Upshaw leaned forward, his face darkening. “Start farther forward? That would guarantee your squadron would be the focus of enemy fire! Even if they were a fully functional unit, that would risk their total destruction from the outset. High Admiral, surely you understand how foolish this is?”
With as much self-control as he could muster, Jacob cut Upshaw short. “High Admiral, my units have the heavier armor that would allow them to weather that kind of fire if they had to. Placing us further forward will allow us to draw fire that would otherwise be used to destroy other units in the fleet. In any case, no matter where they are they’ll run the same risk of destruction in combat no matter where they are.” A small smile twisted his lips. “And once the Odurans see what my ships can do, they’ll be the focus of fire no matter where you place them, so you might as well put us where we can do the most good.”
Captain Upshaw opened his mouth for another retort, but Nivrosky held up a hand to stop him. The High Admiral’s gaze pierced Jacob and held him where he stood. “Captain Hull, can you guarantee me Squadron 43 can do what you say it can? Are you certain about where you have requested to be positioned?”
Jacob nodded. “Yes, sir. We can do this. It’s what we were made for. Let us.”
A silence stretched between them. Nivrosky continued to stare straight into Jacob’s eyes, as if trying to peer into his very soul. Jacob tried to avoid anything that would betray nervousness, and he met that stare for what seemed like eternity. Then Nivrosky nodded. “Your ships will be moved forward, Jacob. You’ll have your chance.”
Upshaw looked at the High Admiral in flabbergasted horror. “But sir—”
Nivrosky met Upshaw’s gaze coolly, and Upshaw broke off his half-formed protest. “Captain Upshaw, your input on this matter has been noted, but my decision in this matter will not be questioned. Are there other matters you would like to address with me?”
For an instant, Upshaw had to struggle to repress his desire to continue the argument. Then he shook his head, a frustrated expression on his face. “No, sir. If you will excuse me.” The High Admiral nodded, and the captain walked a short distance away. As the captain departed, fists clenched, Nivrosky turned back to Jacob.
“Now, Captain Hull. I believe you have a question for me.”
The statement took Jacob by surprise. He faltered for a moment under the High Admiral’s steel-eyed gaze, and then recovered. “Yes, sir. I suppose I do.” He drew in a breath to steady himself. “Sir, when you gave me the assignment to run those simulations before Wayward, you didn’t give me situations I could beat. They were impossible because they were based on previous military disasters.”
Nivrosky did not immediately respond; a flicker of something like amusement touched his eyes.
Jacob pressed on. “Why, sir? If there was no possibility to succeed, why would you give me the assignment in the first place?”
“I would not say there was no possibility to succeed, Captain.” Admiral Nivrosky held up a hand to forestall a response, though Jacob had no intention of interrupting him. “You are correct, however, when you say you were not meant to beat those simulations. I gave you those assignments because I expected—no, wanted—you to fail.”
He paused and turned to look back at the conference table where the images of his fleet still hovered. “Failure is a curious thing, Captain Hull. It is a test of our nature, something to make us question who we are and what we are doing. There are many officers—bright, promising men and women with great careers ahead of them—who cannot bear to fail. Their mistakes haunt them, weigh them down, and destroy them.”
Admiral Nivrosky turned his gaze back to Jacob, and his eyes full of stern understanding. “I grew concerned something similar might happen to you, Captain Hull. You’ve enjoyed a measure of success which has made you the envy of many other officers, and your behavior has been beyond any reasonable reproach, but the burden you have chosen to carry would have destroyed you long before you reached your full potential. The mistakes you have made—and will continue to make—would gnaw at you; the losses, however understandable or expected they might be, would consume you until you surrendered to them or broke under the strain.”
Jacob bowed his head, the emptiness from Terrier’s loss welling up inside him, and heard an echo of Al-shira’s concerns. When he looked up, Nivrosky’s gaze had softened—only just—and when the High Admiral continued his words were almost gentle. “All men fail, Jacob. It is what we do after we fall that determines how far we will rise.” Then severity returned to his expression. “To teach you that lesson I gave you those simulations, in the hopes such failures and frustrations would help you learn to handle the real failures you will face. I do not apologize for it, and nor do I regret it.”
“You will never need to, High Admiral.” The words came out hoarse, as if they had to fight their way from Jacob’s throat, but he kept speaking. “Thank you. I will not forget what I’ve learned.”
Admiral Nivrosky nodded. “Good. I will continue to watch your growth as an officer, Captain Hull. I believe we can expect great things from you.” He paused. “I have placed a large amount of trust in you. Do not disappoint me.”
Jacob stood to attention and saluted. “I won’t sir.”
The High Admiral shook his head, and for a moment his expression became worn, almost tired. Jacob wondered for an instant how many of his decisions suffered the same kind of opposition and debate, and then the iron hard features reformed themselves. “Captain Hull, you are dismissed. Good hunting.”
“And to you sir.” Jacob spun on his heel and left the High Admiral in the room alone. He had plenty to organize before the enemy came knocking on their doorstep.
Chapter Nineteen
Jacob walked onto the bridge of the Wolfhound as battle alarms blazed. Al-shira issued orders over the cacophony of sirens; he turned and saw her at her commander’s station. Unlike most of the other ship designs, Wolfhound had been built as a squadron flagship. As a result, Al-shira’s command console was set off to the side and forward of Jacob’s own station. He met her gaze and she answered the unasked question with a nod.
“The Odurans are here, Captain. The rest of the task force is scrambling now.”
He strode over to his console, his heart quickening when he saw waves of Oduran craft riftjumping in. “How many are we looking at? More or less what Intelligence thought?”
“It looks like they were right on this one, Captain. We’re seeing a few differences, but nothing major.”
Jacob strapped himself in and activated his console. He was forced to agree with her. There were seven dreadnaughts, as expected. Twenty-six cruisers appeared on the plot instead of twenty-eight, and there were five more destroyers, six more frigates and seven less corvettes than they had planned, but the differences scarcely mattered when the enemy was coming in such numbers.
The sheer size of the enemy fleet made Jacob’s mouth go dry. All seven Odurans were forming up in an ordered approach, one of the massive ships riding above the other six. Around them, the number of ships shifting around only emphasized how outnumbered the Celostians were. Above the dreadnaughts was a collection of cruisers, destroyers, frigates, and corvettes which would probably make up the Oduran vanguard element, while a smaller batch of ships likely intended to be their chasing element swept out below. Each of those elements was easily twice the number of the Celostian craft meant to face them, and Jacob felt a chill as he realized the weight of numbers his ships would face before they reached their goal.
Jacob heard someone on the bridge groan when those ships began to accelerate toward them, and he forced himself to project confident calm. He might not feel it, but his crew needed a leader and not a scared comrade.
High Admiral Nivrosky’s voice sounded over the clear broadcast frequency, his words laced with the iron determination Jacob had come to expect from him. He wasted no time with pleasantries.
“Oduran forces, this is High Admiral Alan Nivrosky. You have viola
ted Celostian territory with the intent to kill civilian ships and settlements. We will not allow you to continue your predations on our citizens. Break off now, and we will allow you to leave the system in peace. Continue on your course, and you will be destroyed.”
Some of the Oduran ships slowed when the message reached them. Jacob felt a slight stir of hope as he watched, but it was in vain. The ships accelerated back into their positions, and moments later the enemy’s response reached the Celostian battle lines.
“This is the Reverend Thomas Gates of the Oduran League, High Priest of the True Faith, and duly elected representative of the League. Our mission has nothing to do with you; our only concern is the pursuit and destruction of traitors, war criminals, and terrorists who have escaped the territory of the League and sought refuge among you. If you impede our progress, we will destroy you and complete our task here anyway.” A hint of smug satisfaction crept into the man’s voice. “While you have threatened us with destruction, I note you lack the forces to make good on your intentions. And though you have had some small streak of luck in the past against our forces, Admiral Nivrosky, I tell you plainly you will not enjoy the same fortune here. Allow us to pass unimpeded, and we will keep the punishment of your petty worlds for aiding this scum to a minimum. Face us and die. Reverend Gates, out.”
The next signal came not over the broadcast frequency, but the channel reserved for fleet maneuvers. Nivrosky’s voice had not lessened in determination, and Jacob could hear undertones of anger burning in the words.
“All formations, prepare for combat. Do not allow the Odurans to pass your positions, and make every effort to inflict damage on their ships. Ships assigned to the battle line will come to four-zero-five immediately. Control of other formations is to be coordinated on the local level. We bear the honor of the Celostian Navy in our arms. Serve well, and good hunting!”
At that signal, the dreadnaughts and escorts assigned to challenge the main Oduran line dipped their course. The maneuver brought them below the plane of the Oduran fleet’s approach as the ships closed. Then the ships heaved around in a single, coordinated move that brought their course back around to cross the Oduran’s path, presenting heavily armored topsides and allowing their main batteries to fire on the enemy’s vulnerable bows.
Even as the first, hopeful volleys went out, the Odurans changed their course to evade. They brought their bows up and away from the incoming projectiles, twisting to present their own dorsal armor. Their formation curved upward until they were traveling parallel the Celostian battle line’s course. Six dreadnaughts with their innumerable, smaller consorts formed an opposing line. The seventh took shelter behind the others. Railgun shells, missiles, and torpedoes streaked across the void between the two lines. Soon the blackness was speckled with explosions as the distance between the two fleets began to close. Above and ahead of them, the vanguard ships curved out to meet their opponents, while the chasers—including Jacob’s squadron—swung out below to engage their own enemies.
Jacob’s eyes narrowed as he watched the seventh ship behind the main line, and the hard-won lessons of Nivrosky’s simulations came back to him. The seventh dreadnaught had to be the flagship. If they could reach it somehow…
He turned his attention back to the ships opposing his own. There were at least two cruisers, three destroyers, eighter frigates and twelve corvettes. He activated the communications channel that would allow him to speak with the other members of his squadron. “Captain Hull to Squadron 43. Close with enemy formation Gamma and begin targeting plots. Wolfhound and Beagle will take point; Setter and Feist will hang back. Setter, target destroyers. All other ships focus your fire on frigates. When the ships are at close range, use sailjammers to incapacitate the corvettes. Hull out.”
He glanced to the communications officer and caught his attention. “Lieutenant Samuels, I need links to the other ships in the chasing element, particularly the squadron commanders. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir. They should be on your board now, sir.”
Jacob nodded and turned his attention back to his own console. He activated the communications to the frigate and corvette commanders first, as well as to the cruiser that had joined them. His hopes they would answer his call were fulfilled when both of his opposite numbers opened his communications channel immediately.
“Commander Gibson, Commander Earley, my destroyers will meet the leading elements of formation Gamma first. I recommend you plan your intercepts so you catch them just after they pass us by. They should be plenty softened up for you. Captain Carson, I do not know what kind of plan you had, but we are going to recommend you focus on the enemy cruisers. You’ll have to bear their fire for a while, but we’ll get support to you as soon as we clear the surrounding space.”
Captain Carson, the commanding officer of the Crown class cruiser Richard, sounded uneasy. “Captain Hull, are you sure your destroyers will hold up under that much fire?”
“Affirmative, Captain. If not, at least we’ll distract them for you.”
Gibson, the commander of the trio of frigates in the formation, spoke next. “Let him go for it, Carson. He’s already way out in front anyway, and it’s as good a plan as any.”
There was a slight pause, and then Carson spoke again. “Plan confirmed, Captain Hull. Fall back if you need more support.”
“We’ll let you know. Hull out.”
Jacob glanced over and caught Al-shira watching him. He forced a grin. “We’ll be out in the front of things again, Naomi.”
She snorted. “I would have expected nothing less, Captain.” Al-shira turned her attention back to her own plot, and her expression grew grim again. “Here they come.”
As if attracted to the four isolated destroyers, the Odurans sped straight for them, climbing as they closed. All of the lighter craft were headed in their direction, and all four ships of the squadron reported enemy targeting tracking their position. The two cruisers, a Scythe class and a Brute, were the only exception. They remained on a flat, level course bringing them straight in at the Richard. Even as Jacob watched, the Scythe launched a volley of missiles that sped in at the Celostian cruiser. He prayed Captain Carson would find a way to avoid them, and then he turned his attention back to his squadron’s targets.
The Odurans came in blazing, continuing to accelerate. Their strategy was obvious. If they could swarm over and eliminate the destroyer squadron before the rest of the Celostian force arrived to support them, they would have a much easier time defeating the remainder of the Celostian craft in the chasing element. In a short time, even Richard would be overwhelmed and destroyed, leaving the light craft to drive into the Celostian battle line from below, destroying their vulnerable DE sails and crippling the dreadnaughts enough for the other Odurans to cross their bows and destroy them.
It was an excellent strategy, and Jacob thought it might have even worked—against anyone else.
Setter was the first of his ships to fire. Commander Flint’s first volley took the enemy completely by surprise. All three missile ports belched projectiles. Both torpedo tubes launched torpedoes at the incoming ships. The Odurans, having thought themselves out of range, were startled into breaking their intercept courses, throwing their coordinated maneuvers into chaos. Setter’s missiles wove through the flock of frigates and corvettes, tracking on a Crossbow class destroyer that had thought itself safe. Flechettes launched by the enemy craft took out two missiles, but the third exploded just short of the destroyer’s hull. The speeding fragments of the missile streamed out over the flank of the craft, and an explosion tore a sudden gaping hole in the destroyer’s side.
The Oduran craft reeled to port, flaming debris pouring from the wound trailing after it. Then the torpedoes struck. Their target had been a Telosian destroyer which looked far too much like Admiral Dianton’s former flagship, the Bloodthorne. It even had the same missile bays, plasma cannon, and egg-shaped hull, but its captain had obviously not expected to be targeted by torpe
does. A decoy managed to throw one speeding projectile off course, but the other slammed home as the destroyer tried to swerve away.
The destroyer popped, like a bubble pierced by a needle. One moment it was a fully operational warship, maneuvering and likely preparing its own long-range volleys to fire. The next, the torpedo had plowed straight through its midsection, ripping armor and hull plates into a tornado of shrapnel that tunneled into the front of the ship and out the other side. Some part of that terrible path must have made contact with the fusion reactor powering the destroyer, because the next moment the Oduran ship was fountaining twin volcanos of plasma. What little structural integrity it still had fled, and the ship disintegrated into naught but wreckage and remnants.
Cheers broke out on the bridge of the Wolfhound, but now it was Beagle’s turn. The disorganized ships of the frigates and corvettes coming at the squadron slid into the range of the high-speed railguns. All four banks of them on Beagle opened fire. They fired sequentially, each battery tracking a target with one shot at a time, something Jacob could see the wisdom of. At such range, a full barrage was less likely to make contact than a stream of shots that continually moved with its intended target. Isaac had not lost any of his skill during the time he had been away, something Jacob felt immensely grateful for.
Beagle’s shots whipped out at the enemy. One frigate after another was battered into submission. Three of them fell victim to Isaac’s pinpoint accuracy, vomiting debris and flames from gaping holes as they swerved drunkenly away from the engagement or simply went dark. A corvette blundered into a shell not aimed at it and spun away with a pair of ragged, fiery tears in its slender frame, unable to recover. The remainder started to shift back into formation, forced out of their shock into something resembling discipline again as they closed to normal engagement range.
Then it was Wolfhound’s turn. Jacob felt the deck shudder under his feet as the heavy railguns spoke, lashing out at the incoming targets with waves of shells. The high-speed guns located in Wolfhound’s lower gun deck joined their heavier brethren. The enemy returned fire, their railguns spraying shells across the length of his squadron. His fingers clenched on the arms of his chair as he watched the incoming shells. He gritted his teeth as he remembered the explosions that had claimed Terrier.
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