by Chris Hechtl
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Hasty evacuations allowed some of the crew on the doomed ship to get off. The plot was speckled with the beacons of life pods and shuttle craft. The shuttles did their best to get to the nearest ship and dubious safety. Some made it. Some didn't. They hadn't had enough time for their engines to warm up. Some of the ships found the supposed safety of the shadow of a looming friendly ship wasn't what it seemed. Frightened captains sometimes refused to lower their shields or speed to take them on.
“Daring is a goner, sir. Commodore Eichmann is dead. The captain was evacuated. The XO is setting her self-destruct then he's bailing out in a pod since her shuttles are gone. I don't know where he's going to go, no one is around to pick him up,” Berney said. “Most of the fleet train has been obliterated. We've taken hits on Last Gasp, Arkangel, Potemkin, Star Mauler, and Star Warrior. The other ships got off lucky,” he reported. “Arkangel and Last Gasp are losing speed due to drive damage, sir. Potemkin and Star Warrior are also slacking their speed to deal with their own damage.
“Understood,” the admiral said quietly. He stared at the enemy bombers as they got clear of the fleet and then reformed. They had expended their torpedoes though, so they fell into an orderly withdrawal after a tense moment. The fighters quickly followed.
“They'll be back. Star Warrior's hit has made her chief engineer nervous. Her rating of the ship's hyperdrive is iffy. Admiral Adkin just called in and said Potemkin's is in a similar state, sir,” Catherine said.
Jeremy looked up in alarm. A pall of sick dread seemed to hang around the compartment.
“Damn it,” Myron finally muttered, breaking the silence.
“That's what this was about. They wanted to hurt us. To make us slow up and lick our wounds before we jump,” Admiral De Gaulte murmured softly.
“Unfortunately, it worked, sir,” Catherine murmured. “We can't afford to lose those ships,” she said.
“We can't risk the entire fleet for two ships, Commander,” the admiral said settling himself. “Pass an order to their crews. If they can't get sorted out soon, they are to abandon. My order,” he stressed.
Catherine stared at him, clearly appalled at the idea of abandoning two capital ships. He turned to look at her, to stare coldly into her eyes. She got the message. Slowly she nodded. “Aye aye, sir.”
Chapter 45
With the death of Commander Zenkov, the leadership of the bomber combined bomber wing fell to the senior most squadron leader.
That meant Lieutenant Tomar Katic; the senior surviving bomber squadron leader off of Stinging Swarm got the unenviable job of picking up the mission baton where his late boss had left off. Tomar did his best to get the bombers turned around on their carriers. The CAGs consulted as their squadron commanders handled the refueling and rearming.
“We've got one more pass,” Commander Meia said. She looked at the admiral. “After that you'll be in your outer most engagement zone, sir.”
“I know. Once we start mixing it up, you are going to be on defense. Commander Wilder, your fighters will rearm for that,” he ordered.
“Already in the works, sir,” the CAG replied with a dutiful nod.
“Good. I'm tempted to hold some of the bombers back for defense, but I want to hit them harder. Commander Garfield's assessment was that they hammered a few of the capital ships beautifully. Not enough to score kills but enough to really slow them down.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, do it again. Hit them hard and fast,” the admiral ordered.
“Aye aye, sir. We'll get it done.”
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Myron grimaced as the CIC rating turned to look at the admiral. He'd been expecting what she was going to say for some time. They all had. “Bombers and fighters are launching, sir. We can pick them up coming off their carriers at this range,” she warned.
“Understood,” Admiral De Gaulte said with a nod.
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The bombers had four fewer ships to go after, but seven of the bombers had been destroyed by the enemy fire, and another three had been down-checked by their plane captains as not flight worthy. That left three squadrons to go after the surviving Horathians. They were supposed to hit the undamaged or lightly damaged ships. Lieutenant Katic, however, assigned a single bomber to go after Arkangel. A single lucky torpedo strike cut through everything the battle cruiser's desperate defenders could throw to land a hit on her wounded flank. The torpedo's breacher round tore through the already half-powered shields and ripped at her hull before it died. The breaching round itself ignited its plasma lance and cut through the ruptured bowels of the ship. It bored in until it found a magazine area designated on her blueprints. The torpedo's final warhead went off with horrifying results.
The prince's ship was torn apart from the inside out as her missile warheads sympathetically detonated. Arkangel was destroyed with all hands.
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Catherine stared in stunned reaction as her brother's ship just exploded. The red light blinked around her name, and then the name changed to red lettering with a lurid red box around it. After a moment a notation went in beside it, crew lost with all hands.
Simple as that, she thought, turning, still poleaxed by what had just happened. Simulating it, planning it, that never compared to seeing it she realized. Seeing it for real, feeling the numbness start to settle in. She realized after a moment that she was getting sidelong looks from staff as well as the admiral.
“Do you need a moment, Catherine?” the admiral asked softly.
She shook her head. “I'll grieve later,” she said as more damage control reports came in from across the fleet. Arkangel hadn't been the only ship lost; four destroyers had been crippled, and another destroyed. She'd thought she'd celebrate her brother's death and her ascension to the crown but now she saw it as a loss. It was a cheap way to become the heir primus, but now she saw it as putting herself in the crosshairs, the last place she wanted to be.
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Prince Mason was too busy initially to see the change in the fleet status. It was only when a PO kept looking at him that he realized something was up. “What?” he demanded, wiping sweat off his brow. “Can't you see we're a bit busy?” he demanded.
“Sorry, sir. I just wanted to give you my condolences on your loss,” the PO said quietly before he retreated.
Mason frowned in confusion. He saw a DCC tech walking by with a tablet. He reached out and snagged it. “Let me borrow that.” She stopped and opened her mouth to protest but then stopped. She waited as he pulled up the status board.
He stared when he saw the red lettering and circle around Arkangel. “Is this accurate?” he demanded, showing it to the tech.
“Yes, sir,” she said, leaning over to see what he was looking at.
“Damn,” he muttered. He read it again, then a third time. Lost with all hands. Adam … Adam couldn't be dead. But … if he was …
“Sir, can I have that back before PO Figgs has my ass?” she asked tentatively, breaking through his thought train.
“Um? Oh yeah,” he said, handing the tablet back.
“Lieutenant, Chief Riker wants to know if we're finished up here? He also wants us to move two compartments over and assess the damage there,” a rating said, poking his head into the compartment.
“Eh?” the Marine said, blinking as he got his brain back on the need to focus on the here and now. “Ah, yeah,” the young man said with a nod.
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“Now it's our turn,” Admiral White said as the bombers and fighters fell back. The escort carriers had been detailed to the rear to recover them. His dreadnaughts and battle cruisers moved into the outer engagement zone and bore in. “Commander Garfield, you may pass the order to the fleet. Open fire,” he said simply.
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Commander Garfield had targeted ships of opportunity in the first broadside, but he'd concentrated on destroying or crippling ships instead of spreading his fire. Thousands o
f missiles tore into the enemy fleet.
Thousands of counter missiles spat back defiantly to cut them down or at least try to do so. Behind them offensive missiles began to fire in return volleys.
Second Fleet had one whole precious minute to be on the offensive exclusively before her tactical departments had to split into offense and defense to handle both sides of the engagement. They used that precious time to exact a harsh revenge on the enemy fleet.
Potemkin was a prime target since she'd been identified as the squadron flagship. The Derfflinger class ship was crippled and then destroyed in their first volley. Star Warrior was second; she was destroyed when too many missiles saturated her already weakened flank defenses and tore her apart.
Most of the already wounded ships were mauled and destroyed in the merciless pounding match. Destroyers just evaporated. The other ships couldn't handle defending them as well as themselves. Admiral De Gaulte ruthlessly ordered them to stop trying since it was exposing the surviving warships to attack. He ordered the undamaged ships to move forward.
With each warship destroyed, the Retribution Fleet's offensive and defensive fire slacked. Dangerous holes in their defenses began to appear. The admiral's flag staff barked orders to try to close the gaps they best they could. He was aware that by letting the wounded ships fall away he was destroying morale and dangerously close to losing control of his assets. It was soon going to be every ship for itself, which would turn his coordination into hash and doom the fleet.
The pair of couriers raced out from Executioner's shadow and ahead of the fleet with their superior speed. No longer tied to the fleet they made for deep space and then started to charge their hyperdrives. Their speed fell as the drives began to charge.
Their move sparked the other ships to try to move out as if it was all ships for themselves. Admiral De Gaulte held onto his cool and kept them in line.
“The only way to survive this is to work together. Keep it together!” he snarled.
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Captain Naomi Samuels grinned as her ship took another destroyer apart. That was her second; Maine was leading all the other battle cruisers, some of which hadn't scored any kills yet. They were definitely earning their spurs she thought.
“Cruiser coming up. Justice is closer,” tactical reported.
“Let Captain Vega know if he can't finish the job we will,” she said.
The comm rating softly repeated the statement. After a moment she looked up with a slight smirk. “He said don't be mean. Neaner neaner would have been more appropriate,” she said.
Naomi snorted. “Hey, wait a minute,” she said as she realized he was taunting her right back.
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Kyle shook his head as he ran the required damage assessment. The ships on point had to be rotated out of position and another battle cruiser division slotted in every few minutes to spread the damage. At the rate they were going, they were going to have every ship damaged before the engagement concluded.
“Each time we swap, sir, we take fire off the enemy. They are gaining ground and are charging their hyperdrives,” Kyle reported.
“Risky since they aren't on the proper heading, sir,” Alec stated.
“Risky, but they are taking it anyway since it is a chance of surviving this,” Kyle retorted, eying the navigator before he returned his attention to the skipper. “Half of our battle cruisers have sustained damage so far. We haven't lost a ship yet though,” he said.
“And the enemy?”
“They are down to fourteen effectives, sir. Sixteen including the couriers. Seven destroyers, two heavy cruisers, three BCs the two DN's, and small fry sir,” Kyle said. “All of the ships are damaged to various degrees.”
Admiral White nodded. “Continue the engagement. Let's finish this.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
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“We're out of it. This is no place for the fighters and bombers,” Commodore Trajan said from his seat on Kittyhawk. They could have split the First BC Squadron and mixed in Second Fleet's First BC Squadron's orphans to make two squadrons. Instead the admiral had elected to put Dwight in charge of the BCs on Maine while he ran the remnants of Second Fleet's BCs from Bismark.
Trajan snorted. He knew Harris wasn't thrilled about losing his seat on Bismark, but he had no call to complain. At least he had a flag bridge. The escort carriers weren't built for flag accommodations, let along fleet command. He had been forced to borrow Orville while most of his staff was doubled up in the ship in the wardroom or reassigned to Dwight for the time being.
“Yes, sir. We'll be on SAR duty shortly. I'm prepping the shuttles now, sir,” Orville stated.
“Good. Good to know you're on it,” the commodore replied with a nod.
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Lieutenant Commander Floyd Riker wasn't having a good day. Hell, no one in the fleet was for that matter. He'd grieve later; he knew that. If there was a later, he thought. Right at the moment he, like just about everyone else, wasn't so certain of their future. His problem as chief engineer was more personal in nature though. He'd eaten too much cheese again and was now paying for it. Between the cheese and the excess caffeine pills and lack of sleep, he was on the ragged edge of holding on. He'd been constipated all week; he'd thought it'd be a good thing since he wouldn't burn time on the toilet that he'd need overseeing the repairs. But that growing heavy feeling had slowed him down, then the bloating had kicked in. Then a few hours ago everything had let loose in an ass ripping shit of monumental proportions. One where you had to get up, flush, and then keep going and going and going.
But when it had ended, he'd felt relief … at first. At least three kilos lighter. At least. But damn sore. Then he'd had to go a second time … and then the pain had really started. It was like his ass was on fire, like someone was searing it with a hot poker. No matter how he tried to sit he couldn't get comfortable. He squirmed in his seat constantly.
Which meant the pain was a distraction. He might have thought of it as a welcome one from the disaster befalling him, his ship, and the fleet, but at the moment he needed to remain focused.
Which wasn't easy. He vowed to not eat more cheese … if he survived the damn experience. That was in doubt at the moment.
“Chief! Chief!” a frantic voice called out as the ship bucked. “The bottle on number two! It's going!”
“Damn it!” he broke out of his woolgathering, cursing under his breath as he tried to salvage something of the situation. But he instantly saw the addled reactor was past the point of getting sorted out. He flipped up the big red button and slammed his palm down onto the button. “Scram reactor two! Power room two, you've got ten seconds to clear out!” he bellowed. “Shag your asses!”
Nine seconds later locks shut hard and fast and panels exploded away from the ship. They rebounded against her weakened shield. Reactor two's core went next, ripping through plasma conduits and ODN lines as it was ejected.
:::{)(}:::
The ship bucked and then her speed dropped. “What the hell just happened?” Captain Knoll demanded. He took his eyes off the plot to the ship's readouts.
“It looks like we just lost reactor two, sir,” the XO said, fighting to keep his voice even despite the dire situation.
“Get Chief Riker to get it back!” the captain ordered.
“It’s scrammed, sir; he had to eject it. With two of our sublight drives down, we're already loosing speed and shield strength,” the XO stated.
“Damn it!” the captain snarled, clenching his teeth and fists in impotent rage. “When I get my hands on that stupid prick …”
“Worry about the enemy, sir. They'll get their hands on us sooner,” the XO warned, nodding his chin to the plot. “Enemy is two minutes outside our max energy engagement window, sir. They are overhauling us.”
Star Mauler was crippled, her speed cut down, and her shields failing under the constant relentless pounding all of the fleet was enduring. “Comm, raise the flag,” the c
aptain said.
“You seem to have a problem, Captain Knoll,” Admiral De Gaulte said after a moment. The captain grimaced at the rather pointed statement of the obvious.
“Yes, sir. Sir, we need time to get our energy reserves back up. We need cover,” he said.
“So does the entire fleet. You're going to provide that cover, Captain,” the admiral said, eying the other man.
“Sir?”
“You're going to fall back …,” the admiral said as the captain began to vehemently shake his head. “Get over yourself, Captain Knoll, this is for the good of the fleet,” he barked sternly.
“But, sir! We've got a prince on board!”
“Don't you think I don't know that? I've got a princess here. Mine trumps yours,” the admiral growled.
“But …”
“We can't slow down. If we do we're all dead. Do the math, Captain. Your ship has had it. Do what you can. Don't let them catch you,” the admiral said as he cut off the captain's pleading for fleet to stay with them. After a moment he cut the circuit.
The captain snarled impotently, pounding his fists into his armrests. “To hell with you then!” he finally said.
“Sir?” the XO said, eyes wide in fright.
“It looks like Star Mauler has no choice XO. We're the noble sacrifice,” the captain said bitterly. “Turn to fight the enemy. We'll take some of the bastards with us,” the captain snarled.
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Catherine wasn't the only one staring at the admiral as he concluded his end of the conversation with Star Mauler. He closed the circuit then looked up to the silent room. “Get back to work, people,” he said firmly. He rose from his chair and walked over to Catherine's station. “Hopefully, this makes the difference,” he said quietly, crossing his arms.
“If Captain Knoll is willing to play his part,” she reminded him.
“I think he will. Sampson said he always wanted to go out swinging. Here's his chance,” he said. He turned and pitched his voice to address the room at large. “As soon as Star Mauler engages, I want us to dump the power from our weapon mounts into the hyperdrive capacitors,” he ordered. He held up a restraining hand as Jeremy opened his mouth to protest. “Yes, yes I know it's dangerous and will do damage. So be it. We need to haul ass out of here,” he said.