by Jay Allan
West stood quietly, thinking. Garret hadn’t had a choice…the fate of all human space had rested on his decision. Indeed, if he’d failed to do as he had done, Compton would have died. Everyone on the fleet would have died…along with the rest of mankind.
This situation was different. If she turned back, it was likely Nicki Frette would die—if she wasn’t already dead. Her fleet and crews would die with her. But West could guarantee that a large portion of the republic’s fleet would survive to defend the home world.
She knew what her old mentor would have done. Or did she? Was she just believing what she wanted to believe…to justify the action she desperately wanted to take?
No, Augustus Garret always pressed on, moved forward, whatever the risk. And so will I.
“We’re moving forward, Achilles. I understand the dangers, but we have to try. We have to find out what is happening.”
Achilles just nodded. “Yes, Admiral.”
She turned to face the Mule. She had expected him to argue with her, to barrage her with facts and computations of potential outcomes. But he just stood there staring back at her…with what she could have sworn was sympathy in his eyes.
She had always respected the Mules, admired their amazing intellects. But she’d never considered them warriors, nor expected them to truly understand the qualities that drove creatures of battle like herself. Now, she was rethinking that, wondering if for all her respect and admiration she hadn’t underestimated Achilles and his people.
“It is what I have to do, Achilles. What we have to do. We can’t abandon our people, not for any reason.”
“I believe I understand, Admiral. Indeed, there is no clearly correct answer here. The potential to gain further information and to escape with it is a powerful inducement to advance…in addition, of course, to the factors you suggest.” He paused. “Yet any move forward also carries enormous risk of total destruction for the fleet. It is, of course, your decision.”
“It is decided.” West paused, standing still, looking at her Mule companion for a few seconds. “Prepare your people, Achilles…I’m going to send a ship back to Earth Two with a complete report. Your team can return with the dispatches. There is no reason to put you and your people in greater danger.”
Achilles shook his head. She could see something in his eyes…
“No, Admiral. I will stay. Apart from the chance of rescuing Admiral Frette and her people, the primary advantage to your strategy is the opportunity to get a better idea of what we truly face. I believe I can be of value in that regard, which makes my remaining worth the risk.”
West was impressed. She’d associated many traits with the Mules before, but now she was seeing one she realized she hadn’t truly appreciated. Courage.
“Of course, you may remain, Achilles…if you are certain. You know that there is a good chance we’re not coming back…”
“I do. That does not alter my rationale.”
“And what of your people? You have to let them return.”
“I will ask Callisto and the others, but I do not believe they will answer differently. There are many variables regarding exactly what we are facing…and they may be able to help analyze the situation.”
West looked back at Achilles. “There is no shame in leaving. Your people are not naval crew…they are not warriors.”
“We are all warriors, Admiral, when the situation calls for it. As I said, I will offer my comrades the opportunity to return with your courier ship…but I feel comfortable in assuring you that none of them will accept. We will remain with you, Admiral, face this threat together.”
The Mule nodded, and then he turned and left the room, leaving Erika West staring in shock at the hatch as it closed behind him.
Chapter Thirty
Commander Cooper McDaid to His Squadrons
I could give you all a speech, talk to you of valor, of duty. Of honor. But none of that means a damn right now. All you need to know is that these bastards have killed our people…and that they will kill more of them today. The fighter pilots of the old fleet knew how to deal with this enemy…Greta Hurley knew how to deal with them. Mariko Fujin knew how to deal with them.
Kill them. Just kill the bastards.
Bridge – E2S Compton
System G42
Earth Two Date 01.08.31
“Missile range in four minutes, Admiral. Starfire and Intrepid are still reloading their magazines. All other vessels report ready to launch.”
Frette stared down at her screen, her eyes moving over the ships of her fleet. Strand’s escorts had joined the battle line, but her two capital ships were still rearming. Frette had been impressed with her subordinate’s ingenuity, at how she’d kept the enemy ships at bay for so long, alternating missile fire while her batteries were cooling. She’d been the prime mover in Strand’s promotion to command Starfire, and now she knew her instincts had been spot on.
“Very well, Commander.” She almost added a command to send a message to Strand, to urge her to complete the reloading as quickly as possible…but she realized the young officer would be doing everything possible to be ready on time.
“Frette turned back to the display, her eyes fixing on the lines of red icons moving toward her fleet. The enemy force was large. Too large, she realized. She felt the urge to order a retreat, to have all her ships blast away on full…but she knew that too was hopeless. She couldn’t outrun the enemy, and even if through some miracle her ships could stay out of the enemy’s firing range, the one thing she absolutely couldn’t do was lead them back to Earth Two.
She had no idea what the enemy knew, but the mere fact that the home world had never been attacked suggested they didn’t know where it was. And she wasn’t going to be the one who showed them the way. She was angry at herself already, wallowing in misery and blame for leading her people to disaster. She wasn’t going to take any risk of exposing Earth Two.
Her mind wandered back to the dispatches she had sent back, realizing how incomplete they had been now that she had a better idea of enemy strength. She wished she could send another ship…but such an attempt would be fraught with danger. Protecting Earth Two was the top priority. The only one.
“Admiral, Captain Strand reports her ships are reloaded. She requests permission to rejoin the battle line.”
“Permission granted.” Frette smiled, but it quickly died on her lips. She was proud of Strand, and her mind had drifted to a future where the gifted young officer rose to high command, to one day take her place…or even Erika’s. She saw much of herself in Strand, and more…she saw much of what she had always wanted to be, the things she had always strived for. But then she realized. Josie Strand didn’t have a future. She was twenty-nine years old, smart, brave, capable…and she was going to die here, in this system, in the next few hours.
Frette knew the tricks, the ways to keep her people occupied, their minds off the desperation of the situation. But she was the commander, and she couldn’t fool herself. Her people were doomed. They would fight bravely, she had no doubt about that. They would destroy a large number of enemy vessels. But in the end, they would be overwhelmed, crushed by an enemy force that was just too strong for them to defeat.
Her eyes were fixed, her gaze locked on the line of larger icons just behind the front of the enemy line. Leviathans. Twenty of them. Her five capital ships could take on a Leviathan and win…and Compton had some chance even against two. But she was outnumbered four to one in heavy units, and more like seven to one in lighter ships.
“Detecting enemy missile launches, Admiral.” A pause. “All along their line.”
Frette nodded. “Time until Starfire and Intrepid are back in the line?”
“One minute, thirty, sir. Captain Strand reports her ships are ready to launch as soon as they are in position.”
“Very well. All ships with racks loaded…launch now.” Compton and Excalibur had managed to reload their external racks, along with half a dozen of the cruisers.
It was far from ideal, but Frette would take any firepower she could get.
“Launching, Admiral…”
Frette leaned back, feeling the slight vibration as Compton launched the seventy-two weapons attached to her hull. A few seconds later, there was a slightly harder sensation…the battleship ejecting the racks that had held the missiles in place.
“Racks, jettisoned, Admiral.”
“Magazines ready…begin launch sequence in forty seconds.”
She stared back at the display, watching the massive wave of tiny red dots moving toward her ships. The enemy barrage was a deadly danger, but she knew her defenses would take out a lot of those missiles. She had been planning to launch her fighters on point defense sorties, but she’d changed her mind at the last minute and ordered the craft to be rearmed for anti-shipping runs. There was no point in committing so much firepower to the defense, not when her people had no chance of survival. Better to hurt the enemy as badly as possible, to wear away at what Erika and the rest of the fleet would have to face.
“All vessels standing by for launch orders, Admiral.”
Frette watched the incoming missiles, almost mesmerized as the tiny lights moved slowly toward her ships. She had launched first in the earlier battle, but this time she wanted to wait for all her vessels to be online. The more mass she could put into the salvo, the better chance it had over overloading the enemy defenses…and scoring some kills.
“Captain Strand reports her ships are ready, Admiral.”
“Fleet order…launch all missiles.”
“Launching.”
She listened as Kemp relayed her order on the fleet com, her eyes locked on the display as Compton shook lightly with the release of her missiles. Her massive flagship carried a greater armament than any vessel in human history, and she sat silent as two hundred fifty-six missiles launched, thirty-two at a time, each one of them carrying eight five hundred megaton warheads. It was a mind-bending exercise to try and comprehend the destructive power of those mighty weapons. But Frette knew the battle would not be decided by the missile exchange. Advancements in targeting technology had vastly improved interdiction efforts, and she knew the fleet would expend gigatons of explosive power to do minor radiation damage on enemy targets. The real fight would be at close range, when the energy weapons opened up.
“All missiles away, Admiral.”
“Execute maneuver plan Vega-9. Prepare to receive enemy missile attack.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“And scramble all fighter squadrons. I want every bird launched before those missiles close into detonation range.” She had no doubt Cooper McDaid and his pack of hotshot pilots would inflict massive damage on the enemy…and she had no intention of risking any of them being blown apart still in their mother ships or trapped in crippled launch bays.
She stared ahead, struggling to maintain focus. It was time. Time for her last battle.
* * *
“Outer bay doors open. Transferring control to wing leaders. Good luck, hunters!”
Cooper McDaid sat at the pilot’s station of his fighter, his hand gripped tightly around the throttle. “Thanks, control…commencing launch now.”
McDaid turned his head, a last visual check that his crew was strapped in and ready…and then he hit the ignition controls and fired the turbo thrusters.
He felt his body slam back hard into his chair as the combination of the launch catapult and the fighter’s thrusters blasted the tiny vessels down the launch tube at over one hundred gees. The inertial dampeners were running at full power, but they weren’t powerful enough to fully absorb the tremendous force being exerted, and McDaid struggled to force air into his lungs.
The fighter tore down the launch tube and out into the blackness of space, followed, he knew, exactly four seconds later, by the next ship in line. McDaid had been brought up on stories of the great fighter assaults Admiral Hurley had led against the enemy, hundreds of small craft launching devastating wave attacks on the ships of the First Imperium. He also knew how few of those pilots had survived to reach Earth Two…and the name at the top of that terrible casualty list had been none other than Greta Hurley.
McDaid had the cocksure personality that was a prerequisite for success in the fighter corps, but now he felt something different, and he thought of the great admiral, of how she had led one seemingly hopeless assault after another. McDaid was confident and courageous, but he also knew his people were facing hopeless odds. The fleet was massively outnumbered, and that put the pressure on his crews to destroy as many enemy ships as possible…whatever the risk.
It didn’t matter, he knew, how much risk they took. It was doubtful they’d have any place to land when they completed their attack. The fleet had only five capital ships…and he knew there was no way for them to prevail. He’d just as soon see his people die in combat, taking down an enemy ship than have them floating in space, the fleet gone, waiting for the last of their life support to fail.
“All squadrons launched and in position, Commander.” Tuck Lowery was McDaid’s aide. He sat in the commander’s seat, which was available because McDaid had refused to give up the pilot’s seat for what he had described as, ‘a desk job with all the danger of the front lines.”
“Let’s go, Tuck…it’s time to show these First Imperium bastards that the human race still knows how to fly fighters.”
“Yes, sir.”
McDaid, angled the throttle to the side, brought his ship around slowly as the thrust altered its vector. His eyes darted to the screen, noting with satisfaction how sharply his people followed. The fighter corps was a fraction of the strength it had been in the days of the fleet…but he’d put his people against any crews who had ever taken the fight to the enemy. And he intended to prove that point now…even if no one would survive to speak of it.
“The enemy missiles are entering detonation range, sir.” Lowery’s voice was soft, dark.
McDaid stared at the display. The point defense had taken out a lot of the enemy warheads, but there were too many left. He’d expected Frette to order his people armed for point defense duty again, but she’d sent them after the enemy ships instead. It had been an aggressive call, one he respected.
One they’re about to pay for…
He watched as the laser batteries fired their last desperate shots, picking off missiles he knew could detonate at any moment. Frette had the escorts up front, clearly trying to protect her battleships any way she could. But he also knew the enemy algorithms would preference capital ships as targets.
His eyes were fixed on the display when the first tiny dot expanded into a large circle…and then disappeared a few seconds later. Then another…and another. And then more, almost fifty in total, some detonating harmlessly, too far from any ships to cause significant damage. But others were closer to the mark…including one antimatter warhead that exploded less than a kilometer from Heraclius.
He closed his eyes for an instant when he saw it. The view on the screen was cold, clinical, nothing more than dots of light on a black display. But he knew on Heraclius, things were far from so neat and clean. The great ship’s hull would be compromised, melted in places from the massive heat of the antimatter explosion. The vessel would be bathed in massive amounts of gamma rays, and every hull breach would allow more of the deadly radiation to penetrate, scrambling ship’s systems…and killing men and women. Heraclius didn’t blow up, not immediately, but McDaid knew from his training the battleship was likely a dead hulk.
There were other detonations within the danger zone, including two so close to destroyers, McDaid couldn’t imagine any of their crews had survived. He felt sick to his stomach, realizing that dozens, perhaps hundreds of his comrades had died over the past few minutes. He felt an irrational urge to turn around, to return and help somehow. But he knew there was nothing he could do for the fleet’s crews.
Nothing but avenge them.
* * *
“Damage control parties report f
ires under control, Admiral. The reactor is back at ninety-four percent output.”
“Very well.” Frette felt the relief flood over her. There had been a moment there, one where she’d been afraid Compton was in trouble. The detonation hadn’t been that close, well into the moderate range, but the massive blast of radiation had hit her flagship just where it hurt the most. A series of overloaded conduits had partially scragged the reactor…and started a series of fires.
But her crews had gotten everything under control, quicker than she’d imagined possible. Compton was combat ready. What had seemed for a short time as serious damage had proven to be no more than a few singed circuits…and now Nicki Frette stared ahead, her blood cold, ready to strike back.
Her missiles had hit the enemy hard, the first wave from the external racks detonating among the forward escort ships…and hindering their interception efforts. Almost one hundred missiles from the main salvo had penetrated the enemy defenses and exploded along their battle line. Leviathans were tough ships, and most of the damage caused was light or moderate…but one enemy battleship had been bracketed between two warheads…and it split open like an egg, disappeared a few seconds later as its antimatter containment failed.
Frette listened to the damage control reports from the fleet, her eyes flitting back and forth from one display to another as she tried to keep track of everything…the status of her ships, the damage assessments coming in on the enemy fleet, the state of repairs on Compton…
How did Erika do this? Or Admiral Compton…with hundreds of ships under his command?
She stared down at the neural link, pausing for a few seconds before reaching out and grabbing it. She took one last look at the main display…and then she put the headset on, and felt the ship’s AI connecting with her mind.