Black Dawn (Blood on the Stars Book 8)

by Jay Allan

  She stared off in the distance, her frustration and fear growing with every moment Barron and the Marines didn’t appear.

  She turned back toward her ship. Her crew was already aboard…as were the bodies of the two Marines killed in the operation. Holsten stood next to the ramp, looking pensive now, clearly concerned about everything he’d just heard. Andi wanted to take Peterson and his people back to Dauntless, too, but there was just no way Pegasus could manage Bryan Rogan’s Marines and Peterson’s. And the colonel’s Marines had a far better chance of blending in than Dauntless’s.

  Peterson had told her half a dozen times not to worry. He was confident his people wouldn’t be traced to what had happened, that they could simply finish their leaves and depart back to Dannith to rejoin their units…or come up with reasons to remain on the capital. Andi didn’t completely believe him, though she’d also decided she wouldn’t bet against the grizzled Marine keeping his people safe somehow. Taking the bodies was the best way she could help. Peterson might avoid unwanted attention, but if two of his Marines were found dead at the scene…not even the stubborn old colonel could explain his way out of that one.

  There was room in her ship—just—for Dauntless’s contingent of Marines. It would be crowded, and damned uncomfortable, but they’d manage. At least for the ride to orbit.

  Assuming Bryan even makes it back.

  Or Tyler…

  She knew it hadn’t been that long, but to her it seemed hours had passed. Despite her best efforts, she was beginning to lose hope. Time wasn’t an ally, and Pegasus had to lift off—soon. She couldn’t imagine giving that order without Tyler aboard…and, yet, she knew she might very well have to.

  She stared off across the flat expanse of the spaceport, her vision obscured by the tears she was struggling to hold back.

  Come on, Tyler…come on…

  Please…

  * * *

  “Dauntless, this is patrol cruiser Stafford. You are emitting energy frequencies that are jamming ground-based communications in Troyus City. Is this some kind of malfunction? You must stop at once, even if it is necessary to shut down all but emergency power.” The signal was weak, the reception heavy with static. The jamming effort was concentrated on ground targets, but it was wreaking havoc on orbital communications and scans near the ship as well.

  Atara Travis listened to the words coming from her comm. She’d almost switched it to her headset, so only she could hear what was happening. But her people weren’t stupid. They knew what was going on, and she figured being secretive was likely to do more harm than good. She was counting on the crew following her orders…regardless of the fact that those commands looked very much like treason right now.

  She glanced across the bridge toward Cumberland, taking her read on the officer as she did. Tyler had chosen him after Sonya Eaton had transferred to Repulse, and Tyler Barron had a very good sixth sense when it came to choosing officers.

  If Tyler trusted him, I will.

  “Commander, advise Stafford that we are experiencing a major information systems malfunction. We will be shutting down the main AI, and that should terminate the jamming.” It was the lamest piece of garbage she’d ever tried to pass off on anyone, but it was all she had. Stafford wasn’t a threat to Dauntless in a fight, but Atara didn’t want to be forced to blast the patrol ship either.

  Or to find out if her gunners would even fire at the vessel…

  She’d managed to subtly alter Dauntless’s orbit to keep the ship out of the firing arc of Prime Base. Unlike the patrol ship, the vast orbital station was certainly a danger to her ship. In fact, she imagined the fortress could blast Dauntless to plasma in an astonishingly short time. Nevertheless, even without Prime’s guns targeting the battleship, there was no spot in Megara orbit where multiple defensive facilities weren’t in range.

  It would take some time for the situation to escalate to actual firing. She didn’t know exactly how high up an order would have to come from to authorize attacking a Confederation ship, but she had a pretty fair guess that blasting Stafford would accelerate the whole process considerably.

  She watched Cumberland, keeping her eyes on the officer as he sat there and looked back at her for a few seconds. She stared, enduring the agony of the pause, waiting to see if he would do as she’d commanded. Then he turned and relayed her answer, cleaning up the wording a bit. He spoke slowly, clearly…and surprisingly convincingly. He was with her.

  His words still didn’t sound all that believable to her, but she had to admit that Cumberland’s version was better than hers had been.

  She sat for a few more seconds, waiting for an answer that would give her an idea of just how long she had. Her eyes shifted instinctively toward her screen. She wanted to see Pegasus on the display, but, of course, Dauntless’s jamming blocked her own scanners as well. She knew she was close enough to do the same to the orbital forts. The platforms had been designed to face an attacking enemy approaching from space, not a ship that had been allowed into close orbit, and the jamming would exacerbate the sub-optimal firing arcs of the fortresses in range. She thought about moving the ship, adjusting the orbital course to throw off anyone targeting her…but she couldn’t do that either. Without scanners, Pegasus wouldn’t be able to find Dauntless unless the battleship was in the exact spot she was supposed to occupy.

  “Dauntless…you are instructed to cut all power immediately, and then to release your system to control by Orbital Command.”

  Atara sighed. Whoever was in command on Stafford didn’t seem to be a fool. She’d been hoping to buy enough time for Pegasus to get back from Troyus City, but she didn’t think she could stall for long enough.

  Then an idea came into her head. Maybe she could cripple Stafford without inflicting casualties…or too many casualties. That would trigger a response from the orbital forces, of course, but again…not too many officers would open fire on a Confederation battleship without orders from much higher up, and certainly not the famous Dauntless, even if she was only the successor to the celebrated vessel.

  The problem was arming the weapons. Even with the jamming effects, if she maxed out Dauntless’s reactors, it would be detected. And then someone would have to respond.

  She turned toward Cumberland. “Commander…engineering is to increase the output of reactor one…incrementally, one percent at a time.” She didn’t need all of Dauntless’s power, not to disable a patrol ship. At this range, one good shot from a secondary battery would accomplish that with the right targeting…and her gunners were the best in the fleet.

  “Yes, Captain.” She guessed from Cumberland’s tone that he suspected what she intended, and if he didn’t agree, he didn’t oppose it. She listened as he repeated the orders, and then she leaned back in her chair, looking out over the bridge, wondering just what was going through the minds of her officers.

  What would be going through your mind? They all have families, loved ones, lives, careers…and following you now could cost them all of that.

  But she knew they were loyal, as well…to her, and even more to Admiral Barron. Every one of them knew just what was coming, what an unopposed Hegemony invasion would mean to those families and loved ones.

  She decided she would bet on her people, that they could understand what was happening, that they would refuse to believe Tyler Barron was a criminal.

  That they would do whatever they had to do to ensure the Confederation was ready for the war that was coming…even if that action was one they’d previously considered unthinkable.

  * * *

  Barron winced. He’d taken a slug in his arm, and while the wound wasn’t critical, it hurt like a sonofabitch. The Marines had fought their way out of the wing of the building where his cell had been located, and now they were heading toward the underground level. Rogan’s people had brought transports with them, but the whole area was on alert now, and even without active comm systems to coordinate the search efforts, it was hard to imagine the vehicle
s hadn’t been found.

  Barron’s answer to that problem had been a simple one. If they didn’t have their own transports, they’d have to steal some. And his gut told him the best place for that would be on the subterranean parking levels.

  As soon as his rescuers had truly started fighting back, they’d cut through the opposing guards in just a few minutes, gunning down half of them and sending the others off in ignominious flight. That had been a welcome surprise, for as long as he managed to hold back the thoughts that he was responsible for the deaths of several dozen Confederation troopers. He told himself it was necessary, that billions would die if the Confederation wasn’t ready to defend itself against a Hegemony invasion. That was all true, but he also found it cold comfort, all the more because his prison garb was stained now with the blood of the dead. In its own way, that got to him more than anything else.

  He pushed aside the angst he felt, struggling to turn it into more determination. The great cost of his escape made it even more vital that he succeeded. If he failed, those men and women—and those of Rogan’s Marines who’d died as well—would have been sacrificed for nothing, and everyone he cared about…Andi, Atara, Rogan, would all be destroyed, arrested on charges of treason and imprisoned for the rest of their lives. Or worse. And the Hegemony would…

  He raced toward the stairs, following the emergency exit signs. The lifts would be faster, but he couldn’t be sure what tracking ability his pursuers retained…and getting trapped in an elevator shut down from a distant control center was not an end to the escape he was willing to risk.

  He ran down the stairs, almost recklessly, his arm hurting even more as his heart rate increased. He knew some of the Marines were carrying wounded, that he had to be pushing them to their limits…but he’d rather that than see them captured or wiped out by pursuing guards.

  He reached the bottom of the long set of stairs and came to a sealed hatch. The building was on lockdown, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He turned and shot a glance at Rogan, and then he stepped back as the Marine general ordered two of his people to blast the door open. It was a heavy, thick metal hatch, too strong for gunfire to obliterate, so the Marines affixed a pair of charges to the thing. After everyone had stepped back, they blew it apart, the explosion considerably stronger than what was needed.

  The door was gone, nothing remaining but scattered shards of metal…and beyond, Barron could see his instincts had been correct. It was a massive garage, three-quarters filled with all sorts of vehicles.

  He turned around, looking at Bryan and the rest of the Marines gathered up behind him.

  “Do we have anyone here who remembers a misspent youth boosting transports before the Corps got you?”

  Chapter Thirty

  8 Kilometers from CFS Repulse

  Unknown System 20

  Year 316 AC

  “All of you…follow me, and stay on tight. I’m not going to bullshit any of you. This is the toughest landing any of us have ever tried. But the alternative is sitting out here in powered down fighters, waiting to die.” He felt a wave of guilt at the words. He was on the open comm, and he knew he had people listening who were already in just the situation he’d described. He ached for them, and later he would mourn for their loss, and blame himself. But he couldn’t do anything for them now…and he could save the four ships still with him.

  Maybe.

  “Jake…you’ve got lighting in place in the bay.” Stara’s voice, followed by a pause. “It’s not very bright, but it’s the best we could do in four minutes.” She hesitated again. “Be careful…” Then, a few seconds later, and still on the open comm: “I love you.” He knew her words were genuine, but the fact that she’d said them only told him she wasn’t sure he would make it.

  Which made them even, since he wasn’t sure he’d make it either.

  Jake’s relationship with Stara was no secret, despite his early efforts to keep it that way, but he was an intensely private person about his feelings. It was a part of him with which he’d always maintained a shaky relationship. He wanted to respond, to tell her the same thing. But he couldn’t do it. Not then.

  And he knew she knew that.

  “All right, focus! Stay sharp every second. Do exactly what I do, and none of you mess it up. Trust me, you don’t want to deal with me if you screw up, not now.”

  He brought his ship around, adjusting the angle toward what was left of Repulse’s beta bay doors. Stara hadn’t been kidding. What should have been a giant metal hatch, or prior to a landing, a large, open, rectangle, was a jumble of sharp and twisted metal…with a jagged hole in the middle wide enough to accommodate a fighter. Just.

  Doubt flooded into his mind, a sudden certainty that what he was trying to do was impossible. Thoughts like that were generally alien to Stockton, but his eyes focused on the opening. It was a rough circle, with two knife-like shards of the door protruding into the center of the open area. He’d have to slip between them, and there wasn’t much room to spare. He was worried enough about himself, but he could feel despair gathering in his mind for the pilots following him.

  They were all veterans, like most of his people. Few of the rookies who’d come with the White Fleet had survived the struggles of the past months, and the ones who had could no longer be called raw. They’d earned their status alongside the rest of the elite warriors. Still, the landing they all had to make would be one of the most difficult maneuvers any of them had ever attempted, and the chances of all five of them making it in were…well, he didn’t want to think too hard about that.

  He tapped his thrusters again, slowing his already crawling ship a bit more. There wasn’t much time. Repulse was in a fight of its own, and he was well aware that the needs of the battleship outweighed those of a few pilots trying to land. If Eaton had to change position, or blast the engines at 10g, she would do it…and none of his people had the reflexes to react or the fuel to follow.

  He was close now, no more than ten kilometers, and he could see the hulking ship with his naked eyes. She was battered…there were half dozen scars on her hull where enemy weapons had sliced into her.

  Where her spacers had died…

  She was gyrating wildly, too, evasive maneuvers designed to confuse enemy targeting. Repulse wasn’t changing her basic vector or her velocity, she was just blasting her thrusters for seemingly random periods and at unpredictable angles. Stockton knew enough about such maneuvers to realize they were a complicated mix of insanely complex AI-driven calculations, combined with a good portion of utter randomness. It was far from simple to jerk a ship around, making it difficult for enemy gunners to lock on while ultimately maintaining a steady course and speed. Stockton had done the same thing countless times in his fighter, but he knew the complexities increased exponentially with a ship the size of Repulse.

  He reached down toward his comm unit, activating the link to Repulse’s AI. The enemy’s jamming cut the effective range of such a connection, but there was no way he could land without it. He was a good pilot, but no human being could match the evasive maneuvers of the battleship without assistance from the AI.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the small blue light indicating the link was in place. Then his eyes moved back up to the cockpit’s forward visor, with Repulse’s great bulk now completely covering the field of view.

  He had an even better view of the flagship’s damage now, not just the fresh wounds from the current fight, but the hasty patch jobs from the battles of the past months. Stockton was no stranger to war—in fact he’d become disturbingly accepting of it as the norm in his life—but he rarely got such a close-up view.

  He was less than a kilometer away. He couldn’t recall ever approaching a landing so slowly. He just hadn’t had the fuel to accelerate and then decelerate again, and he knew the only way he was going to thread the needle and get into the bay was slowly.

  He was lined up with the opening now…and it was even worse than he’d expected. He’d have
to bring his ship in at a slight angle to match the shape of the hole.

  He tapped the controls again, slowing down even more. He was crawling toward the bay, the shattered doors completely covering his field of view as he approached. He could see the ripples on the metal now, places where it had melted and instantly refrozen, and beyond was a barely visible glow—the portable lighting, everything Repulse’s teams could get in place in time.

  And all he’d have to see by as he landed.

  His eyes were focused, his concentration complete. He shut everything out of his mind but the gash in the bay doors. He relaxed as much as he could and allowed his intuition, his experience, to play its part.

  He took a deep breath. He was meters away now, and even as he exhaled and let his hands move slowly over the controls, his fighter slipped through the opening.

  He was inside the bay!

  The lights were positioned along one end of the cavernous compartment, casting a light that dimmed quickly as it reached the center of the great open space. Stockton wished he had better conditions, but he suspected the effort required to get even the units that were there into place had been astonishing. He knew dozens of crewmembers had worked to get him back aboard—him and the four pilots following him. And they had done it in the middle of a desperate battle, one that called for everything Repulse’s people had to give.