by Jay Allan
His rebellious nature had caused him no end of grief at the Academy, at the hands of stodgy, unimaginative officers with the ability to make his life utter misery, but it had served him well enough in his battles. And his unmatched success had been a personal vengeance on those who had tormented him. He’d listened to himself, the voice deep inside his whole career. He wasn’t about to stop now.
“I want nav coordinates on those things, and I mean now, Commander. All of them. All ships, prepare for maximum thrust.” Augustus Garret didn’t run. He didn’t back down. Not even now, when he’s an old man.
“Yes, Admiral.”
The old feelings were there, the killer instinct that had driven him in all his battles.
“Do you have them?” His voice was harsh, demanding. There was no time to lose. Even as he waited for a response, he saw the energy readings spike again. Another shot. His eyes darted to the screen, ignoring the reply from his aide and watching as the latest butcher’s bill came in. Three more cruisers hit, two of them obliterated, the third a gutted hulk. A few of the crew might escape, maybe ten percent, Garret figured. But he didn’t have time to think about that now.
“Yes, sir,” the aide spat out in a tone that suggested he was close, but not quite there yet.
“Put me on fleet comm.”
“On your line, sir.”
“All ships of the fleet, you are to advance at maximum practical acceleration toward the enemy heavy weapons…with full evasive maneuvers. The destruction of those guns is your absolute priority. You are to ignore formations, and each ship is to move as quickly as possible. All gunners are to fire at will as soon as ships enter range.” He sighed to himself after he finished. He knew his orders would leave his ships open to the enemy vessels, that the Black Flag battleships would swing around his flanks and rake his ships as they advanced. But there was no choice. His heavy vessels could take a little pounding from their equals, but those heavy guns would obliterate his fleet if he let them.
“All task forces acknowledge, Admiral.”
“Very well…let’s get Bunker Hill moving too, Commander. We need every gun we’ve got.”
“Yes, sir.”
Garret leaned back and took a deep breath. Into the fire, one more time. The fear was still there, to an extent, after all these years. He’d hidden it for a lifetime, never let his officers and spacers see it. But it was different now, fuzzier. At this point in his life, so many friends gone, so much disillusionment, he wasn’t even sure he cared…and yet it was still there, the desire to live, perhaps more instinctive now than rational.
For all his fame and the accolades that had been showered on him, he realized now, he had never been happy. A life given wholly to war. No children, no grandchildren, no one waiting home for him to return from his campaigns. Parades and decorations were cold company on the long days and cold, lonely nights during his rare moments of peace. War was his mistress, his wife, and now, when he was so old he’d left most of those he’d loved behind, she was still there, driving him, demanding all he had to give. She was a jealous mate, and only now he realized she would never let him go.
Chapter 33
Approaching Planet Two (Vali)
Draconia Terminii System
Earthdate: 2321 AD (36 Years After the Fall)
“We will be entering orbit in four minutes, General.”
Darius was still having trouble getting used to Ana giving him reports. He’d almost sent her away three times, not because he didn’t trust her or have faith in her abilities, but simply because he found she distracted him from the nearly impervious focus that had become his norm in battle. For almost his entire career, that would have been reason enough, and he wouldn’t have hesitated. Personal feelings didn’t come into military decisions, nor vague notions of fairness. Tactics had always ruled his judgment. Until now. Ana had done the work, she’d come through his rigorous training program with flying colors, and he couldn’t deny her the place she had earned, as new a feeling as that was to him.
“Very well, Lieutenant. Eagle Ten and Eagle Thirteen will enter orbit and conduct an intensive scan.” Admiral Garret’s forces hadn’t had an inordinately difficult time dealing with planet three’s defenses, but Darius Cain didn’t take unnecessary chances. He hadn’t had any reports from Garret since he’d split off from the fleet, nor from Jarrod Tyler out at planet four. “The rest of the fleet will hold position, three hundred thousand kilometers from insertion point.”
“Yes, General.”
He listened to Ana’s voice as she relayed his commands, crisply, efficiently, without any indication of the fear he knew she had to feel. He’d resisted her desire to take the training regimen and become an Eagle officer, but he had to admit, her talent and ability would have been wasted as just his mistress.
Well, not exactly wasted…
And, aside from her new duties, she was more than a mistress, and she had been for a long time now, far more. He knew that, but wasn’t ready to admit it to himself.
He glanced over at the display. He had reason to be cautious. His battleships were not only escorting the Eagles’ assault ships, they had virtually every troop transport in the fleet with them. He and Garret had agreed. They would have to land on planet two as quickly as possible following the bombardment. The ground troops would have to dig out every enemy stronghold, hunt down the Black Flag leadership one meter at a time from the radioactive wastes of their planet.
The Eagle battleships were powerful, the strongest ships in the fleet, but the transports were vulnerable, and Darius wasn’t going to send them into orbit until he was sure there were no surprises waiting. Two battleships could hold their own without risking the rest of his forces.
“Captain Petrov reports Eagle Ten entering orbit, General. Eagle Thirteen is forty-five seconds behind.”
“Very well, Lieutenant.”
Darius watched the display. Petrov was one of his best naval captains, his usual go to for command, when he needed to split his fleet into two components. The two battleships were in good hands.
“General, I have a transmission from Admiral Garret, sir.” Ana turned abruptly, and looked over at Darius. “He says it’s urgent, sir.”
“On my line,” Darius snapped. “Augustus?”
He waited while the signal made its way to Garret’s location and then back to his position just off planet two’s orbit. The bridge was silent. Darius suspected none of his people thought there was any more chance that an urgent communique from Garret was good news than he did. And three minutes was a long time to wait.
Darius’s eyes moved back to the display, checking on his ship. Both battleships were in orbit now. They’d be running their scans, and in a minute or so, he’d know what defenses he was up against.
He saw the indicator light, even as Ana said, “Captain Petrov, General.”
“Anton, report.”
“General, we’re picking up…” Darius knew from the tone, Petrov was worried. Something was wrong. But just then, Garret’s voice poured into his headset.
“Darius, we walked into an ambush. They’ve got heavy batteries, bigger than anything we’ve got. They might have them at planet two also. Pull back, get your ships out of there until we…”
“Petrov,” Darius yelled, “get the hell out of there. Now!”
But there was no response, nothing at all except static.
“Get Petrov back on the line,” he yelled over toward Ana.
“…we’re going in, we’re committed.” Garret’s words were still coming through. “I’ve lost six battleships already, and even if we take out these guns, I don’t know if we’ll have enough left to handle their fleet. Be careful, Darius…and good luck.”
“General, Eagle Ten has been attacked.”
Darius heard the words, but he knew even before they’d been uttered.
“I’ve got the link reestablished, sir.”
“Petrov?”
“It’s Commander Barrington, General.
” A pause. “Captain Petrov is dead, sir. The bridge is out. Engines and main power out. I don’t know what hit us, but it…”
The line cut out again, leaving nothing but static. Then, Ana’s voice, strained, emotional broke the near silence. “Eagle Ten has been destroyed, General.”
* * * * *
“We’re still going in!” Tyler’s voice wasn’t a yell, not quite, but there could be no question in anyone’s mind he was serious.”
“Yes, sir.” His aide was unnerved, clearly, but she seemed to be keeping it together. Whatever the enemy had fired, it had destroyed three ships outright. Tyler knew he didn’t have capital ships, but he hadn’t expected any kind of attack that would blast his cruisers and destroyers to dust with a single shot.
“General,” the aide said a few seconds later, “we’re getting communiques from the planetary squadron commanders. They want to fall back.”
“Fall back? What do they think this is, a game? Something to run from when it gets tough?” He slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair. “Put me on the wide channel, Major.”
“Yes, General.” Then: “Your comm is live, sir.”
“Listen to me, everyone.” He knew some of the officers in the fleet spoke languages different from his own Alliance English. The AI would translate everything he said, most likely up to and including some of the…colorful…curse words trying to push their way into his mouth. “We must launch our missiles…we have to destroy this planet. And that means we need to stay on our course for another four minutes.” He paused. “I know you’re all scared, that you don’t know what’s going on, but I swear to God, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll hunt down any son of a bitch who runs from this fight now.”
He paused, trying to keep the rage from overcoming him. “Four minutes. Stay on course, and if you get a location on any of those big guns, blast them with anything you have. But no one retreats.”
He jerked his hand across his throat, a signal to cut the line. Then he sat and waited. Waited to see if his ships would follow him in.
The Columbian squadrons stayed on course, to a ship. He was their leader, and for all the ruthlessness with which he held onto his power, he’d also managed the planet well. His military was well-trained and loyal, if not quite the equals of the Marines and the Eagles.
Many of the other planetary squadrons stayed with him too, or at least portions of them did. Some fragmented, a few of their vessels fleeing, even as the others stayed the course, and three of the contingents fled wholesale. Tyler felt his anger grow as he watched the routing ships…and he swore they would pay.
But now he had other concerns. Four more ships had been hit, two destroyed and two severely damaged. He knew his peoples’ morale could only take so much, especially the non-Columbians. But there was no alternative. The had to keep moving forward. The had to destroy the planet.
“General, we’re picking up the heavy guns now. It looks like ten, sir, strung out from the just outside orbit halfway to the planet’s moon.”
Tyler hesitated. Garret would know what to do. But there was no time…the admiral was almost three light minutes away, and Tyler most definitely did not have the luxury of waiting six minutes for advice or orders.
“All frigates and destroyers…increase to maximum acceleration. Get in there and take out those guns.” His smaller ships had limited nuclear ordnance anyway. They wouldn’t be missed much in the ground bombardment. “All cruisers…follow us in. We’re making this bombing run regardless of anything these bastards try to throw our way.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tyler could see he was losing more ships, to the enemy weapons, but even more to fear. Individual vessels, and even entire contingents were pulling away now, even as the range counted down. He cursed them all, but he knew there was nothing he could do.
Lucia was shaking as she approached the planet, her wild evasive maneuvers so far dodging the deadly batteries raking his fleet. The Columbians in general were faring well, only two of his ships hit so far. His people were far more disciplined than the other planetary squadrons, and as he watched he saw two more ships vanish, falling to sloppy and poorly executed defensive maneuvering as much as anything else.
“One minute to orbital insertion.”
Tyler sat, almost motionless.
“The Calabrian destroyers and the Alabarian frigates have engaged the enemy batteries, General.”
Tyler watched as the thin row of light ships, the one-third or so of the vessels he’d sent that had actually executed his orders and gone all the way in, opened fire on the enemy’s deadly weapons. One of the massive satellites disappeared almost immediately, then another. Even as the escort vessels opened fire, the enemy guns trained their fire on their attackers, unleashing a devastating attack. At such short range, ships as small as destroyers didn’t even explode, they simply vanished. But the survivors pressed on, shooting down one after another of the enemy’s great guns.
Tyler watched, his rage growing alongside his satisfaction. Those ships, the courageous and loyal crews who’d gone in, who’d done their duty, they were dying in droves, losing far more of their number for the absence of their fellows. Tyler cursed the cowards, a lifetime’s frustration welling up, his rage threatening to slip out of his control. But he had work to do before he could address those who had shirked their duty.
“All ships, prepare to launch missiles.” Tyler had planned to target the strikes carefully, but now he just wanted to get it done. The unexpected enemy defenses had come close to stopping his assault, and now he intended to see the job completed as quickly as possible. The AIs would direct the bombardment, and they would do a credible job of maximizing the impacts of his limited strikes.
“All ships ready, General.”
He stared at the screen, at the image of a blue planet below, not entirely unlike Armstrong. But this world was ruled by people who sought to conquer others. That dug at Tyler’s memories, the terrible wars his homeworld had endured. He remembered being driven into the hills, watching as children starved for lack of food, stepping through the piles of bodies. Lucia, the day she died. The desperate, almost overwhelming grief, the need to try to believe she was only wounded, that she would survive…and then the bitter realization, the emptiness of his life. The corrupt politicians, the ones who had left Columbia vulnerable to that last war…he’d made them pay with a terrible ruthlessness. He’d lost part of his sanity the day his wife had died, he knew that. But he didn’t care. If men had to face monsters, they needed monsters of their own.
“Launch all missiles.”
* * * * *
“All ships, maintain maximum fire.” Garret was watching his ships fall to the enemy batteries. Watching his people dying. The enemy ships had come around his flanks, just as he’d expected, and now their fire was adding to the carnage. But there was no choice. He’d made the right decision, he was sure of that, whatever the cost. To yield now would save no one, and it would cost the chance at victory so many had died to preserve.
“Yes, sir.”
“Any ships with missile stocks remaining, launch them in sprint mode at the enemy battleships.” The focus of his attack was the Black Flag guns, but his mind was racing, trying to come up with any tactic, trick, deceit…anything he could use to buy time. He’d pioneered the use of missiles in sprint mode years before. He’d never employed them as a diversion, but with any luck the enemy would be surprised. The attack might not score a large number of hits, but if it could distract the enemy ships, at least, keep them off his ass until he could take out those guns, that would be enough.
“All ships acknowledge, sir.”
Garret leaned forward as he watched the range count down. His line was almost there, and every gunner on every battleship was ready. But the losses continued to mount up, one irreplaceable dreadnought after another, the heart of his fleet going down…with so many enemy vessels left to fight.
Garret had always had a strange sort of confidence. Even w
hen he’d been scared, when doubts had ravaged his mind, there had always been a part of him that was sure of victory. But now, he searched for that resilience, and he found it was gone. He’d been a stalwart commander all his life, one of humanity’s greatest heroes, but in this moment, he felt like a spent force. He’d done all he could, but he just didn’t know if it would be enough.
He turned toward the tactical station, but even as he did, Bunker Hill shook wildly. Garret’s body slammed hard forward, his harness holding him in place, but shattering half his ribs in the process. The pain was intense, and he found himself gasping for air, every breath an agony.
He could hear his staff, voices shouting, distant. He clawed at the harness, opened it, and his body fell to the deck. He wailed at the pain as he hit the cold metal floor, and he rolled over and lay on his back, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. He could see faces over him, hear the panicked cries of his officers. He could hear shouts for medics, but even as he knew they were struggling to help him, he was aware Bunker Hill was in trouble too, the old ship as badly battered by the hit as his old body.
He wanted to say something, to tell his people to see to the ship, to themselves. To tell them he was fine. That he was ready to go. But no words came.
There were only images, fuzzy at first, and then clearer, scenes from another time, another place. Home. Terra Nova, and his family’s ancestral home. He had brought the family prosperity, fame, become its most famous son.
Is that all I leave behind?
There was something else there. A young girl…no, a woman. Charlotte.
Charlotte Evers had been the love of his life, the girl he’d left behind for glory, for fame. The greatest regret of his celebrated existence.
She’d been dead for almost eighty years, because he’d left her, because he’d failed to save her…and yet her image was clear in his mind, even as everything else faded away.