by Jay Allan
Glory is fickle, selecting some as its children and disregarding others. The victorious fleet commander becomes a national hero. The captain of a vessel collects combat awards, medals. The gunners who target enemy ships are cheered for their steady eyes and hands. Yet, in the bowels of the ship, braving radiation and heat and deadly dangers, are the engineers. It is they who keep the gunners’ batteries working through damage and the stress of battle. It is they who give the captain the engine power he needs. Who ensure the admiral’s fleet is ready to do as he commands.
So let me share the glory that I have received in far greater share than I deserve, and join me in a silent thanks to those too often unheralded men and women in the engine rooms and snaking access tubes…as much as any who serve, the true arbiters of victory.
CFS Dauntless
Approaching Planet Santis, Krillus IV
307 AC
“I’m pretty sure I got it, Commander Fritz. It was hiding deep in the aft cooling complex, but I finally tracked it down.” Sam Carson looked tired. His sleeves were rolled up, and his arms were covered with bruises. Crawling around in Dauntless’s bowels was hard work, and sometimes painful too. The deeply buried conduits of the reactor cooling system were not designed for human access—at least not easy access. But the maintenance bots hadn’t been able to target the problem…and everyone in Dauntless’s engineering team knew how vital it was to restore power. If the battleship was facing its equal—or something more powerful—Captain Barron was going to need every gun operational. And the freak damage to the cooling lines had effectively knocked out half of the battleship’s primaries.
“I’m going to miss you, Sam, I really am. I’m glad we still have you for this mission.” Anya Fritz was an engineer’s engineer, the range of her thoughts rarely extending beyond the confines of the ship’s guts and beating heart. But Carson could hear the tension even in her cautious tone. Everyone on Dauntless was on edge. They’d been apprehensive on the Union border during their long, lonely patrol there, but they’d known what they were facing then. As massive as a Union invasion was expected to be, it was a known quantity. Now they were facing a mystery, staring off into the darkness.
“I’ll miss you too, Commander. I’ll miss everyone on Dauntless.”
Carson had served on a few ships in his career, and he’d always gotten along with his crewmates. But there’d been something special about his short time on Dauntless. The ship felt like home, and the thought of leaving was a painful one. He couldn’t turn down the chance to transfer to Archellia, to be with Lise and his child—but part of him grieved at the thought of his new brothers and sisters going to war without him.
He was glad, at least, that he was with them now. Lise had practically begged him not to go, and he carried the guilt of refusing her. But he couldn’t stay behind, not now. He loved his wife, but he had to be able to face himself in the mirror…and the thought of allowing his crewmates to face whatever danger was out there alone made him sick to his stomach.
Besides, if this is a real danger, Archellia is the first major world in its path. Whatever we face out here, we have to win. If we don’t…
As a sector capital, Archellia had its defenses—far stronger ones than a fringe world might be expected to possess—but it had weaknesses too. There was no fleet stationed there, nothing but a few aging patrol boats. The two thousand Marines garrisoning the base were a formidable force, but they were the remnant of what had been a five thousand strong brigade before the high command started transferring battalions to the expected front lines. They would put up a fierce fight, but they were too few to beat back a serious invasion.
If Dauntless was facing an Alliance force, Carson knew it was vital that she defeat whatever she encountered. The Alliance was mysterious in the Confederation, with little concrete information available, at least outside of the highest levels of state secrecy. What was known was more legend than fact, stories of a warrior culture where children were trained to fight from the day they could walk. The rumors Carson had heard all told of a brutal culture, one that abused and enslaved conquered populations. He couldn’t let them get to Lise.
“Are you listening to me, Sam?” There was a touch of irritation in Fritz’s voice.
“Ah…sorry, Commander. I…I was thinking about Archellia. About my wife.” Carson had briefly considered making up a better story, one that sounded more military. But he didn’t have it in him. For better or worse, he was a painfully honest man.
“Archellia will be fine, Sam.” Fritz’s tone was empathetic, something he’d rarely heard from the hard-charging engineer. “Captain Barron is the best in the fleet. Whatever is out there, he will deal with it.”
“Thank you, Commander. Captain Barron has all my faith. It’s…it’s just hard.”
“I know it is, Sam. But we’re lucky to have you here. If you stay focused, you’ll be a big part of us getting the job done.”
Carson smiled weakly. “You are very kind, Commander. I can promise you everything I’ve got. Dauntless is my home, even if I am leaving soon.” He paused, then repeated, “Everything I have, Commander.”
“I know that, Sam. But first, get down to sickbay. There are all kinds of radiation spikes in those cooling tubes. Get yourself checked out and get a quick cleanse…before we end up in real action.”
“I’m sure I’m okay, Commander. Besides, the aft torpedo loading system is running a little rough. I was going…”
“That wasn’t a request, Lieutenant. Sickbay. Now. I’ll see to the aft torpedo tubes.”
“Yes, Commander.” Carson stepped back and snapped off a salute. Then he turned and headed toward the main hall and the lift tubes. The smile on his face was gone, replaced by a twisted frown.
Carson hated doctors and hospitals.
* * *
“Maintain active scanning at full power, Commander. We will remain at general quarters. There is an enemy ship out here, at least one…even if we haven’t found it.” He knew the sustained alert status was hard on his crew, that each hour he kept his people at battlestations wore down their effectiveness. But it would be far worse if they were blindsided. That had already happened once, and Barron didn’t intend to allow a repeat.
“Scanners at full, Captain.”
Barron had already suspected that Santis and its tritium production facilities would be a target, and the trap at the transwarp link had only reinforced that notion. His scanners hadn’t detected the enemy yet, but he knew they were out there. Somewhere close.
He twisted his head, trying to clear the knots from his neck. He’d been in his chair for over twenty hours without a break. He was going to have to order a round of stims for his people soon, that much was certain. But he knew such things only lasted so long, and he was going to need his people sharp when the battle he knew was coming actually began. He would wait, perhaps another few hours.
“Captain, Commander Fritz reports her people have fixed the reactor cooling system. All primary weapons are active and at full power.”
Barron felt a wave of relief. He’d pressed on from the transwarp link, moving toward Santis as quickly as possible, disregarding the damage inflicted by the laser buoys. He suspected time was not his ally in this situation. But he didn’t relish making contact, going into battle with half his heavy guns out of action. The particle accelerators were extremely powerful weapons, but they were greedy of energy, requiring almost all of the output of Dauntless’s massive reactors to fire. And he was glad to have them all back online.
“Give Commander Fritz my compliments.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Barron stared ahead at the 3D display. Santis was projected in the center of the tank, a fuzzy-looking gray-white sphere. The planet had two moons, Lyra and Assul, represented by smaller globes, currently at opposite edges of the tank. Barron had reviewed the data banks. Lyra was a dead rock, lifeless and airless, but Assul was as different from its frigid parent world as possible. Heated by massive volcanic
activity, it was warm—too warm for humans to endure for more than a short period without survival gear. The large moon was covered with dense jungles, teeming with carnivorous plants.
“Approaching Santis, sir. Should I plot a course into orbit?”
Barron sat silently for a few seconds. Finally, he said, “No, Commander…not yet. All engines are to decelerate. Bring us to a stop half a million kilometers out.” Barron’s gaze was focused on the tank, his eyes boring into holographic light depicting Santis.
“Yes, Captain. Decelerating now.”
“Red squadron is to prepare to launch.”
“Sir?”
“I want every millimeter around this planet and both moons searched, Commander. And I have no intention of entering orbit until I know exactly what is there. In orbit or hiding behind one of the moons. I want full power to active scanners. Concentrate on the planetary and both lunar orbits.”
“Yes, sir. Scanning now.” A moment later. “Yellow squadron reports ready to launch, sir.”
“Launch. Advise Red leader to break her people up into teams of three. I want the far sides of the planet and both moons scouted.”
“Yes, Captain.” Travis relayed the order, and a moment later the ship shook softly as fifteen fighters shot down its magnetic catapults in rapid sequence and out into space. “Red squadron launched, Captain.”
“Order Yellow Squadron to alert stations, replacing Red.” He knew it was Green’s turn in the duty rotation, but most of the squadron’s pilots were raw, fresh out of the Academy. He didn’t know what his people were up against, or what they might encounter. But he knew damned well he wanted his experienced pilots out there.
“Yes, sir. Yellow squadron to alert stations.”
Barron listened to Travis’s voice, steady, firm. He trusted her completely, and the two worked together seamlessly. He’d have sworn she could almost read his mind somehow, and there was no one he’d rather have on the bridge…or in command if anything happened to him.
“Very well, Commander.”
Barron stood up, holding back the wince that wanted to escape as every muscle in his body rebelled. He had to get up and move around, at least for a while. “I’ll be in my office. Contact me immediately with any reports.”
“Yes, sir.”
He walked across the bridge toward a large hatch. “Open,” he said softly, pausing as the door slid to the side. He stepped through and said, “Close,” pausing as the hatch shut.
Then he let out a deep sigh. He really wanted to go to his quarters, to lie down, even for a few moments. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not while he had his people at battlestations.
His recollections of his grandfather were those of a young boy, and most of their conversations had been about fishing, the family estate, or the exotic worlds the admiral had seen. But the old man had imparted some of his experience to his grandson, and Barron knew that a captain who shared his crew’s pain and struggles would gain a level of loyalty well beyond the norm. Rance Barron had won his victories as much due to the extraordinary effort and sacrifice of his crews as to his own tactical wizardry. And Tyler knew his grandfather had gained that respect and devotion by sharing every hardship and danger with those who followed him. He’d always been at the forefront, in the thick of the fighting, at the center of the combat.
Barron resolved he would do the same. He would be everywhere with his people, through whatever danger he led them to. And one thing he damned sure would never do was sneak off for a nap while his spacers struggled to stay focused at their stations.
He walked across the room, limping slightly from the numbness in his leg, and he sat behind his desk. It was a relief to have a few moments of privacy at least, if not rest. His crew could display their uncertainty, their apprehension, at least to a point. But not him, not the ship’s captain. He knew they all looked to him, and the slightest sign that he was not in control, that he had his doubts, would crush morale in an instant. And Tyler Barron’s mind was flooded with doubts at the moment.
He stared down at the screen on the side of the desk, reviewing the meager scanning data. He didn’t have much beyond gut instinct to tell him what he was facing. The laser buoys suggested a fairly large ship, or perhaps a number of small ones.
Or even a freighter…
It seemed clear, however, that there was no massive invasion fleet, at least not yet. If there were that many ships out there, he would have detected something. Residual ion trails or some kinds of energy readings. Besides, a fleet would have attacked Dauntless immediately, not played a cat and mouse game trying to gain advantage.
No, whatever we’re facing, they’re respectful of us, wary. That’s the only reason we haven’t been attacked with anything else yet.
Barron rested his head in his hands, closing his eyes for just a few seconds.
Who are you out there? And what are you doing now? What trap are you laying for us?
Chapter Twenty
AS Invictus
In Orbit, Krillus V
Alliance Year 58 (307 AC)
“They’re just sitting there, Commander. They may be launching fighters. It’s hard to be sure with just passive scans.”
Kat listened to her exec’s report with disappointment, if not surprise. She’d set another trap for her Confed counterpart, but it didn’t look like he was going to fall into it.
“Maintain position and continue minimal energy output.”
“Yes, Commander.” There was something in Wentus’s voice—a touch of discomfort perhaps?
Kat understood. Her exec was a gifted officer, but he was as indoctrinated in Alliance thinking as anyone else in the service. Kat knew she was too, at least to an extent, but she saw other things as well, realities, dangers. She knew where the enemy was, and standard doctrine called up on her to finish things, to advance and engage—and destroy—the enemy. Immediately. But her instincts were calling out to her as well, screaming for caution. The Confeds weren’t supposed to have substantial military assets deployed to the Rim…yet here she was, facing what could only be a frontline battleship. That was a colossal failure, at least as far as information gathering was concerned. A four-million-ton battleship was a big thing to miss.
She was confident she could defeat the enemy. Even with her belief that the Confederation wasn’t as weak as many in the Alliance believed, she couldn’t imagine the Alliance’s flagship with its handpicked crew couldn’t defeat a similarly-sized enemy vessel. But she was also aware that Invictus was the only ship in the area, the sole Alliance force tasked with holding Santis. She not only had to defeat this Confederation battleship, but she had to come out of the fight with her own vessel in reasonable condition, strong enough to hold out until the fleet arrived.
She’d almost issued the order to swing around Krillus V, to set a course for the enemy ship and begin the final battle at once. But she’d held her tongue. She had an edge now. She was getting real data on the enemy…and she suspected they had nothing at all on her own ship. It was an advantage she intended to press to its fullest effect. Whoever was on that ship, they weren’t like her hardened Alliance spacers. They were vulnerable to fear, to psychological warfare. And she was going to make the most of it. If she could win with finesse, with maneuver—and avoid a toe to toe slugging match—she could minimize her own damage. Keeping her vessel operable was worth spending some extra time waiting.
Hiding, as Wentus and the others probably consider it…
Invictus was on the far side of the fifth planet, the bulk of the gas giant hiding her from even the most intensive scans initiated by any ship near Santis. She’d positioned two small satellites on opposite ends of the planet, her communications link with the probes in orbit around Santis and its moons. She’d kept the probes on passive mode…but whoever was commanding this Confederation vessel, he was no fool. He’d stopped short of the planet, clearly fearing a trap. Now it looked like he had launched fighters.
Of course…he’s going to
have his squadrons scan the planet rather than risk his ship. This one knows what he is doing. He fell into one trap, but now he’s wary. He won’t be easily fooled again…
“Switch probes to active scan mode.” There was no point in maintaining stealth. If the Confed ship was launching fighters, they would detect the probes soon enough, even operating in passive mode. Better to get as much data as possible while she could.
“Switching to active scan mode.”
“Issue a launch alert to Gold Dagger, Red Banner, and Darkwind squadrons. They are to be equipped for anti-fighter operations. And Black Fist and Hydra squadrons are to be armed for anti-ship strikes.”
“Yes, Commander.” Kat could hear the animation in her exec’s voice, the satisfaction at her hints of an impending attack.
She sat still, not responding, just looking ahead at the screen.
Maybe the enemy will move closer…maybe the fighters will miss the platforms orbiting the moons…
There was at least some chance a few of the laser buoys would score hits. She didn’t expect to cripple the enemy ship…it was clear her rival was too smart to be lured into a killing zone. But even a few shots could make the difference, especially when her fighters would be coming in hard, right behind the laser attacks. It was a risk, committing five of her six squadrons to the attack. But Invictus was out of range, well-protected for the moment. It was time for an aggressive move, time to strike a deadly blow.
“Optiomagis…you may launch all squadrons as soon as they are ready.”
* * *
Optiomagis Ellian Junus sat at the controls of his fighter, breathing deeply through the mask that covered the lower half of his face. The pressurized oxygen flow helped force the breaths into his lungs, partially counteracting the high g-forces pressing down on him. The Talon-class fighters were new, the latest generation of Alliance attack craft, and they included technology gleaned from a dozen conquered worlds. The range of the new craft was nearly double that of the old Ripper class, and they carried a larger payload as well. Invictus was the first ship to be equipped with the fighters, all six of her squadrons replacing their old birds with the sleek new ones.