“But first we must escape into alteredspace,” said Raidan. “I can’t help you if we’re trapped by Ravinder’s fleet.”
“I quite agree.” The connection terminated.
“The battlegroup is beginning to jump into alteredspace,” reported Mr. Ivanov.
“Good,” said Raidan. “Mr. Watson, as soon as we’re clear to jump, get us the hell out of here.”
***
“Here they come,” said Shen, getting a reading on his Ops display.
“How many are there?” asked Calvin.
“So far I count ten warships and twelve cutter-class troop transports. More may be coming.”
“Ready to clear for action,” said Miles. “Just give the order.” The ship was at General Quarters, but Calvin had ordered Miles to keep the shields down and the stealth engaged. The idea was to attack at the opportune moment against a vulnerable, critical target, since the Khans didn’t know the Nighthawk was here. At least, they shouldn’t know, though there was always the chance that they had an inside man among the Roscos.
“Not quite yet,” said Calvin. “Let’s wait until the best opportunity.”
“But there’s nothing out there that can even touch us,” said Miles, sounding disappointed. “I’m eager to start kicking asses!”
“And you’ll get that chance, I promise you that,” said Calvin. “Shen, what kind of warships are we up against?”
“Several variations. They are flying no colors and refuse to answer any of the Roscos’ attempts to hail them. I’ll bring them up on the 3D display.”
Several ships materialized on the 3D display, it adjusted for clarity, and Calvin could see the ten warships, flying in formation, approaching the Rosco squadron, which was also deployed in a battle formation. Although the newly arrived ships sent no identifying information, Calvin recognized them by their configurations: four sloops, three destroyers, two assault frigates, and a cruiser. All of them had clearly once belonged to the Alliance.
“Looks like they’ve repurposed several Alliance starships,” said Summers, as if reading his mind.
“My conclusion also,” said Calvin.
“My conclusion is that we can kill them all,” said Miles. “The Rosco squadron doesn’t have a chance. Not without our help. What are we waiting for?”
“We are waiting because our objective is to protect the station, not the squadron,” said Calvin. “Shen, focus in on those cutter-class transports.”
“Aye, sir.” The 3D display shifted to reveal ten boxy-looking starships, all headed directly toward Aleator One, which meant they were also, unknowingly, heading toward the Nighthawk.
“How many soldiers or Strigoi do you estimate are aboard each of those transports?” asked Calvin, as he watched the ships approach.
“Hard to say,” said Shen.
“Any one of those ships can hold up to a thousand soldiers,” said Miles. “At full capacity.”
“A thousand soldiers a ship, and ten ships,” said Calvin, “then I suppose that makes them the priority targets, don’t you agree, Miles?”
“Yes, Cal,” said Miles. Even he knew that, despite the Roscos’ fearsome reputation, and the fact that Aleator One and its satellite stations boasted many soldiers, they would be unable to oppose ten thousand invaders. Especially if those invaders included the dreaded Strigoi.
“On my signal, drop stealth and open fire on the nearest transport,” said Calvin.
“I can do it now,” said Miles.
“Not yet,” said Calvin. He wanted the transports to be just past them, so the Nighthawk could take them from the rear, where they were least armored.
The ships continued to move closer on steady course for Aleator One, ready to carve their way in.
“Steady,” said Calvin. “Steady, Miles.”
Miles looked eager enough that, had he not been so loyal to Calvin, Calvin suspected he would have already begun firing their weapons, despite orders to hold fire. The fact that it was taking this long for the Nighthawk to enter the fight seemed to be causing Miles actual physical pain.
“How are our friends holding up?” asked Calvin, if for no other reason than to distract Miles.
“The squadrons have just engaged one another,” said Shen. “They are exchanging fire. No ships destroyed currently, though an enemy sloop is taking heavy damage.”
At last the transports were in the position Calvin wanted them to be. “Clear for action,” he said. “Sarah, bring us around, and, Miles, target those transports.”
“With pleasure!” said Miles.
The ship yawed sharply to port until the glow of the transports’ engines could be seen through the forward window. They were mere dozens of MCs away.
“Locked and loaded,” said Miles. “Also our shields are raised.”
“Open fire!” said Calvin.
Their beam weapon crashed into the centermost transport, which was also hit by heavy gunfire, and, for good measure, two of the Nighthawk’s missiles. Altogether, it was a serious enough injury to destroy the transport. It exploded in a flash, sending debris everywhere, including some into the Nighthawk’s armor.
“Just a scratch,” said Shen, after checking his display.
“Keep firing,” said Calvin, “take out as many as you can. Sarah, keep us right on top of them.”
They both acknowledged him, and, moments later, another transport was reduced to debris.
By this point the transports were beginning to panic; they split off from each other, breaking formation, trying to make themselves more difficult targets for the Nighthawk by dispersing. Calvin knew that one or more of the transports was likely to make it through to the station, but he would take out as many as he could. Since they kept their sterns exposed to the Nighthawk, because they were dead-set on reaching Aleator One, that kept them vulnerable. Another transport destroyed in a flash.
“That’s three,” said Miles. He targeted the next closest one and began to fire.
“No,” said Shen, to everyone’s surprise. “Those two, those two.” He pointed at the 3D display to the two transports that would take the most time to lock onto and destroy.
“What?” asked Miles, staying on his current target. “That’s just dumb, Shen.”
Calvin leaned forward in his chair and searched Shen’s face. Something was different.
“Those two!” Shen repeated, pointing frantically.
“What is it?” asked Calvin. “What do you see?”
Shen looked unable to explain it. But as he pointed at them again, his eyes seemed to glow red, just for a split second, and it took Calvin off-guard. For a moment, he thought he was looking at Tristan.
“Just trust me,” said Shen. “You have to destroy those two.”
Miles’s current target exploded, having taken enough abuse.
“Miles,” said Calvin, “do as he says. Go for those two.”
“Okay, all right, but it makes no sense,” said Miles, adjusting his targeting computer. “Sarah get us a bit closer; my guns can’t hit them from here.”
“Why those two?” asked Sarah, as she complied and moved the Nighthawk to an appropriate position of attack.
“I can’t explain it,” said Shen. “I just know.”
“Opening fire,” said Miles. Before long, one of the two was destroyed. “There goes one of them,” he said. “But our beam weapon has overheated; our main guns are pretty hot too. I’m going to have to stick to missiles for a bit.” He fired three missiles, ending the other of the two transports that Shen had been so fixated upon.
“Any more magic targets for me?” asked Miles, looking at Shen.
“No,” said Shen, looking much more peaceful, though slightly embarrassed. Calvin dismissed it, deciding he’d prefer to keep his people on task.
“Miles, acquire another target; let’s get as many as we can before they cut into the station,” ordered Calvin.
They were able to destroy two more. Unfortunately, two of the transports managed to reach
the station and deploy. They easily carved through the station’s hull, one in the cargo bay the other near the hangar—two very exposed locations. In both instances, the invaders allowed the contents of each location to blow out into space before securing a seal around the breached hull. If any people defending the station had been lost this way, blown out into space, they were too small for the 3D display, or Calvin’s naked eyes, to spot them.
“Shall I destroy those two transports protruding from the station?” asked Miles.
“No, save the ammunition,” said Calvin. “By now those transports have unloaded their troops and are Grady and Nimoux’s problem. Let’s use our remaining missiles on the enemy squadron. Shen, what is the situation?”
“The enemy squadron is at around seventy-five percent strength, the Rosco defense squadron is at about half. Much longer and the Rosco sentry ships and destroyers will be completely annihilated.”
“Looks like they could use a hand,” said Calvin. “Sarah, get us over there. Miles, be ready for a real fight.”
“It’s about time.”
“Target their cruiser,” said Calvin. “That’s the leader, and it’s the one causing most of the trouble. Let’s eliminate it and put some fear into the rest of them.”
“Happily,” said Miles.
***
Standing in the makeshift command center, Nimoux got his first report. “Enemy sighted,” came the cry over the radio. “They’ve carved their way into the main cargo bay. We’re engaging them now—they’re charging out onto the deck. There’s hundreds of them. We have to fall back!”
The second report came seconds later. It was much like the first. “The enemy transport has sliced a hole in the auxiliary support room of the main hangar. We’re waiting for them to come out to engage them. Wait, now they’ve sealed the breach—here they come! Opening fire!” This was followed by, “We have to fall back. They’re swarming the deck. I can’t estimate their number, there’s got to be—” then silence.
“Come in, Alpha Two,” said Nimoux into the radio. “You got cut off.”
Radio silence.
“Alpha Two, report, over,” said Nimoux.
Nothing. He had to assume Alpha Two had been cut down. That meant the Rosco forces near the hangar had likely been overrun. That meant that area was the top priority, even though, between the cargo bay and the hangar, there were two fronts.
“Attention all auxiliary forces,” said Nimoux, “proceed immediately to the corridors surrounding the main hangar and help our forces hold those chokepoints.”
“Yes, sir.”
“On our way.”
“What about us?” asked Alpha One.
“Give me your status,” said Nimoux.
“We’ve got them pinned down, for now, but we will need reinforcements soon.”
“Hold them as long as you can,” said Nimoux. “If they start to overwhelm you, then you are authorized to fall back, surrender ground if you must. As soon as we defeat the enemy near the hangar, I will order all forces to come to your aid. Until then, you’re on your own.”
“Understood, sir. We’ll do our best,” said Alpha One.
Nimoux looked down at the schematics of the station for the hundredth time; he needed to reassure himself that he had made the right call. According to the layout of the station, and where the enemy had chosen to attack, he had made the right strategic judgment. The forces near the hangar, if overrun, would grant the enemy access to all parts of the station, whereas the corridors near the cargo bay were a maze of chokepoints which a small force could use to stave off a much larger force for quite a long time—or so he hoped. A lot depended on the tactical abilities of the Rosco lieutenants commanding their soldiers, and their fighting skill overall.
If Nimoux had command of Special Forces garrisons instead, he would be certain his men could hold the cargo bay enemy long enough to await reinforcements. But unarmored and potentially untested Rosco soldiers? That changed the game. Nimoux did take some comfort in knowing the four soldiers he had brought with him were among the small team trying to hold against the enemy in the cargo bay. If they remembered the training Pellew and Nimoux had given them, they could help the Rosco lieutenants coordinate the defense there in the most optimal way. If they didn’t remember, then they would be no more use than the Rosco soldiers themselves, simply better equipped for battle.
“Alpha One, you may retreat as far as corridor Charlie Five if you must, but once you get there, it is imperative you stand your ground. If the enemy takes that hub, the station will be lost.”
“Understood, sir,” came the reply over the radio.
Nimoux felt his right hand instinctively curl around the sidearm holstered at his waist. I should be commanding from the front, he thought. But on Calvin and the doctor’s insistence, he remained away from the action. And, if his teams did their jobs properly, things should stay that way. However, if Alpha One’s forces collapsed too soon, then the command center itself would be vulnerable.
Nimoux looked around at the metal cage he was inside, and the steel door, and thought to himself, if they get as far as here, then I’m a goner. There is no way to defend this deathtrap.
***
First Lieutenant Ferreiro held his ground. He was on one knee and, from that position, behind the small amount of cover available, he carefully squeezed the trigger, firing in short bursts, aiming for the enemy’s heads. One went down. Then another. Then another. His clip ran dry. He dropped the magazine and slapped in another, still holding his position.
Despite his efforts, and those of his allies, the enemy was pressuring them hard. There were hundreds of Khan soldiers swarming the cargo bay, trying to take the corridor. Ferreiro was determined not to let them. But, no matter how many enemies he dropped, it seemed like two more appeared for each man that fell.
“Fall back,” commanded Alpha Two, the Rosco lieutenant in charge of their forces. “Everybody fall back to position two. They’ve got us here.”
Ferreiro did as he was told, even though he believed the retreat to be premature. We could have held them there a few minutes longer, thought Ferreiro, knowing how vital it was that they delay the enemy until reinforcements could arrive. However, he wasn’t about to hold the corridor alone, so he fell back with the others, taking up the best position he could find at the second chokepoint, knowing that the enemy had a foothold in the corridors now. The positioning still favored Ferreiro and his allies, despite being greatly outnumbered, but they only had so many positions they could fall back to.
“Here they come again!” someone shouted. Ferreiro raised his carbine and took aim again, lining up the iron sights with an enemy’s center of mass and then squeezing the trigger. Short bursts, he reminded himself. Short bursts.
Something was thrown their way; at first Ferreiro thought it was a grenade. He moved to kick it back down the corridor away from them, but just as he reached it, he realized what it was. “Flashbang!” he yelled as he kicked it. The instant his foot touched it, it went off, blinding him and deafening him with a shrill ringing sound.
Unsure of his position, and that of the enemy, he instinctively dropped to the ground, going entirely prone. He crawled toward where he thought cover was, waiting for his vision to clear and for the terrible ringing to go away.
***
“Three more missiles coming our way,” said Miles, in deep concentration as he worked the Nighthawk’s guns.
“Prioritize defensive fire,” said Calvin, not wanting to take any chances.
The beam weapon fired and a tiny explosion could be seen out the window. “There goes one,” said Miles. “Two. Annnnd three.”
“Now hit them with everything we’ve got!” said Calvin.
The Nighthawk’s shields had taken a pounding from the cruiser’s beam weapons; currently they were down to twenty-five percent strength, but the Nighthawk’s guns and missiles had ripped through the cruiser’s armor like it was made out of paper. Calvin imagined the chaos on th
e enemy ship; they’d taken critical damage, most of their systems must have gone offline.
Miles fired their weapons and this time, the fourth barrage targeting the enemy’s command ship proved to be the last. Finally, the enemy starship buckled and came apart, its hull splitting into thousands of pieces. Most of the ship exploded in a split-second flash.
“Cruiser destroyed,” announced Miles proudly.
By now the enemy squadron had taken notice of the Nighthawk. The frigates had moved in to help support the cruiser, and they remained a threat to the Nighthawk, but that maneuver only allowed the remaining Rosco ships to eliminate the rest of the enemy forces, which depended on the capital ships to hold their positions. Without them, they began routing in every direction, some even trying to jump to alteredspace. The Rosco squadron, what remained of it, continued to fight in formation—with near military discipline, and, because of that, they were able to make short work of the enemy squadron’s smaller ships, leaving only the two frigates.
“We’re taking a beating from the lead frigate,” said Shen. “Shields are completely offline and our starboard armor has been compromised.”
“Sarah, swing us around, show them our portside,” said Calvin. “Miles, deal with that frigate.”
“Trying to,” said Miles, “most of our guns are overheated and our ammunition supplies are low. I’m using the beam weapon to deal with incoming missiles.”
“Then hit them with our missiles,” said Calvin, as he stared at the 3D display and watched the frigates maneuver, trying to take the Nighthawk from multiple sides.
“We don’t have any more missiles,” said Miles, frustration straining his voice. “Five incoming missiles…I’ll have to divert our guns to deal with them.”
“The surviving Rosco ships are moving against the frigates,” said Shen. “They’ll be in firing range in thirty seconds.”
“It’s about damn time,” said Calvin, eager for some tactical support. Taking that cruiser head-on, especially when it had frigates to support it, had been ill-advised, and yet the Nighthawk and its crew managed to eliminate the cruiser. It was no secret that the Nighthawk packed a walloping punch. Unfortunately, the stealth warship had not been designed to take much abuse, and could potentially be destroyed by as few as two missile detonations within its shield radius. Already, they’d sustained one. And if the frigates continued hitting their starboard side, something the enemy frigates were maneuvering to do, the Nighthawk would be destroyed.
The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6) Page 10