At one hour before the projected rejoin and the renewal of the battle, all the ships in the three fleets reversed once more, now decelerating again, with the intention of being nearly stopped when at last they converged. This was a final battle; this was three gunmen walking down a dark alley toward each other, ready for a fight.
At forty-five minutes before convergence, Rob ordered the launch of all birds from all three carriers. 514 A40’s, fully loaded with two ship-killer missiles each, departed the three carriers and headed for their initial points – all that remained of the 726 birds that had started the battle.
Thirty-five minutes later, the Bats and the RDF fleets coasted toward each other, nose to nose, engines idling, weapons armed, knowing only one fleet could walk away.
Ginger squatted at Jake’s side, trying to convince him. “Let the doc give you something, Jake,” she said for the second time.
Jake just looked at her. “Nope. Not gonna happen, Ginger. I’ve waited eighty-six years to kill these bastards and I’m going to be sitting right here when I do.”
Ginger sighed. “Jake…”
“Let’s get to business, Ginger,” Jake said. “We’ll mourn the dead later.”
Sadly, Ginger nodded, got up and went back to her command chair.
In the holo, Jake could see that the remaining Bat fleet had decelerated down to almost nothing, relative to them. In another ten minutes, they’d be in railgun range. It was going to be a slugfest. He did some quick mental math in his head. By his estimate, and the notes on the holo sidebar, the survivors of First and Second Fleets – now joined together – had fifteen ships remaining, not counting the three carriers – four battleships, two cruisers, three frigates and six destroyers. He estimated he could throw 832 railgun slugs per minute with that remnant of his fleet. There appeared to be sixteen Bat ships left – four battleships, six cruisers, six frigates. His best intelligence estimates said they would throw 1,104 railgun slugs per minute. So, he was at a distinct disadvantage in throw weight. The RDF had estimated that their railgun accuracy was somewhat better than the Bats, on average, mostly due to more training and better AI control. He was about to find out.
“One minute, Admiral,” came the call from the Bridge below. Jake nodded, knowing that his Flag Captain would take care of what had to be done. All the plans were laid, all the weapons were charged, all that was left to do was execute. A klaxon rang, the sing-song of the excess g warning. Across the RDF fleet, every crewman pulled his straps tighter, or laid down on the floor to endure what was coming.
With a bang, the entire fleet, synchronized by the AI system, ramped up to 207 g in a matter of eight seconds, charging toward the slow-moving Bat Fleet. They were roughly 2,000 km apart; it took only twenty-five seconds for the RDF ships to be in the middle of the Bat Fleet, firing every railgun and beamer they had as they passed through. The Bats appeared to be ready, though – a maze of beams and railgun rounds came back at them as they went through, knocking chunks off every RDF ship.
Jake saw a Bat battleship and two Bat cruisers lose way and stop firing. He screamed “Yes!”, as did almost every other person on the bridge. Two Bat frigates also went silent, one of them losing way and the other remaining with the Bat fleet, but no longer firing. Jake felt a huge clang as the Wellington took a railgun round somewhere aft; he noted the acceleration drop dramatically as the Wellington lost way, and on the holo sidebar he could see that two of their four engines had gone offline. The remainder of the RDF fleet, following strict orders, pulled quickly away from them, leaving them limping along behind, able to muster only a bit over 100 g. His four screening destroyers stayed with him, though, following close behind, trying to screen his vulnerable rear. Quickly, they passed out of range, but at only 100g, he knew it would not take long for the Bats to run him down. And indeed, even as he watched, the Bat Fleet began to turn, vectoring back toward him, their engines running up to full power to come after him.
Vitus was drained. In the first round of battle, his squadron had attacked a Bat cruiser which was one of the few ready for them in every way. Taking fire all the way in on their attack run, Vitus had taken shrapnel in his port engine from a close burst which also holed his canopy in several places, but he continued his run, holding right rudder as hard as he could to keep the A40 on target, sucking oxygen from the emergency supply as his suit inflated to pressurize his body. Just as he released his missiles, another hit took out his electronics, powering down his instrument panel and all his navigation gear. He managed to navigate back to the carrier using a handheld backup beacon, but it took him twice as long as everyone else.
By the time he made it back to the Enterprise, everyone thought he had bought the farm - until he came limping into the rear recovery area reserved for damaged ships and crashed into the barrier. His right leg was numb from holding the rudder down to control the ship; as he sat wearily in the cockpit waiting for the space suited emergency crew to remove him and take him out of the unpressurized deck, he realized he was losing pressure in his suit.
He could hear a slight hissing in his helmet, now that the engines were off. Reaching up his hand to the right side of his helmet, he found two small holes, one in front and one in back, just at his right ear. His hand came away red with blood. He realized a tiny piece of shrapnel had gone through the helmet front to back, just catching his ear but missing his head. Quickly he grabbed a patch and slapped it over the two holes, sealing them, as the canopy was opened by the crew outside. Man-handling him out of the cockpit, they laid him on a small power cart and rushed him through the airlock to the pressurized medical bay on the other side of the wall.
And then he found out about his father. As the corpsman attended to his ear, the CAG, Captain Wayne, walked into the room and quietly explained what had happened to Captain Cassian. Vitus had taken it silently. He had known it was coming. He had always known that Cassian would not come back from this battle. They had hugged each other fiercely, this morning as they prepared to board their fighters. And he had known then. He had pulled back and looked at his father, and Cassian had looked back at him. Then Cassian had said quietly, “You were the best son any Daneki could ask for. I will be proud of you forever.” And Vitus had known that he would never see him again.
Now Vitus squinted at the holo in the A40. They had patched his ear and assigned him to a new bird, and he had launched again from the Enterprise, leading the Enterprise wing as temporary DCAG for this final pass at the Bats. He was exhausted, but so were all the other pilots. This morning, they had waited for the Bat Fleet in their cramped cockpits for six hours, hidden in place with engines powered down, until the Bats finally showed up and passed right down the kill zone, oblivious to their presence. Then the attack, and his difficult return to the ship, had taken another hour. He had spent an hour in the dispensary, conferring with the CAG on the final attack plan, and getting his new ship assignment, and another half-hour thrusting toward the position he now occupied with his wing, 10,000 km behind the Bat Fleet, as they reversed course to chase down the crippled Wellington and the rest of the RDF Fleet.
Vitus knew that the sudden thrust the RDF Fleet had made through the Bats was no accident – it was part of the plan. But having the Wellington crippled was not part of that plan. Now the Wellington limped along, able to pull only 100g, screened by four flimsy destroyers, with the Bat Armada – what was left of it - turning to engage from the rear. She didn’t have a chance. The Bats still had three battleships left, four cruisers and four frigates. It would be a massacre when they caught up to the Wellington. Unless his Wing could do something about it.
Onboard the Warmonger, Rashtal stared at the holo. He was not oblivious to the three carriers sitting 25,000 km off his vector, and he knew exactly when they launched their fighters. He had watched the tiny ships form up behind him as he reversed course.
But right in front of him was the crippled Ape battleship, and he knew – he just knew – it had to be the flagship. Because th
e four destroyers screening it from behind had never wavered, covering the vulnerable engines as best they could, even as they were peppered with railgun rounds and beamers in the last pass, leaving them cut to pieces. Because two of the Ape battleships had come from the first group, the fleet they had chased all the way from Nest, and he was sure the flagship would not be one of those. It would be with the larger, second group that came in later – as this one did. And because he just knew.
Turning to Caltel, he shook his head. “What we should do is break off and go back to Nest, and come after these Apes later, after we’ve re-grouped. But I suspect they won’t let us do that. I think that’s what the little ships are for – to prevent us escaping to the mass limit.”
Caltel frowned. “But we still have them out-gunned, why would we try to escape?”
Rashtal smiled. “Because if we don’t, those little ships are going to come right up our ass.”
Rashtal saw the shadow pass across Caltel’s face as he realized they were still in a trap, just a different kind of trap.
“So, if we run, they stay right behind us all the way to the mass limit, and probably take out half of what’s left of our fleet.”
Rashtal nodded. “And if we don’t run, they stay right behind us here, and probably take out half of what’s left.” He turned back to the holo. “We’re not running. So at least let’s take out that crippled battleship and as many of the rest of them as we can, Caltel.”
“Aye, sir,” called Caltel.
Rashtal turned back to the holo. “Full speed ahead at that crippled battlewagon, Caltel. Let’s kill that one first.”
Watching the Bat Fleet on his holo, Vitus saw that the Bat commander had made his decision. The Bats accelerated at 200g toward the Wellington, now close to 80,000 km ahead, limping along at 100g. Vitus slapped his comm button and called out, “First Wing, after them! Don’t let them open separation on us!” Immediately his remaining fighters, the one hundred and sixty-seven that remained from the Enterprise squadrons, boosted to 206g, chasing down the Bats.
On the Vercingetorix, now nearly 80,000 km ahead of the Wellington, Phoebe Walker looked over the Flag Bridge partition at Selena Field, her Flag Captain, and pointed toward the holo. “Selena, reverse course and take us back to the Wellington.”
Selena nodded, but felt compelled to add, “Admiral, that is contrary to Admiral Hammett’s orders. The orders were not to turn back for any disabled ships.”
“Noted and logged, Selena. You won’t bear any responsibility for this.”
Selena grinned. “Oh, but I want to, Admiral. If you hadn’t said it, I was!”
Selena turned to her Comm officer and said, “To all ships, come about and return to defend the Wellington. Now, now, now!”
Phoebe heard the main engines stop and felt the Coriolis force that could never be completely damped out as the Vercingetorix started coming about. It took her about two minutes to reverse course, in which time she gained another 10,000 km on the Wellington. Then her mains fired again, and the sing-song of the excess g alarm sounded once more. Phoebe tightened her straps and placed her hands flat on the arms of her command chair, hearing the countdown to excess g sound over the comms.
The Comm Officer lifted his head. “Admiral, comm from Admiral Hammett on the Wellington.”
Phoebe, knowing what it would be, smiled. “Read it to me, Comms.”
The Comm Officer looked flustered. “Uh…out loud, Mum?”
“Yes, out loud, Comms.”
The Comm Officer gulped and started reading from his screen.
“Phoebe get your ass turned around and get back on plan, or I swear I’ll bust you down to Midshipman.”
Phoebe smiled at Selena, shaking her head. “Ignore it, Comms. I can’t hear up here for some reason right now. Must be the klaxon.”
On board the Enterprise, Rob had a front row seat as events played out before him. He saw the Bats reverse course to chase down the Wellington. He saw the A40 Wings boost at Max Emergency Power to catch them up, per the battle plan. He saw the remainder of the RDF fleet turn back towards the Wellington, ignoring the battle plan, which was to keep the Bat Fleet chasing them as long as possible, so the fighters could do their dirty work. He knew that was Phoebe making that decision. He couldn’t help but grin, knowing he would have done the same.
Studying the plot a bit more, he realized that Phoebe would not get back in time. She would almost make it; but not quite. The Bats would have the Wellington well before Phoebe would be in range.
“Damn it!”
Rob looked at the plot some more. The Bats had just completed their course reversal 95,000km behind the Wellington and were accelerating at 200g. They would be in range in five and a half minutes. Phoebe was about 100,000km in front of the Wellington, but she had reversed course at a much higher speed and had a lot of delta-v to bleed off before she would come back their way.
And Rob was just 85,000km from the Wellington.
“Mr. Davis, please set a vector for 40,000km in front of the Wellington’s current position and boost at Max Emergency Power.”
Davis looked at him. “Rob? Are you thinking about what you are doing?
Rob looked at his XO. “Objection noted, Mr. Davis. Please carry out the order.”
As his Wing approached the Bat Fleet from behind, Vitus realized that his fighters would engage the Bat Fleet just about thirty seconds before they caught up to the Wellington. Vitus flipped a switch and armed his missiles, checking his board to make sure all his squadrons did the same. The last few seconds ticked down quicker than he expected – suddenly they were in range. Missiles started to fly by him, first a few, then a flock, thicker and thicker as the hundreds of fighters following him fired off their ordnance under coordinated AI control. The AI selected the targets and fired the missiles, but only after the pilot confirmed the selections and authorized the release.
But Vitus did not fire. His authorization light was blinking madly, the AI waiting for permission to release the missiles. But his screen showed the AI had selected a cruiser, the nearest one to him on his vector. The cruiser, along with the rest of the Bat supporting ships, completely blocked the battleships leading the pack. The battleships would not be scratched in this initial attack. And the Second Wing, coming along behind, would not arrive in time to save the Wellington. Vitus felt it in his bones.
“To hell with this,” snarled Vitus. He flipped a switch and turned off the automatic AI firing mode. Flipping a second override switch, he firewalled his throttle, and the A40 jumped, knocking him back against his head restraint as he exceeded the compensators ability to manage the g forces by a full 12g. Flattened against the seat, he pulled back on the stick, feeling the g-forces rise as the AI limiter prevented him from crushing himself into jelly – but not from feeling the full effects of 12g on his body.
Grunting under the pressure, Vitus rose to 500km over the Bat Fleet in a few seconds, the AI jerking him around crazily as the Bat screening ships’ point defense systems threw hundreds of rounds at him. He heard a “chink” as shrapnel pattered off the aft part of the bird. Another round knocked chunks off his front fuselage, leaving a gaping hole through which he could see into the innards of his ship. Finally, he was past the cruisers and frigates and could see the battleships, three monsters side-by-side, nose on to the Wellington which was just coming into their range.
On the Warmonger, Rashtal studied the holo. The Wellington was coming into range of his ship, and he nodded to Caltel. “Open fire, Caltel.”
Immediately the Warmonger began shooting, railgun rounds for now as they were not in range yet for the beamers. The Wellington was firing back and juking for all she was worth. Rashtal heard his own ship taking hits, but he no longer cared. This was a death match now, and both parties knew it.
For several seconds the Wellington was lucky – taking hits, but nothing that seemed to hurt her too much. Then Rashtal saw a large chuck of ship come off her right side, and she spun, out of con
trol, as another of her main engines quit. Instantly the other working engine shut down, to prevent the ship tearing herself apart. The Wellington was now dead in space, spinning rapidly due to the imbalance from the uneven engine shutdowns. In the holo it caused the optical allusion that she was charging back at them as the distance suddenly lessened.
“Drop accel, go to decel!” yelled Caltrun, and the Warmonger ceased her acceleration and started braking hard, to keep from overrunning the Wellington. Beside her, the other two battleships also dropped accel, their AI systems reacting to Caltel’s command via the links between them.
Rashtal watched as his rounds now tore the RDF battleship apart, piece by piece. More large chunks of ship broke away as the railgun slugs tore into her. No more than 100km from her now, their slugs traveled the distance in less than fifteen seconds.
“She can’t hold together much longer,” said Caltel beside him.
Suddenly the Tac Officer yelled. “Sir! We’ve got that big-ass ship coming in between us!”
In the holo, Rashtal saw one of the Ape carriers decelerating madly as it interposed itself between the Warmonger and the Wellington. On the front of the huge carrier, four small railgun cannons fired, throwing slugs at the Warmonger, along with all her point defense cannon, which were mere popguns to the Warmonger.
Rashtal shook his head. “Suicide.” He nodded to Caltel. “Retarget the carrier, take her out, and then get back to the battleship.”
On the bridge of the Enterprise, Rob Walker placed a hand on Davis’s back, encouraging him. Davis glanced at him, grim. “They’ll tear us apart, Rob. We’ve got no business here.”
Rob shook his head. “I won’t let them take Wellington as long as we have a shell left, XO. Keep firing, keep juking, keep praying.”
With a clang, the Enterprise rebounded from a direct hit somewhere aft, and it was all the Helm could do to keep her straight. An alarm rang as fire was reported somewhere in the ship. Davis looked at Rob, shaking his head.
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