by Blaze Ward
Jessica considered Sarmarsh IV again. This very vessel meeting with the Red Admiral and planning the sort of show of force that would convince people to keep Ian Zhao as their new king. She had given the conspirators ample warning to time this little escapade, but they didn’t have the Red Admiral in charge over there. That was probably her single greatest saving grace right now.
Still, there were a tremendous lot of them out there.
She studied the projection. Wei Chi and the Imperial Carrier Admiral Schmitz sat at the center of their little knot, surrounded by a ring of other ships, and then a hornet’s nest of little signals.
It was like watching flies on a carcass on a hot day.
“Open a channel,” she said while Bedrov busied himself with trim, speed, and weapons. Maybe this was a good enough crew.
“Go ahead, commander.”
“Imperial vessels,” she called. “This is Jessica Keller, Queen of the Pirates. You are not welcome here. Load up and return to Imperial space immediately, or I will destroy you.”
She stopped to wait. They were far enough away that the signal would take several seconds to reach them.
Their answer did not require the radio. The carrier launched a single missile in the direction of Auberon.
Apparently, someone over there had associated her name and the RAN carrier, and assumed she was in command. It was a good assumption, if you wanted to raise a middle finger. And it would give her defense centurion, Nina Vanek, something to do to baseline the two Lincolnshire crews as escorts, if things got messy.
“Oh, that were a dumb thing to do,” Bedrov opined calmly under his breath.
Jessica nodded. They were about to get very serious.
“Jouster, this is the Flag. What is your status?”
“We are prepared for Mischief, Your Majesty,” Jouster replied.
She wondered if that exact tone of bored, laconic superiority was something he was born with, or had worked extra hard to make sound natural.
“Furious,” Jessica continued, “form your team up around Jouster’s as a single spearhead and prepare to attack the Imperial forces. Let Jouster take point.”
“Acknowledged,” Furious called. “Queen’s Own, you heard the lady, boys. Slashers on the wings, hammers in the back. And Warduck is out there, so we’ll get a little payback, too.”
On the projection, it looked like two armies of ants, forming up to attack a hornet’s nest.
Hopefully the ants were better.
Chapter XLVII
Date of the Republic March 14, 394 Above Petron
Jouster smiled. It was a lovely, evil smile. This was about to become a lovely, evil day.
Over there, a hundred and twenty–odd bad guys. And a crap–ton of defensive guns.
And almost no missile launchers. He hated Imperial missiles.
Sure, there were a pair on the Escort Carrier, and probably single tubes on the Tugs. And that was it.
Twenty–four first–line Imperial melee fighters. The nasty A–8a model. Not as good as the Republic’s M–6 Gungnir, better than the M–5 Harpoons his two teams had. Forty–eight launch rails. Comparable guns.
And behind them, a half–dozen of the A–3f strike fighters. Six rails each.
Then there were seventy–something pirates.
Big, tough guys. Even scary looking.
Right until he looked over his shoulder at the ugly caravan of junkyard castoffs he was leading.
And he had shields. And a whopping crap–ton of missile rails pointed down–range, not just his wing, but Auberon, and Rajput, and Brightoak, as well as Necromancer, and the two bombers, Damocles and Starfall.
You didn’t kill ships with guns. Well, not unless you were a battleship, or some other big, dumb, lumbering armadillo. You went full Agincourt on them. Or let them fight in the shade.
“Jouster, this is Auberon,” Denis Jež said into the calm as the fighter wings began to close. “Barn owl.”
“Acknowledged,” Jouster grinned.
How to explain to the friendlies that there was a stealth missile about ten seconds from impact over there? That the fox that was about to get into the hen house? Auberon’s wing could use the encrypted signal, and they already understood what Jež had just said, but he had to transmit in the clear to talk to the Monarch element. People were listening. Hell, the two sides had even settled pretty quickly on different comm channels so they weren’t constantly yelling over each other to transmit orders back and forth.
War was weird, some days.
“Furious, this is Jouster,” he said, that grin growing into a smile. “I’m about to redline my engines. You folks keep up?”
“Dunno, Jouster,” he heard her sarcastic reply. “Bitter Kitten is the only one of yours that’s managed to outrun me so far.”
Yup, she would do. Jouster could see why the dragon lady put her in charge.
“Aquitaine and Monarch elements,” Jouster said, “go for max speed now.”
If he had timed it right with Jež, the stealth missile Auberon had fired would be close to impacting in a few more seconds.
Jouster slammed the throttle to the stops and let the thrusters go into overdrive. Around him, his team did the same on cue, momentarily opening a small lead on most of the friendlies.
Most.
Sky Dancer’s lead pilot had that stolen M–6 that could keep up, and did.
And there was something truly ugly over on the right flank. It appeared to be two huge engines welded to a gun, with a cockpit slung underneath, almost as an afterthought. Furious called him Eel, but whether that was the pilot or the craft was open to interpretation. But he was fast. And started to get ahead of everyone.
His loss if he got too far out front when this happened.
The scanner lit up with a flash as the engines got to their peak. The skies in front of him lit as well.
“Barn owl,” da Vinci called merrily. She was tucked deep in the back of the formation, all sensors and one little popgun, and worth a squadron of the pirates by herself.
“Gimme a read,” Jouster called back.
“Stand by,” she said coolly. “Total surprise. Looks like we just blew the shit out of the 4–ring Mothership named Siberia. One sensor tag just turned into three signals. She’s coming apart.”
“Roger that,” Jouster’s evil grin was back. “All elements, prepare for Mischief.”
Ξ
“Bedrov,” Jessica said, “turn the squadron and prepare to close at flank speed. Enej, get Brightoak and CR–264 out front, just like we do with Rajput.”
The flag centurion nodded.
Her first officer was aghast.
“Close with them, Captain?” Bedrov asked in a tiny voice.
“That’s right. We have many more guns and missiles than they do. We need to get close enough to drive off the fighters so we can kill the carriers.”
“But that’s not how it’s done,” he almost cried, eyes as big as saucers.
Jessica fixed him with a hard stare. “It is now, mister. Do you want to win, or die? If we sit back here, they will eat us alive, piecemeal. We have to take the war down their throats.”
The projection suddenly lit up as Siberia died.
“What was that?” Bedrov asked plaintively, still coming to grips with real war after a career of piracy.
“That is what happens when pirates take on the Republic of Aquitaine, Bedrov.”
Jessica turned to the Kali–ma’s pilot, himself watching the interplay expectantly. The man was young, perhaps not yet set in his ways.
“Turn to three–five–zero, down eight, roll to ninety, and come to max speed. Now, mister.”
The pilot nodded and put his head down over his controls, fingers dancing. It was like the piano concertos Auberon’s pilot, Nada Zupan, played for her.
Kali–ma was more graceful though, more responsive than Auberon. Massing half as much helped.
Perhaps going to battle aboard a ship named for the Goddess of Wa
r would help, as well. Certainly, Kali–ma kept up with Brightoak as the Destroyer Leader began her charge.
Ξ
“Nina,” Denis said, louder than he intended. Too much adrenaline. And no Flag aboard listening, and possibly overriding him. “Where do you want the two Escorts?”
The defense centurion actually looked back at him over her shoulder with a nervous glance. “Normally,” she replied, “I would say down front, where they get their hands bloody to the elbows, but I’m not sure these folks are up for that. Plus, we have more Mischief coming. Can we go dorsal/ventral and keep them on our beam?”
“Affirmative,” Denis said. “Gunner, let Rajput know they’re on point alone. We’ll cover their flanks.”
Someone acknowledged. The message would make it. The crew knew what they were doing.
Auberon was going to war.
It was a shame he couldn’t consult the Red Admiral at a time like this. If they were just facing pirates, he might have invited the man to the bridge to take overall command, just so the crew could watch the legend in action.
It would have been utterly epic, a story for the grandkids. This might still be. Assuming they survived.
But that might not be polite today. Especially if the Red Admiral was as deeply involved in everything as the sudden appearance of an Imperial Carrier task force suggested.
At least Auberon didn’t have to run home with her tail tucked between her legs, like they otherwise would have. They had enough guns today to make other guy run. Maybe.
Definitely an improvement over Qui–Ping.
“Gunner, Rajput,” he said, keying the comm open. “You are authorized to take long–range pot shots with the Primaries as we close. Anything to make them twitchy.”
Rajput responded by firing a shot from so far outside range as to be laughable. But it looked really intimidating on the sensors. That would help.
Ξ
“Why are we doing this?” Bedrov asked.
His tone was calmer now. Polite inquiry tinged with a bit of awe, suggesting that he had begun to appreciate that he was in the hands of a master.
Jessica gave him the sort of smile she would give a bright cadet just learning Fleet Maneuver Basics in First Year.
“There are more of them than us, Yan,” she said, softening the verbal blow she would have otherwise landed. Instead, she held up her hands at shoulder height, closing them into fists as she did.
“Right hand, left hand,” she continued. “The fighters open a path to the carriers so we can get in and kill them. At that point, their fighters are doomed.”
“But we barely have enough guns to damage another mothership, Captain,” Bedrov replied.
“We’re the escort here,” she smiled grimly. “Brightoak and Rajput have enough firepower to slaughter the Imperial ships, if we can get them into range safely. We have to keep them alive long enough to do just that.”
“But we’re the flagships,” he continued, confused. “Kali–ma, Supernova, the other 4–rings. We lead.”
“Today, we’re the shield, Yan. The destroyers hold the blades.”
Ξ
It was no better on the sensors, so Jouster focused on the sky around him. Two hundred signals made a mess as the sides closed, even with the chasm that still remained between the two forces. But in the empty darkness of deep space, they were isolated little flashes of light.
At least the Imperials were feeling traditional today.
Instead of taking point to engage him, like they should have, they were letting their allies handle the task, standing back behind a wave of uglies and stolen fighter craft.
Jouster smiled. Mischief wouldn’t work worth a damn on First–Line Imperials like those. It was, however, medicine for the pirates.
He probably should just settle for buying Moirrey Kermode drinks forever. At this rate, she was going to keep him alive way longer than he had ever expected.
The Imperials ought to be launching missiles soon, although that might be difficult to do in the mess that was about to come ashore like a tide.
Time to beat them to the punch.
“Auberon element, unleash Mischief now. Repeat, launch Mischief.”
Jouster smiled that evil smile.
Yup. Gonna owe Moirrey drinks.
He watched a hail of missiles, the things Moirrey called Archerfish, erupted around him. It wasn’t Agincourt, or Crecy, but it would do. Out there, it was about to get silly.
“All elements, maintain full speed and prepare to blast through the center and circle back to melee.”
Let the pirates make of that what they will. Probably expecting a bull rush. That’s almost what they were going to get. With a little icing.
Jouster owed Moirrey more than drinks.
Maybe he should just marry her, instead.
Twelve Archerfish missiles went downrange, along with several of the shot missiles. The Shot versions quickly separated into their four smaller missiles that fanned outward instead continuing forward, just as they had been programmed.
What the remaining missiles did was just all levels of rude. Moirrey Kermode rude.
Jouster watched the casings peel back, just like the Shot missiles did. Instead of smaller missiles, however, these had charged warheads. Each one contained four single–shot Type–1 beam generators and just enough thrusters and brains to aim the dangerous end at the nearest target and shoot it.
One shot from a Type–1 wasn’t going to kill a fighter with shields. It might not even penetrate.
Very few of the pirates had any shields to begin with. And the Archerfish wasn’t smart enough to identify individual targets to prevent overlap.
Instead, two or three might all line up on the same poor bastard and shatter him.
And they did.
Regular missiles might have had more physical impact on the enemy formation. This was like hitting a piece of glass with a BB gun. One little star in the center that spider–webbed outwards.
Jouster could watch the psychological impact of the Archerfish as that hole opened in the enemy force like a tear, or a whirlpool. The survivors closest flinched away, chased or killed by the little Shot sub–missiles hunting them in the aftermath.
For a long moment, Jouster considered blasting the combined wing straight through the gap at max speed and going after the carriers. He had the firepower behind him to take on those three escort corvettes. But his orders had been clear: dog–fight the skies clear and keep enemy craft off the big hitters. Let Rajput have the kills. And Brightoak. If he was feeling generous.
Command Centurion d’Maine would certainly wield that hammer ruthlessly enough.
“Auberon and Monarch elements,” he said calmly, even as the adrenaline hit a new high in his brain, “go to melee now. All units, break into teams and start hunting. Good luck.”
He glanced over to make sure his wingmates, Uller and Vienna, were handy, and stood his fighter on an ear.
Time to go kill things.
Ξ
“Helm,” Denis heard Tamara Strnad call as he watched the scene unfold on his own little projector, “hard left. Three–four–five, down fifteen, roll three–fifty. Now, damn it. Signals, bring the escorts down with us. Defense, prepare to engage left to right. Guns, stay on support for targets of opportunity.”
He had one of the best tactical officers he had ever known. Tamara was simply an artist when they got into this kind of a situation, almost psychic in her ability to predict an enemy.
They needed it right now.
Rajput was, as they used to say back home, all guns and no butter.
She could stand toe–to–toe with a cruiser in single combat for a little while, but could still be mugged by a pair of six–year–olds in a park.
And she was about to be.
Denis watched a group of mismatched fighter craft and a team of Imperials come at the Heavy Destroyer from a low corner. They were moving laterally, too fast for the big guns to track for a kill shot.
/> That’s what he was for. Sure, Winnipeg and Admiral Matsushita were better equipped, and even trained to a reasonable level, but they were county militia.
Auberon was the warrior.
“Defense,” Tamara’s calm voice continued, “prepare and launch Moirrey’s first ace in the hole.”
Denis always forgot about that nasty little surprise. Moirrey and Nina Vanek had removed the observatory telescope and mounted a missile launcher with a pair of Shot missiles in its place.
One of them leapt into the fray now, one dot on the sensor turning into four and racing downrange.
Denis watched one of the uglies get spiked like a butterfly. The first Imperial fighter took enough of a hit that his shields evaporated, sending him and his wing–mate racing off for cover.
Auberon’s Type–1’s and Type–2’s went to work.
Ξ
“Vishnu,” the man said in awe.
Jessica glanced over at the look of slack shock on Bedrov’s face and had to agree. The Imperials had finally gotten their act together.
The six heavy strike–fighters on the Imperial side had stayed well back up until now, satisfied to hide under the cover of the escorts.
They had just launched a wall of missiles. And absolute wall. Something like Jouster had done to them, earlier.
Jessica turned to the man handling the guns. Kali–ma didn’t have a tactical officer. The pirates followed the Imperial model of expecting a captain to fight her own ship.
That was so inefficient as to be stupid. She was too busy flying this bitch to shoot at the same time. Instead, she had promoted the man who was second officer to tactical and let him loose.
It has been a good choice, so far.
“Tactical,” she said sharply, waiting for him to register and look at her. “Stop engaging fighters and put every gun on those missiles. Immediately.”
She looked over at her flag centurion. Enej nodded and continued talking into his microphone, having anticipated the command.
“Captain?” the tactical officer asked.
“The fighters might be painful.” she pointed at the screen. “That is death. If we don’t stop them, we get the same messy demise Siberia did. Move.”