All he could do was make sure none of what he’d done had been in vain.

  He was gripping the controls even more tightly, his fingers white from the intensity of his handhold. He was breathing deeply, holding the air for an instant before exhaling hard. His breathing was becoming almost rhythmic as he closed to the fire point. He’d decided to come in close…less than two hundred meters. He wasn’t sure he could pull out in time after, but he’d prefer to crash into the enemy ship rather than gasp for his last miserable breath in a frigid cockpit after he’d watched Repulse vanish in a thermonuclear explosion.

  The one thought troubling him was that his people would follow his lead…and if he couldn’t pull out in time, he doubted any of them could. It was strange. He could decide for himself he’d just as soon die immediately, but he couldn’t extend the same to his pilots. His urge was to keep them alive for as long as possible, fighting wildly for every additional moment.

  He was down to the last few seconds now…and his eyes caught something on the scanner. Lights, flashes. Repulse was firing?

  He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t have time now to look more closely. With one herculean effort, he pushed the thoughts into the back of his mind, along with all those that threatened to distract him…and he focused on the enemy ship in front of him. That was all that existed…his fighter, and the behemoth it was approaching.

  His finger tightened, the action driven by instinct, and he heard the familiar sound of his lasers firing. He’d deviated slightly from the AI’s recommendations, and he felt a wave of doubt…and then elation, as he watched the display, and realized his shot had hit its target.

  He’d placed the laser blast dead center, all of its energy slipping inside the enemy ship to hit the far softer targets of inner decks and systems. The laser hadn’t even touched the edges of the roughly circular twenty-meter gash. With any luck, the blast would wreak havoc.

  His hand had moved backward immediately after he fired, pouring every bit of power into his engines, struggling with all his exhausted ship had to give to escape the collision that appeared so imminent. For an instant, he thought he was done, that his ship was going to hit the enemy vessel.

  Then he saw open space in front of him, and he realized he was past the Hegemony vessel.

  He’d made it.

  He almost looked at the nav screen, to check how close he’d come. But then his hand moved to the controls and he flipped a row of switches, taking the data off the screen. He didn’t want to know. His gut told him the number would be in mere meters, and the less he thought about that, the better.

  He knew his fighters were coming in now, but before he looked to see how they were doing, his eyes moved to the longer-range display. Repulse had fired. And her broadside had been deadly, almost every gun hitting the enemy in a single volley. The Hegemony ship had been caught by surprise by Repulse’s return to the fight, and its evasive maneuvers were sloppy, inadequate.

  Stockton laughed derisively. I guess Hegemony computer systems aren’t programmed to account for Anya Fritz…

  He felt a rush of excitement at the flagship’s return to the battle, and it only rose up as he watched his fighters begin to come in. Their shots impacted all around the gash in the enemy hull, an opening that had nearly doubled in size as internal explosions had roared up from Stockton’s deadly shot. Great geysers of instantly-freezing gas and liquid had blown out into space, tearing into the metal of the battleship’s armored skin and giving his attacking fighters a target more than twice the size it had been seconds before.

  Another shot went through, and right after, a third. He watched as his fighters continued to come in, one at a time, delivering their laser pulses at an ever-enlarging weak spot. Another shot hit, and then another, and the Hegemony ship began to shake as explosions began to wrack her from bow to stern.

  Stockton winced as one of his fighters came in too cl
ose, too fast, and crashed hard into the enemy vessel. He mourned for the lost pilot, but the impact caused massive damage all along the vessel’s stern, and he watched as the engines flared out, leaving the vessel stuck on its current course and velocity. The ship was a cripple now, at least until its own damage control could restore some level of function. Even if his people couldn’t finish it off, Repulse’s gunners could target the vessel’s predictable course and blast the thing apart in minutes.

  Stockton felt another wave of excitement as the flagship fired yet again at the second enemy vessel…and, seconds later, the battleship was blown to plasma.

  It was one against one now…and Stockton’s people were still coming in, savaging the remaining enemy ship.

  His elation was interrupted by alarm bells, his system warning him of critical fuel levels. He had to land, and he had to do it quickly. There was no platform in range, save the Confederation flagship.

  Landing on Repulse under combat conditions wouldn’t be easy…and getting back out into the fight would be even harder. But that was just what Stockton was going to do.

  His people—some of them—might even get the chance to land as well. Assuming Repulse had any functional bays left when they got there.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Service Road A212

  Troyus City, Planet Megara, Olyus III

  Year 316 AC

  “Here they come…gun teams ready. And remember, these are Confederation soldiers, not Foudre Rouge. We’re shooting to disable the vehicles, not blow them to hell.”