“Copy LC.”
“LC, this is Draper. Incoming mark is retaining V for the moment. Estimate that at current V it will reach minimum attack-response distance in five minutes. I’ve sounded full available crew recall. Please advise further.”
Erik knew he could order Draper to wait until he and all Phoenix crew were back aboard. The actual minimum response time was twenty-two minutes, but that was only if they were going to run away. To actually hold this position, to turn into the attack and engage it, put the five-minute minimum into play. Joma Station’s position on the Rhea gravity slope was strategically poor, and any defending ship had to use those extra seventeen minutes to burn hard for position clear of the gravity well. If Phoenix were going to run, they could all do that together, falling into Rhea’s gravity well for a slingshot escape. But if they were going to fight, Lieutenant Draper would have to do that alone.
“Five minutes, I copy Lieutenant.” Giving life-or-death orders while running wasn’t easy. “We’re not going to make it back in five minutes. If that mark does not dump V, you are to break dock and make a circular flank. Get in contact with Joma Station defensive cruisers, see if they’ll come with you.”
“Aye sir. Request permission to retain second-shift crew, minus Lieutenant Dufresne.”
They arrived at a big bank of elevator doors, marines forming a cordon around the largest and simply pushing waiting civvies out of the way. “It’s your ship Lieutenant Draper. Use whomever you want.” As Phoenix spacers and marines stood before the elevators and watched impatiently for the next car.
“Come on, come on,” someone muttered, watching the approaching elevator. The smaller one arrived first, but it wasn’t express, and would stop at too many floors. They were at the top of the rim, and the shuttle dock at the bottom was a long way down. Wary barabo got on, pleased to be away from armed and alarmed humans.
“PH-4 is incoming,” Alomaim reported. “ETA two minutes. She’s going to have to wait.” That was Tif, probably she’d been on midships standby, with PH-1 off on its mission to Vola Station.
“Draper shouldn’t try to take an ibranakala-class alone,” Dufresne muttered. “Even with our barabo friends as support… sir, we’ve no guarantee they’ll even help, tavalai have always been their friends and protectors.”
Erik nodded. “I know.” No one even bothered to contemplate that the tavalai might not be hostile. It was entirely possible, but the consequence of complacency in this case was certain death, and they had no choice but to assume the worst. The elevator arrived and some alarmed barabo got off, sidling between the armoured marines. Other barabo who had not been intending to get off were convinced otherwise, and the Phoenix crew got on amidst shouts of barabo displeasure.
“Sir, I think he should wait for us so we can run,” Dufresne added amidst the tight crush in the elevator. Erik was not keen on running. They’d all worked so hard to get here, and to run before they’d achieved any of their goals would hurt.
“Watch your resistance guys,” Alomaim warned his marines, meaning that the light-armoured officers could get accidentally hurt by sudden movements from powered-armour.
“We don’t have to make that decision just yet,” Erik told Dufresne as the doors closed. But preferably very soon, and while Phoenix was still nose-to-dock. Once she left, Draper would be undisputed commander-on-deck, and could do whatever he wanted. Erik resisted the temptation to glance at Dufresne. Never had the matter of who sat the second-shift command chair seemed as urgently important as now.
The elevator hummed downward, skipping a whole bunch of minor floors as it headed for the dock level. “Sir, it’s Abacha. Mark just dumped V.” An audible sigh of relief within the elevator. To Erik it felt as though a 10-G burn had just ended, that sudden gasp of wonderful lightness. “Scan now has firm ID — ibranakala-class confirmed. Still no transponders, it appears to be on high alert… sir… sir one more dump, they’ve slowed right down.”
“Phoenix this is the LC,” said Erik, trying hard to keep the relief from his voice, for Draper’s benefit. “Maintain orange alert status, I will be returning to Phoenix aboard PH-4 ASAP. First-shift will then resume command, and I want all spacer crew on-ship and prepared for undock.”
“Aye sir,” said Draper.
“Major Thakur, do you copy?”
“The Major copies LC.”
“I want three platoons on-ship, I want two to remain on station for now to secure our holdings here. Joma Station has value to the tavalai as well. If we keep it occupied, we may dissuade hostile action toward Phoenix.”
“Aye LC, we are mobilising now.” Because two platoons of marines were probably enough to capture this station’s bridge and other keypoints, given the total lack of serious military force here. Erik did not like to hold a station hostage in the face of a threat, but it was a common enough tactic with carriers. In strategic and economic terms, warships were expendable, but space stations were not.
“This is kind of like Talyrai Station,” Kaspowitz volunteered. “Were you on Phoenix then?”
“Yes,” said Erik, mildly offended that Kaspowitz had forgotten. “I rode the whole thing out in quarters, as usual.”
On that occasion, Phoenix had docked and occupied a minor station in a tavalai outer system, only to be ambushed by a group of tavalai ships, including one of their less-manoeuvrable but enormous fleet carriers. Ordered not to surrender the station, Phoenix had left four of her five marine platoons behind, then took off to lead the tavalai ships a merry chase about the system, while the tavalai carrier had docked and disgorged karasai — the tavalai marines. One rotation later, Phoenix had returned to Talyrai Station having destroyed several ships and sent the rest to flight, to find Trace’s marines had fought the tavalai to a standstill despite being outnumbered three-to-one. The remaining tavalai had boarded their carrier and run before Phoenix’s return.
“That was just before I arrived,” Alomaim recalled grimly. “Lieutenant Dale gets furious when he talks about it, because Fleet concluded from the result that the karasai quality was weak. Dale says they were elite, Fleet just didn’t want to give Phoenix more credit.”
“There’s no such thing as weak karasai,” Gunnery Sergeant Brice agreed. Brice was a twenty year veteran, and had seen significantly more combat than her Lieutenant. “They’re slow, like all tavalai, but they’re tough as old boots.”
There was real respect in her voice. A lot of marines hated tavalai, but none who’d fought them failed to respect them. Fleet propaganda for the civilian world liked to make big claims about human superiority, but in truth, that superiority was limited. Phoenix was alo-tech, and more advanced even than ibranakala-class, plus she’d been commanded by a captain who was a genius — but a lot of human warships weren’t that lucky. And while most Fleet marine units were slightly superior to equivalent karasai units, a lot of the fighting had taken place on planets, and planets were the domain of the army, not the marines. Human army units varied wildly in quality, reflecting the organisation and nature of the worlds they’d come from. That variant quality had caused many political scandals during the war, when some army units had been neatly annihilated by their tavalai equivalents. And on those unhappy occasions when human army had met tavalai karasai, even the good human units had been mauled.
What had won humanity the war, most capable analysts agreed, was what Gunnery Sergeant Brice had alluded to — tavalai slowness. In reality, tavalai’s physical speed in battle had little bearing, though they weren’t exactly lightning. They were just too conservative, lacking whatever killer instinct humans and some other species possessed to go for the jugular, and to take risks and be aggressive. Chah’nas were often over-aggressive, and against them tavalai discipline under fire served well, meeting brash chah’nas gestures with calm and unrelenting firepower. But the best human units combined both discipline and technology with calculated aggression and unnerving risk. Against that combination, tavalai had lost system after system across a h
undred and sixty one years of war, until half of their previous territory was gone.
The elevator reached the lower rim berths after several stops where stationers were refused entry, then Gunnery Sergeant Brice led them at a fast walk along the busy berths, through incoming and outgoing crowds of mostly construction workers. At PH-4’s berth they found Charlie Platoon marines aboard and guarding the entry, then made a quick embark into familiar harnesses. Tif cut them loose with a jolt, turned the shuttle contra-spin and hit thrust until the station’s rotation had brought Phoenix back around to their position. Another series of fast burns and building Gs culminated with a crash of grapples.
“Two minutes seventeen,” one of the marines remarked, having timed their pilot from undock. “Hausler can do it in one fifty.”
And must have said it on open mike by mistake, because Tif replied from up front, “Hausrer die young, I die awd rady in bed with thousand grandchyrd.”
Alomaim gave Private Lo a whack on the helmet as they unharnessed. “Don’t be an asshole on an open mike,” he said.
“Sorry LT.”
Erik reached the Phoenix bridge to find first-shift had already taken their places in anticipation of the change-over. Only Lieutenant Draper remained in the command chair, unbuckling now as Erik approached. “LC on the bridge!” The relief was plain on his face, where usually there would be faint frustration at having to relinquish command. And when he’d helped Erik finish the final buckle, “LC has the chair!”
“I have the chair,” Erik agreed, and gave Draper a whack on the arm as he left. “Status please.”
“New mark is still cruising LC,” said Geish from Scan. “ETA thirty-one hours.” Which was a vast improvement on the thirty minutes they had been approaching on. “Unremarkable approach.”
“One communication with station,” said Shilu from Coms. “We can’t decrypt it, but it wasn’t long. I’d guess basic docking request. And we got one message from barabo cruiser Rai Jang, coms officer tells me, and I quote, ‘this guy no trouble. Good tavalai, hunt bigger fish than human’, unquote.”
Erik glanced at Shahaim, who’d been here all along. “That the guy you met at the Stationmaster’s office?” she asked.
“Yes, Captain Jen Fan. Impressive, as barabo military go.”
“You trust him?”
“Well, he warned us the Stationmaster might order him to kill us at Fleet’s behest,” Erik explained. “So yes, and no.”
14
The tavalai combat carrier was named Makimakala, and Joma Station helpfully assigned her to Berth 28, two places beyond Europa’s berth and ten away from Phoenix. Erik felt no need to undock for safety — Phoenix was actually safer nose-to-station, as it was impossible on the approach angle for the tavalai to fire on Phoenix without hitting station. Firing on station was an evil offence in most territories, and tavalai were more principled than most. Additionally, Makimakala was approaching squarely along Joma Station’s axis, and being docked would not stop Phoenix from shooting back to equal effect.
Erik did deploy both of Phoenix’s remaining combat shuttles, however, sitting stationary in close proximity with weapons trained, just in case. Typically an ibranakala-class’s defensive weaponry would neutralise incoming shuttle fire, but at these ranges the reaction time would be minimal and the threat very real. Makimakala responded by deploying all seven of her combat shuttles, weapons trained on both human shuttles and Phoenix, while Joma Station control looked on and fretted, and civvie ships of all types stayed well clear from the crossfire.
“This feels kinda strange,” Trace admitted as Erik met her on the dock opposite Berth 23 — midway between the human and tavalai warships. Behind Erik and Trace stood Charlie Platoon, in casual formation that just happened to be offset to allow everyone a forward line of fire. Behind them and out of the line of fire was Delta Platoon, a ready reserve to rush forward if the shit hit the fan. In their accommodation reserve to the left and well behind, Echo Platoon — not combat deployed through the corridors in a flanking move, as that would be openly hostile and sure to be reported to approaching tavalai by barabo locals. But it was their accommodation space, and they could use it to deploy in a flanking move through the back corridors if they wished. Bravo Platoon, and those Alpha Squads that had not gone with PH-1 on Lieutenant Karle’s rearmament mission, remained on Phoenix.
“Have you ever met a karasai formation that hadn’t surrendered, and not opened fire on them?” Erik asked.
Trace shrugged faintly. “First time for everything.” And glanced back across her formation of tense, heavily armed marines. “Anyone know any songs?” Trying to lighten the mood, Erik thought. He was tense, but for marines it had to be on a whole different level. These men and women had spent a good part of their lives fighting bloody battles with tavalai in situations just like this — on stations, in armoured formations.
“Wouldn’t it be a good idea to order them to keep their safeties on?” Erik asked.
“Sure,” Trace deadpanned. “I could order them not to fart in their suits, too. Doesn’t mean they’ll listen.”
Erik blinked a lower-vision icon that opened a channel to Lieutenant Jersey in PH-3. “Hey Regan. What’s it like out there?”
“Oh you know,” said Jersey. “My first day back on the job and I’m in an armed standoff outnumbered three-to-one. Same old same old.”
Erik smiled. “How about you, Tif?”
“Guns,” said Tif. “In-tes-ting.” Meaning her front-seater controlled them, and she didn’t particularly like them.
“We’re a warship, Tif,” Erik said lightly. “Perhaps you noticed?”
“I nake note.” Erik laughed. The reports of Tif’s growing popularity with the crew were clearly true. Now she was even funny.
Trace was looking at him with approval, not having heard that conversation, but no doubt thinking it was good for her marines to see the LC laughing right now. “How are the new marines?” Erik asked her.
“Good,” said Trace without hesitation. “A bit rusty, a few wouldn’t pass the physicals… they’ve got time to work on it. Considering their combat records, I’m in a mood to be flexible. A few of them are behind us right now, in Charlie.” Alpha and Charlie had taken the biggest hits, on the rock in Argitori System, in the hacksaw ambush. Erik wondered if Trace had put Charlie in the front rank behind them on purpose, so her most trusted veterans could observe the old new guys under pressure. And decided that of course she had — Trace didn’t do anything without purpose.
A dull metallic rumbling drew his attention up the dock. Beneath the lowest curve of the ceiling, the feet of many armoured soldiers became visible, advancing in a solid wall of steel and guns. As they came closer, the whine of many alien power units began to drown the clatter of armoured boots. Karasai powered armour sounded different to human — slightly louder and lower-pitched, pushing a heavier weight with solid tavalai frames. Their weapons were every bit as deadly-looking as the human kind — huge main rifles, shoulder-mounted launchers, protruding secondary weapons on thigh and stomach-holsters, armoured storage webbing for grenades and other gear. Arms and legs mounted the small holes of thrusters for zero-G operation, and their helmets were low, wide and flat, to accommodate tavalai heads. They looked hunched, to human eyes, a powerful, rolling gait of broad shoulders and thick legs. No one could look upon this formation, and believe that those Fleet propaganda tales of outclassed and terrified tavalai were anything other than the steaming piles of manure they surely were.
“No. Sudden. Movements.” Trace spelled it out loudly on coms, just to be sure everyone understood. “This is a meeting, not a confrontation. If anyone gets jumpy, everyone here will die. If you can’t hold your nerve, tell me now and we’ll send you back to Phoenix to cuddle your safety blanket.”
No one spoke. The alien horde advanced across a dock not-so-mysteriously free of civilians, and Erik noted two tavalai sporting only light armour in the middle. Those two seemed to see Erik, and aimed straig
ht for him and Trace. In full armour, Trace nonetheless wore only her cap — a reminder to her troops, Erik thought, of just how dead she in particular would be if shooting started. Erik suspected that whatever her suspicions of tavalai, she didn’t think the shooting would start from them. Tavalai didn’t panic, even when they probably should. Marines admired that about them, even as they thought them slightly nuts.
The armoured line halted, and Erik could clearly see their formation arrangement — fifteen-man squads in five-man sections, karasai preferring fives where marines preferred fours. Erik wondered what the sard would make of it. The two lightly armoured tavalai strolled forward, their gait still rolling, making it obvious that it wasn’t the armour that did it. Trace indicated to Erik, and together they walked forward to greet them.
In the middle of the empty dock, twenty paces each way from the opposing lines, they stopped. The tavalai had insignia on their chest armour, strange markings in some script far older than Togiri… Erik recognised one as the captain’s mark. No doubt tavalai found the bronze leaf of both spacer LC and marine major very odd as well.
Erik extended his hand to the tavalai captain, and activated his translator. “Hello,” he said. “Gidiri ha,” said his belt speaker. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Erik Debogande, of the UFS Phoenix.”
The tavalai captain extended a thick paw, gloveless, and grasped Erik’s hand. The fingers were slightly webbed, the skin smooth and leathery. More war propaganda said that tavalai were slimy, but this grip felt warm and tough, like an old leather glove. And immensely powerful, too. Tavalai weren’t any taller than humans, but their homeworld had one-point-two times what humans chauvinistically called 1-G. Humans called tavalai ‘froggies’ to belittle them, but the reality was far more imposing than that.
Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2) Page 18