Black Dawn (Blood on the Stars Book 8)

by Jay Allan

  Rogan’s Marines were good…the best. That meant Confederation guards, who had nothing to do with any conspiracies or plots, would soon be dying.

  Barron knew what happened in the prison would haunt him forever. But there was no time for such concerns, not now. He reached out toward Rogan. “Give me your sidearm, General.”

  Rogan hesitated for an instant. Barron half expected the Marine to try to convince him to stay back, but he didn’t do it. There would be no safe place during this escape, nowhere to hide. Rogan took one hand off his assault rifle and grabbed the pistol at his side, spinning it in his hand and giving it to Barron.

  Barron nodded his thanks, and he took a deep breath.

  Then he exchanged glances with Rogan…and both men plunged out into the corridor.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Bridge

  CFS Repulse

  Unknown System 20

  Year 316 AC

  Eaton couldn’t hold her smile back as the bridge erupted in cheers. Repulse had put every weapon it could bring to bear into its broadside, and it had pounded away at the targeted enemy ship. The Confederation flagship had overcome the enemy’s technological edge, and, perhaps by nothing more than sheer guts and determination, won the deadly exchange.

  Eaton doubted her ship could have done it without Jake Stockton and his fighters. Repulse had been fighting two enemies, and that was more, even, than her veterans could have overcome alone. But the fighters had come at the second enemy ship with a terrible abandon, driving in so close, no less than six of them had failed to pull up in time, slamming into the Hegemony vessel at high velocity. She ached for the losses suffered, though she couldn’t banish the realization that the suicidal collisions had inflicted more damage than their comrades had done with their targeted laser attacks.

  Eaton wasn’t happy with herself for the excitement she’d felt watching the enemy ship being torn apart as fighters—her people—missed their escape trajectories, but she’d lost count of the casualties the fleet had suffered so far. Six more was a small price to pay to save Repulse and the survivors of its thousand-strong crew. She hated that kind of calculus, but she was too logical to ignore it.

  Not that it mattered much. Repulse and the fighters had bested the two ships that had closed to destroy her, but her survival prospects past the next few moments hadn’t improved. The battle had expanded in breadth, the two formations breaking up as the struggle continued. Clusters of ships were now spread across a quintillion cubic kilometers, a dozen or more localized combats combining to make up the overall engagement. For all the distance, and the time it added to the battle’s resolution, it was as apparent to her as ever that her people, for all their heroism, were in a hopeless fight.

  “Commodore, Captain Stockton requests permission to land his squadrons.” Sonya turned and stared across the bridge, a troubled look on her face. Sara understood immediately. Repulse would soon return to conducting wild evasive maneuvers, as more enemy ships moved toward it. The landing bays were a calamitous wreck, strewn with debris and even localized fires still being fought by her damage control crews. Successful landings would be difficult at best, and maybe close to impossible. And any ships that really lost it on the way in could slam into Repulse at high speed, damaging the battleship worse than a direct hit from the enemy would.

  But Stockton and his people had saved Repulse, too, as much as Anya Fritz and the gunners had. She knew they had to be just about out of fuel.

  “Permission granted.” A pause. “Have them start with gamma bay…and get as many in there as possible.” Repulse’s number three bay was in the best shape, though that designation was purely a relative term.

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  Sara looked over at the main display. There were another two battleships heading directly for Repulse. She knew, with a cold certainty, that there was no way her battered ship could defeat two more. She wondered what good she was doing for Stockton and his people. She doubted her shattered bays would be able to refit and relaunch any of the fighters before the enemy ships engaged. And that new duel would almost certainly be Repulse’s last.

  She wondered for a moment if Stockton wouldn’t rather die in his fighter than in the battleship when it was finally overwhelmed…but then she realized that he—and she—had to fight to the end. Stockton and his pilots needed whatever miniscule chance they had to refit their fighters and get back into the fight. Eaton couldn’t deny them that.

  “I want bay crews on full alert, Sonya. Launch control is to supervise every landing. We’re going to get those pilots back on board, whatever it takes.”

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  Sara knew she had the fleet’s best flight control officer in Stara Sinclair.

  She also knew Stara was sitting down there, amid a pile of debris that had once been her control room…facing an almost impossible task.

  * * *

  “All right Yellows…let’s move it. Repulse’s gamma bay is open, and they’re waiting for you. Stay on the line with launch control, and do every damned thing the launch officer tells you.” Stockton knew just who would be on that line, and he knew how good she was, too. Stara would get his people in, if anyone could.

  His own ship had already passed by Repulse, and now he was burning most of what remained of his fuel to bring his ship to a stop and then ease it back toward the flagship. He knew he couldn’t stay out that much longer, and that Repulse was heading into another close quarters fight, one that would make landing even more difficult. But Stockton was in command, and he took that seriously. He wouldn’t land, not until all his people had. And he was far from sure the damaged Repulse could take in so many fighters.

  He listened as the Yellows acknowledged, and he watched as they formed up for a final approach. He had seven members of the squadron still with him, and that was the most of any single unit. He’d lost track of the other Yellows, and he wasn’t sure if these seven were all that remained, or if the others had just gotten separated. But he did remember many of Yellow Squadron’s exploits, even from before the war, when they’d been commanded by a rival of his, Tillis “Ice” Krill.

  Krill had been an enormously skilled pilot, one Stockton knew the Confederation forces could have sorely used in the war against the Union. But, Krill had died fighting against the Alliance battleship Invictus, in the desperate duel Dauntless had fought with that famous Palatian vessel, a victory that had paved the way for the Confederation to ultimately turn an enemy into an ally.

  Krill and Stockton had been considered somewhat of equals back then, and as he watched the Yellows begin their difficult landing runs, he thought of how their paths had diverged. Krill had been one of the first of his close comrades to die in combat, falling to an Alliance ace who could as easily have bested Stockton. Jake had avenged his rival, and then he’d gone on to become the most celebrated ace in the Confederation service…but he’d never shaken the guilt for surviving when Krill died, or the doubt as to which of them would have become the best had they both survived that day.

  He was tense as he watched the first fighters approaching Repulse. He was worried that they would crash, that more of them would die trying to land…and he was also afraid one of them would not just lose the approach, but crash hard into the bay. That would, at the least, close the ship to more landings, and it would very likely cause considerable damage to the already wounded vessel.

  But the Yellows performed well. Stockton ordered up the next group, and the one after that, one squadron at a time coming in with whatever fragments of its strength had joined the attack.

  Not all of them made it. At least six crashed, though they had all managed to control things enough to minimize the damage caused to Repulse. Stockton heard enough chatter on the comm to realize that two of the pilots had been killed.

  He counted as each ship landed, visualizing Repulse’s flight decks, trying to imagine just how many ships Stara and the deck crews could cram in. Then he heard her voice on the c
omm, and he had his answer…an amazing sixty-four.

  “Gamma bay is full up…I need all remaining ships to come into alpha bay.” Stara’s voice was tense, and from her tone, Stockton had an idea just what shape Repulse’s beta bay was in, one she confirmed herself an instant later. “Beta bay is in rough shape, so you’re all going to have to bring your A game. Come in slow and easy, and be ready to maneuver with your positioning jets, because there’s a lot of debris down there.”

  Stockton smiled as he heard her voice. He knew she was likely unsurprised that he’d put himself last, but he was also sure some part of her was cursing him for it. She’d never ask him to go against his sense of duty, he knew that. He wasn’t an easy person to love…and he also knew he had caused her a lot of pain over the years. For that, he was immensely sorry.

  He tapped his positioning thrusters, angling his now-stationary ship back toward Repulse. He wasn’t sure he was going to make it, that his fuel would last. But he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t, either. He put the odds right at fifty-fifty, a cold reality he tried to soften by thinking about how many times his chances had been worse.

  He tapped the thrust, and his ship lurched forward, accelerating slowly. He was anxious to get back, and he could see that the queue outside Repulse had diminished significantly. There were less than fifteen ships still waiting—and what looked like six that had run out of fuel and were drifting. Stockton knew those pilots were as good as dead, though he would do anything possible to rescue them, however futile his efforts might be.

  Repulse had engaged the approaching enemy ships, and the flagship had increased its evasive maneuvering. He watched as five ships in a row failed to land successfully, two of them pulling up at the last second and running out of fuel as they sailed off into the depths of space, and the other three crashing, the last one fatally, and with enough velocity to slam hard into the bay, shutting it down.

  Stockton was approaching Repulse now, and he linked up with the four other pilots still floating outside the battleship. He waited, quietly, feeling as though an eternity had passed as he waited for Stara’s voice to return, when it had actually been less than a minute. Finally, he spoke himself.

  “Stara…this is Jake. We’re going to have to come into beta bay, so give us the go ahead and get the bay doors open.

  “Jake…” He could hear from the tone of her voice how bad it was. “Beta bay is in shambles. The door is jammed shut, with a huge gash in the middle. The whole deck is in vacuum conditions, and power is out. There’s no way you can land there.” He could hear the tears she was fighting back. She had access to his ship’s monitors. She knew he had maybe five minutes of fuel left.

  And she knew just as well as he did that none of the pilots stranded in dead ships were going to be rescued.

  He paused for a few seconds, coming close to giving up, to yielding to the inevitable end that seemed to be on him. None of the other battleships were close enough for his people to reach with the fuel they had left. There was nothing to do except stay where he was…and wait for death.

  Except for one thing. “Raptor” Stockton didn’t give up. Not ever.

  “Listen to me, Stara…get some battery-powered lights down in the bay. We’ve got to see where we’re going, especially since I suspect the whole place is covered in wreckage.”

  “Jake, there’s just no way. We’re trying to clear out some of the ships crammed into gamma bay and get it open again. Maybe…”

  “There’s no time, Stara.” He was surprised by the strength and confidence in his own voice. He knew perfectly well, if Stara was telling him beta bay was a no go, it had to be in really bad shape. “Just do what I say…please. Get me some lighting down there. Somehow.”

  He waited, once again for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity. Then her voice was back, and stronger. His strength was contagious. He’d made her believe he could do it, at least for the moment. That was all he needed.

  “We’re sending down portable lights, Jake. It’s going to take ten minutes.”

  “I’ve only got five.”

  “Jake, there’s no access, no lifts working anywhere near the bay…”

  “And in six minutes, I’ll be out of fuel…and as good as dead. So will the others out here with me.”

  “All right, Jake…we’ll get it done. Somehow.” Another pause. “Just give me as much of that five minutes as you can.”

  “You know I’ll give you everything I’ve got, Stara, my love.”

  * * *

  “The analysis is complete. The AI has determined a 98.3765 percent chance that the enemy stopped here because there is something that they do not want to expose, almost certainly a course leading to their home worlds. I have cross-checked this with astrographic surveys, and determined a similar likelihood that the transit points orbiting this system’s inner star lead to destinations near the Rim. Considering the enemy’s actions, I believe we have virtual certain evidence to support the conclusion.”

  The man spoke calmly, coolly, though in the system around the vessel he currently occupied, a fierce battle was underway. The barbarians had fought with far greater skill and capability than any of the Masters present had expected. Indeed, their losses would greatly exceed even the most pessimistic projections. Nevertheless, the enemy could be obliterated…if they were willing to sacrifice enough of their own ships to achieve that.

  “I agree with your conclusions, Ninety-Six.” Genetic ranking was considered a more formal mode of address among the Masters. While Inferiors would always address a Master by his ranking, among themselves, they often used their given names—Raketh, in the case of Ninety-Six. However, Raketh was the commander of the fleet, and the highest-ranking Master present. That alone, notwithstanding the fight taking place, justified the use of more formal address. “There is therefore a question we must consider. In our pursuit of the barbarians, we have held back our thrust levels. However, we are capable of engaging sufficient thrust to exceed theirs. We can, therefore, disengage and proceed forward along our projection of the enemy’s original course, to discover clues as to the location of their home worlds. That is our primary mission. We need not waste time on the tedious job of hunting down and destroying the remnants of this single fleet. They are already worn down close to tactical worthlessness.”

  Ninety-Six breathed deeply, centering his thoughts, considering One Hundred Sixty-Three’s proposal. He was in command, and he was above his comrades, as they were above almost all humans who existed. On the fleet, his was the final word on any matter, as was the responsibility for all that transpired. It ran counter to his tactical sense to allow a wounded and cornered enemy to survive…and yet, he knew it was possible the enemy had been able to get some kind of warning back to their home worlds. He couldn’t imagine any group of humans capable of mounting a meaningful defense against the massed strength of the Hegemony, but his view of strategy clearly opposed his tactical view. The sooner he could discover the route to the enemy’s home, the less prepared they would be for the coming onslaught.

  He sat quietly, analyzing every option, considering advantages and disadvantages. In the end, he reached a decision. He was not entirely comfortable with it…the situation defied an easy choice. But he was certain it was the best option to pursue.

  “The fleet will break off at once and set a course toward the inner primary. We will then divide our forces and proceed through all transit points discovered.” He paused for a moment, turning his head and looking out over his comrades. “We will find the enemy’s home worlds…and then we can begin the final subjugation of these Inferiors.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Troyus Spaceport

  Troyus City, Planet Megara, Olyus III

  Year 316 AC

  “You’re insane, all of you…you know that, right? Do you realize what you’ve done?” Holsten had been more or less silent during the frantic race to the spaceport, but now he unloaded on his rescuers. “I’d have had trouble getting you out of th
is when I was in my office, in full command of Confederation Intelligence…but now, I’m a fugitive, too. I appreciate the loyalty, but I didn’t want you all to become renegades…” Andi suspected “traitors” was the first word that came to Holsten’s mind, but he’d held it back. “…to break me out.”

  “You don’t know what’s happening, Gary,” she said, beating Jon Peterson to a response. “Hundreds of officers have been cashiered and charged with criminal corruption. Tyler has been arrested, and Van Striker has been charged, too, though he’s still missing. This isn’t just some political vendetta against you. It’s far more, some kind of wide-ranging plot.”

  “Van is missing?” A second later, with even more surprise in his voice, “Tyler is back? The White Fleet has returned?”

  “No, not the fleet…just Tyler on Dauntless, with a few other ships.”

  “Why did he return? And without the fleet? That’s not like him. What would get Tyler Barron to leave his command behind?”

  “I don’t know, Gary.” Andi’s voice was strained. She was worried about Barron, worried sick, and talking about him was only making it worse. Her team had gotten to the vehicles they’d hidden and made it to the spaceport…far more easily, she realized now, than she’d expected. And Vig and the others had Pegasus ready to go. Not for the first time, Andi was grateful that she’d had her old ship streamlined for atmospheric operations. It had been expensive, certainly by her standards at the time, when she’d had a dozen other uses for the money. But the ability to slip into an atmosphere and escape a pursuer who couldn’t follow had been extremely helpful at times.

  Still, there was no sign of Bryan Rogan and his Marines. No sign of Tyler.

  She looked across the large paved surface around her ship. Troyus’s spaceport had extensive modern terminals, with docking tubes and other conveniences, but Pegasus was out in the port’s hinterlands, along the edge where low-budget tramp freighters and other dated vessels landed. She could have afforded the docking fee anywhere in the spaceport, of course, but her place out among the transient craft brought with it a considerable increase in privacy.