Victors

by T. R. Cameron

  “Good call,” she said over the direct physical comm connection.

  “Bloody birds,” Saint replied. “Too crafty by half. You take the lead, I’ll be rearguard.”

  “Got it,” she agreed and detached the line. She walked through the space and tapped each Marine to gain their attention, then gave the hand signal to fall in.

  Without warning, the sentries shifted from standby to active mode and rolled out the opposite door along the Marines’ original path. The comm channel reactivated in her helmet, and a false narrative cobbled together from recordings of previous operations began. The combat computer in GeeWhiz’s gear would simulate progress toward their primary target, communicating with and through the sentry bots. They would advance with maximum stealth, eliminating all visual surveillance they encountered. In the best case scenario, the enemy would believe the Marines were still after the main control center until the mission was over. In the worst case, it might at least distract them for a while.

  The Marines retraced their steps, heading away from the core of the facility in the direction of a different target a quarter of the sphere distance. Sinner pointed at Nieve “Alvie” Alvarez and gestured for her to take over on point. She was outfitted for the run with advanced sensor equipment, the best the Marines possessed. Her role in Plan Zed was to lead them as secretly as possible toward their destination, avoiding all contact with the enemy to preserve the deception being created by the sentry bots.

  They crept forward as quietly as their armor would allow. Alvie took them through side chambers and maintenance spaces, often pausing for up to a minute at a time before signaling them to advance again. The lack of wireless connection among the Marines’ suits left Sinner uninformed, a situation she actively loathed. Her palms itched within her gauntlets to deliver some payback to the enemy that was forcing her to feel this way.

  Finally, after they’d stood in place for a minute and a half, Alvie gave her the signal to connect. Sinner moved forward and attached her comm line.

  “We’re blocked,” she said.

  “Show me,” Sinner replied. Alvie fed the data across the connection, and her display showed them in a box. On five sides of the cube there were significant enemy presences displayed as multi-hued heat maps. The sixth was filled with vacuum, space, and a running battle between gargantuan ships intent on widespread destruction.

  Sinner gave another version of the signal to connect and the Marines crowded around, each pulling a line and socketing it into the armor of the person ahead of them. Finally, they were all able to speak and hear again.

  Alvie shared the data, and they ingested it and considered it for several moments without speaking.

  “It appears we’re going to have to go loud,” Saint said. “The most direct route to our target is through that bulkhead,” he pointed, “so we’ll burn through it, toss in some grenades, and fight our way to the command center.”

  Sinner was silent as he laid out the plan, scrolling through maps in her display. They were still far enough from their destination that a run-and-gun to reach it was fraught with potential failure points. When he had the details finalized and was doing final error checks on them, her random ideas coalesced into a clear alternative. “Saint, I think I have a thought.”

  “Would you like to share it with the class?” he quipped.

  She did, and the Marines sat silent in appreciation of the audacity-or the insanity-of her plan.

  “Sinner, I want to go on record as saying this is absolutely the single most terrible idea you’ve ever had.” Saint paused for effect, a beat longer than necessary, and said, “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  When the brilliant beam erupted from the planet’s atmosphere to intersect with the UAL cruiser St. Louis, it was a surprise to everyone. “Evasive,” Cross yelled at the sight of it, even though the Washington was some distance away. The beam sustained in place as the ship moved across its path, and it carved a deep line along the hull. The initial moments of its caress were defeated by the ship’s shields, but they were overpowered in seconds, and newsteel evaporated under the incandescent beam of destruction.

  The St. Louis melted, her metal transforming into a liquid under the touch of the weapon only to reform after into misshapen stalactites. Explosions began deep within the ship, and escape pods broke away and launched onto their own vectors. After twenty seconds of contact, the cruiser exploded, the fireball of its uncontained engines reaching out to envelop most of the tiny survival vehicles.

  “Figure out where that came from and keep us somewhere else,” Cross said, pointing at Flores. The sensor officer was already at work, head down over his display.

  The Washington curved away from the immediate vicinity of the planet and set a curling trajectory back toward the fortress her Marines were aboard.

  As she neared the asteroid field, the space around her was filled with brilliant beams and the ship shook as it was hammered by laser and plasma. “Evasive,” Cross yelled again, but he could see on the display that they weren’t going to find safety anytime soon. A giant section of the rocky barrier had rotated to bring hidden weapon emplacements to bear. There were dozens at least, maybe more than a hundred, and they were delivering a pounding to all the ships in the area. The Washington turned to present her undiminished aft shields and charged away at top speed. Nonetheless, the reinforced defenses buckled, and she took a smattering of hits on her engine cones as she fled.

  “Status,” Cross demanded with a decided lack of calm over the connection to engineering.

  “Engines are okay,” Jannik replied, the sounds of activity in the background an indication he was speaking through his earpiece while busy fixing things. “The blast didn’t hit anything vital, just armor.”

  “Thank heaven for small favors,” Cross muttered as he killed the channel. “Matthews, anywhere nearby we can do some good?” An enemy rammer, seemingly damaged and without escort, shimmered on the main display. “Uh-uh. No way. In fact, mark it as a trap and send it to command. Find me something else.”

  A trio of the triangle ships were the next closest, on a projected course to Okoye’s ship. “I think the Chicago has enough challenges. Let’s help her out and go after those jerks.” He marked them Alpha, Beta, and Delta and said, “One at a time, in order.”

  “Aye,” growled Walsh from the weapons station. As they neared the three enemies, Cross felt the last vestiges of the joy that had accompanied the idea of taking the battle to the aliens drain away from him. The things on the screen were just impediments, no longer challenges to be vanquished or kills toward a commendation. He realized this must be how his mentor, Admiral James Okoye, saw combat after so long in the chair. It explained so much. It explained everything. Only two things mattered: achieving the objective and bringing as many of his crew, friends, comrades, and allies as possible home safely.

  Then they were in range and weapons leapt from the broadsides and the bow. The torpedoes gathered into a straight line aimed at the rearmost of the enemy vessels. In tandem, the trio of ships rotated, still traveling away from the Washington but now facing her. The furthest fired their blasts into the third, which amplified them somehow and channeled the beam directly along the incoming projectiles’ path. The missiles fell away, powerless, and the beam continued on to knock them into darkness.

  “Dammit,” Cross yelled. He was far from perfect, but that was a trap he should’ve seen coming. The ship switched seamlessly to batteries and came back to life one station at a time. “Hard to port,” he ordered, and Lee slapped the starboard thrusters to push her to the side. Another brilliant beam of energy shot through the space she’d just departed.

  “Thirty seconds,” announced the scratchy intercom set into the wall. Cross watched and waited, then at what he hoped was the right moment ordered, “Down.” Lee fired the dorsal thrusters and the Washington dodged the expected attack. The ship switched back to primary power, and Lee threw her into an evasive pattern away f
rom the trio ships.

  “Rammer,” Matthews yelled, and Cross was smashed back into his chair as the ship rotated to drive upward, almost standing her on her tail to avoid the impact.

  He cringed, waiting for the sacrifice ship to blast them from existence, but it only changed course to come at them again. “Get us away from that thing,” he said. The Washington corrected her trajectory again, shooting toward an empty pocket of space.

  It was another trap. As they approached, enemy fighters boiled out from behind the shadow of a distant cruiser and flew at the Washington.

  “Mow ‘em down, Walsh,” Cross ordered, and the Washington’s energy weapons began to fire. The chatter of the point defense cannons was added in moments later as some of the fighters flew near enough to be a threat. They buzzed around her like gnats, taking shots at all of her shields and weakening her defenses. While they were distracted by the insects, they failed to notice the second rammer until it was too close to avoid. Lee twisted the ship at the last instant and succeeded in denying the enemy a head-on hit.

  Still, the impact was devastating. Metal groaned as the rammer smashed into her and bent her fragile spine in unpredictable directions. The strike was directly into the side of an engine, which immediately failed. Cross saw the glimmer of the reactor that powered it on the display as it was automatically ejected. Large sections of the damage schematic were showing bright red, and the parts that weren’t, displayed yellows, oranges, and very little green.

  The Washington reeled and wobbled its way toward safety. Lee had to continually adjust her path using controls that seemed to be far less responsive than usual. Cross knew that deep within the ship, the engineering crew would be working to repair what could be repaired and bypass those things that were beyond help. He sighed as a look at the tactical display showed they were about to be the focus of another enemy assault.

  “Keep those shields up, Matthews,” he said. “Looks like they’re circling to come from both port and starboard. Lee, go high, evasive Delta.”

  The ship sputtered onto a new tangent, her single functional engine firing in fits and starts.

  “Countermeasures early and often,” Cross said. “Weapons, you’re playing defense unless an amazing opportunity appears.”

  “Aye,” growled Walsh.

  He hit the button to connect to Jannik. “Status, Chief?”

  The engineer again responded from somewhere that added echoes all over the channel again. “We’re working on rerouting the power to the broadsides, Captain. The engine is gone, and it won’t be coming back without a drydock.”

  “And the new weapon?”

  “Walsh’s toy should be functional once we’re reconnected. I can’t imagine how it’s going to make a difference though,” he said.

  “If you can’t figure it out, I certainly can’t.”

  “I’m kind of busy here, Cross.” Jannik was on the far side of grouchy, moving toward angry.

  “Gotcha. Bridge out.”

  On-screen, the situation had grown even more dire. Several more enemies had joined the first few. He racked his brain but couldn’t find a route out of the pounding his ship was about to take. Then it began, and all he could do was ride it out.

  Energy weapons stabbed the Washington, battering her shields. Torpedo launches blossomed from all sides of the enemy ships, and the Washington’s bow lasers shot out, destroying them with impressive accuracy. Cross sneaked a glance at Walsh, who had his head down, his hands flying, and a look of complete focus on his face.

  The forward point defense cannons chattered, and more torpedoes were knocked away from their inbound path. Despite their best efforts, several got through, and their blooms against the shields rocked the ship, throwing the crew against their harnesses. Then they were through it, and the enemy cruisers were repositioning for another run. Out of nowhere, a Xroeshyn carrier with a host of AAN ships in pursuit burst onto the screen. Cross only had time to shout, “Watch out,” before it fired.

  An entire broadside was focused on a single unanticipated point, the alien cruiser closest to the Washington. The energy and projectiles speared the ship, overloaded its shields, and caused it to explode into pieces. Fighters spilled out of the carrier’s hangars and attacked other enemy ships as well. Only then did Cross notice the Xroeshyn vessel’s insignia, and he broke into a grin.

  “Hail him,” he ordered. Moments later, the calm and distinguished Captain of the Beijing, Dima Petryaev, appeared.

  “Captain Cross, a pleasure to see you.”

  “Dima, the pleasure is all mine. Thank you for the save.”

  The AAN officer shrugged. “We do what we can for each other. It’s satisfying to no longer be on opposite sides.”

  “It is at that.”

  Dima raised a hand. “I’m afraid I must cut our conversation short. My escort and I have other havoc to wreak.”

  “Stay safe,” he replied.

  With a nod, Dima closed the channel.

  “I have my weapons back,” Walsh said. “Both broadsides are now active.”

  Cross clapped his hands. “All right, time to clear some aliens from around that fortress.” The Washington turned and flew towards the giant installation at top speed. Upon arrival, she got into a tangle with several enemy ships, and the opportunity was finally right to try out their new weapon. “Walsh, pick one and let’s find out what our fancy gun can do.”

  Based on a Domeki design, the pulse laser sought out weak spots in the enemy’s defenses. It spat a constant stream of low-power energy and performed real-time analysis of the results. Wherever it identified a weakness, it doubled the intensity and focused in, continuing its calculations. The power would keep doubling up to maximum, but the engineers promised the enemy’s shields should fall before it got there.

  Walsh targeted a Xroeshyn cruiser that had taken shots at the Washington earlier. Lee maneuvered the ship in the position, and the weapons officer growled, “Take this, you bastard.”

  At first, it looked like they were throwing a shower of tiny neon spheres at the enemy vessel. Within seconds, though, both their size and the duration between them had nudged up. The progression continued until beams recognizable as full power laser blasts shot out at the other ship. As promised, its shields fell, and it disintegrated under the assault from the pulse cannon.

  Cross had enough time to say, “Yes,” and send a grin toward Walsh before the weapon exploded. It set off a chain reaction in the port broadside, sending a series of detonations along the length of the ship. Walsh was quick on the buttons and jettisoned the torpedoes before the explosions reached the magazine.

  Cross felt like he should yell, or rail against the gods, but at this point it just seemed par for the course. He shook his head, chuckled, and said, “Matthews, what’s the damage?”

  “Port broadside is no longer usable. Starboard is still functioning.”

  “It was a nice gun,” Walsh said in a mournful tone.

  Cross laughed again. “Indeed, it was, Walsh, indeed it was.” He turned back to examine the main display. “Lee, get us closer to the fortress. Really close, in fact. Don’t think of it as hiding. Think of it as lying in wait.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  A glimmer on the strategic plot caught his eye, and he magnified it to full on the screen. Behind Force Two, which was most of the way through the asteroid belt, new icons materialized. Cross’s heart leapt, thinking they were human reinforcements, and the commanders who’d been still out doing mop up on the colony assaults when they’d launched this assault had finally arrived.

  It took only seconds for him to realize there were far more ships than expected, and only slightly longer to realize the configuration of those ships was not human.

  The enemy had materialized behind Force Two, which was now hemmed in with asteroids on all four sides and enemies fore and aft. The new alien group went on the offensive, pushing into the gap, seeking to be the hammer that smashed the human ships against the anvil of the
Xroeshyn force that waited on the other side.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Okoye’s voice sounded across the command net again. “The Marine assault from the Cancun has failed. The Phoebe is repositioning to jam communications from that fortress.” Kate’s stomach sunk at the news. On screen, the icon representing the other Domeki vessel moved from its position equidistant between the fortresses to a new location that put it directly in line of sight between the installation and the planet. A buzz was introduced into the comm system. Probably from the increased jamming, Kate guessed.

  “All ships are to continue with former operations. If you find yourself without an opponent, join the command squadron in attacking the fortress closest to the planet. It’s a small hope, but we’ll take what we can get. Okoye out.”

  Linda Peterson’s voice followed on the heels of Okoye’s, “Report from the Chicago, Commander. They’ve repelled the boarders and say thank you for your concern.”

  “Well, at least that’s something,” Kate replied. She looked around, assessing the battlefield from her location in the shadow of the Washington’s floating fortress.

  On her strategic display she saw the hammer and anvil arrangement awaiting Force Two as it continued to flow through the asteroid field. She growled in frustration and noticed she was tapping her fingers on her control board near the thrust controls. She moved them a little further away.

  The coordinated assaults had dissolved into a melee in the center and at the entrance point of Force Three. Ships darted to and fro, and earlier warnings to avoid the asteroid field were ignored or forgotten in favor of expediency and survival. Thus, many human ships were in a vulnerable location when the next Xroeshyn trap activated.

  All around the perimeter of the system, the asteroid field exploded. Gigantic rocks were reduced to multiple large boulders and an enormous spray of shrapnel that intersected the paths of human ships. Their opponents had curved away just in time to avoid the barrage but turned to fire at the battered vessels. Torpedoes and energy beams punched through shields weakened by impact from hundreds of stones, and in moments dozens near each breach point had been wiped from the board. It was a devastating shock.