Blood on the Stars Collection 1

by Jay Allan

  “Yes, sir. We’ve got multiple power interruptions, Captain, and with the reduced output from the reactors, we’ve got…” She turned back to her workstation, staring down at her screen. “…four turrets still firing.”

  “Very well, Commander.” He struggled to hold back a frown. Down to four turrets…

  The ship shook again, and Barron could hear the sounds as Dauntless’s hull twisted and groaned under the incessant fire. Then he heard the secondaries firing. He’d turned his ship to protect the damaged starboard side, but now the port was in worse shape.

  “Bring us back around, Commander. I want the starboard batteries brought to bear.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Barron stared at the display. The enemy had been decelerating before Dauntless’s primaries fired, but now there was no thrust at all. Did he dare to hope that Travis’s shot had disabled the vessel’s engines entirely? Any delay in the enemy slowing down would shorten the exchange now in progress, and it would give Fritz and her people more time to complete repairs.

  Or it will give you time to withdraw…

  Barron didn’t like the idea of retreating, but he couldn’t escape his own tactical analysis. His people had performed well, but they were still at a disadvantage. Assuming the enemy could repair their engines—and he had little doubt they could—there would be another fight here. As much as he wanted to believe Dauntless would win that battle, he knew he was still at a disadvantage. Perhaps it made sense to make a dash to the transwarp link, to get back to Archellia and rally the base’s meager defenses. Santis was tactically important, but Dauntless was the only real force on the entire frontier. If he fought again and lost, there would be nothing between here and a dozen heavily-populated worlds.

  The ship shuddered again, but the impacts were not as hard. The enemy was moving out of range. Dauntless had made it through the first exchange, though he wouldn’t know the true extent of the damage until Fritz gave him an update.

  I don’t need Fritzie to tell me it’s bad.

  Damned bad…

  The enemy would be working feverishly to get their engines back online. He wanted to stay, to finish what had begun here. But there was more at stake than his own wants. Hundreds of crew members, millions of citizens on Archellia…hundreds of millions on some of the worlds beyond.

  “Sir, the enemy has moved out of range of our secondaries. They appear to have ceased fire.”

  Out of range. The first struggle is over, and we’re both still here. But if we stay, if we fight again…

  “Captain, Lieutenant Krill is on the com. He requests permission to begin landing operations.”

  Barron felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He’d been so focused on the battle, he wasn’t even sure Dauntless had an operable landing bay.

  He tapped his com again. “Fritzie, the rest of the fighters are back…”

  “I’ve got alpha bay open now, sir…though God knows it shouldn’t be. Just tell those hotshot pilots they’re in for a rough ride. If one of them comes in too hard and wipes out, he’d going to trap the rest of them out there. Beta bay is a depressurized wreck, we’ve got no hope of getting it functioning, not this side of base.”

  “Fritzie, you’re a miracle worker.”

  “That’s a good thing, sir…because we’re going to need a few down here.”

  Barron cut the com and turned back toward Travis. “Bring the squadrons into alpha bay, Commander. Fuel status priority.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Barron leaned back and wiped his hand over his face. He was exhausted, and he had a headache he’d have sworn should have killed him by now. But his people were still in the fight…and that was something.

  Now he just had to decide what to do next.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  From the Journal of Commander-Princeps Katrine Rigellus

  I leave these words here for you, my children. I am in a battle as I write this, and though I believe I can win, a warrior never knows when death is stalking her. I write this for you, as I have each time I go into action, because I would tell you some things before I leave you…because I always wished my father would have left me a final message.

  We are Palatians, of a strong and noble house. Our wealth, our position…comes with responsibility, with duty. We have talked of this before, and if I should fall, the retainers and allies of the Regulli will teach you what is expected of you. That, at least, is well-handled. For this moment, I would write not as your matriarch, concerned with duty, but as your mother, who has loved you both since you were newborn.

  I have ever placed duty first in my life, as you will both do, I am sure. It is the way. It demands much from us. Yet I would have you both know, had it been within my control, I would have spent more time with you. There is no greater joy in my recollections, even among my victories and the supplication of the Alliance’s enemies, than autumn with the two of you at Litora Montis, and it is my great sadness that our times together are usually only a brief few days.

  I would never ask you to shrink from your duties, nor do I believe it is within either of you to do so. But I urge you both: find the time to be there for each other, to appreciate each other…for when I am gone, you will be all that remains of the Regulli.

  AS Invictus

  7,800,000 kilometers from Santis, Krillus IV

  Alliance Year 58 (307 AC)

  “I need those engines back online now, Optiomagis.” Kat had her hand on her earpiece as she spoke into the headset’s microphone. Strictly speaking, she should have been issuing orders to Wentus and allowing her exec to pass them on to the more junior officers. But right now she didn’t have the time or patience for it.

  “We’ve got massive damage down here, Commander. Whatever that weapon was, it hit us hard.” Raban Cinatus was Invictus’s chief engineer, and Kat could hear the tension in his voice. Her ship had been badly battered, there was no question about that. But she was sure the enemy was in worse shape, and the sooner she could get Invictus turned around to finish the job the better. She was wary of the enemy commander, and the thought of giving him more time ate away at her confidence.

  “It was a particle beam, Optiomagis,” she said matter-of-factly. “Confed battleships have particle weapons as their primary batteries.” Kat didn’t place much stock in intelligence reports, but now she wondered if she was the only one who bothered to read them. Though short on details about effectiveness and power output, the reports had been pretty clear on the fact that the Confed navy had upgraded all its capital ships with the new weapon system. Still, she found herself surprised at how hard that shot had hit Invictus. There was no question, the enemy’s primaries were superior to her own main lasers.

  So, why did they wait so long to fire? Just to get in a point blank shot by surprise? Or were they having trouble keeping the guns online?

  She’d seen schematics of the Alliance’s own particle beam weapons, which unfortunately currently existed only as designs in progress. She remembered being struck at the size of the proposed weapons, and the complexity. She’d expressed a level of concern about durability, at least to the extent it was wise to question any project that had the Council’s support.

  “Commander, I have twenty engineers working on the engines, and half the maintenance units. I’m fairly certain we can restore some level of thrust, but it’s going to take a while.”

  “Define a ‘while,’ Optiomagis. I’ll remind you we are moving away from the enemy at greater than one percent of lightspeed.”

  “A day, Commander. It will take a day to restore thrust. At least. Perhaps two.”

  Kat felt a burst of something that felt like anger, but she realized almost immediately it was just frustration. Cinatus was a gifted engineer and an Alliance warrior though and through. She knew he wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t rest, until the engines were back online. But that didn’t change the fact that Invictus was racing away from Santis, and the enemy battleship, with no way to alter its vector.
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  That was no chance shot at our engines…he wanted time, and that’s what he got for himself.

  Her respect for her adversary grew, and her urgency to finish the battle as quickly as possible, while she still had the edge.

  Before he gets the better of me and turns the tables…

  “Eighteen hours, Optiomagis. You will get the engines back online within eighteen hours, no matter what you have to do.”

  “Commander…”

  “Eighteen hours,” she repeated, her voice like ice. “You may have any resources you require, but not a minute longer.”

  “Yes, Commander.” He tried to sound confident, but Kat could see right through it. Cinatus was one of the best engineers in the Alliance service, but what was possible was possible, and what wasn’t…wasn’t. For all the sternness of her eighteen-hour command, she figured the odds Cinatus would meet the deadline were right around 50/50.

  She looked out at the display, staring at the symbol representing the enemy vessel. She wanted to believe she had the advantage in terms of repairs and engineering…after all, she had the pick of the Alliance navy on Invictus. Surely her people would complete repairs more quickly than the enemy. Yet, something nagged at her. This was no ordinary captain she was facing. Could she afford to assume it was an ordinary crew?

  * * *

  “All right, we—I—have a decision to make, and I want your input.” Barron sat at the head of the long table. Dauntless’s conference room was right next to the bridge, and Barron had gathered his senior officers to assess the situation. All except Commander Fritz. Perhaps more than anyone—including the captain himself—she held their fates in her hands, and he wasn’t about to pull her away from her repair efforts.

  The conference room showed little sign of the damage he knew was all over his ship, but there was a sharp odor in the air, some kind of burning smell being spread by the life support systems. He didn’t know exactly what was causing it, but the AI had classified it as insufficiently dangerous to warrant attention now. Barron had found that phrasing less than reassuring, but he had to agree that there were other priorities.

  “We fight. What else can we do?” Commander Jamison sat at the opposite end of the table, providing just the sort of aggressive advice Barron expected from the leader of his fighter squadrons. What was left of his fighter squadrons.

  “We can withdraw, pull back to Archellia and mass whatever forces we can gather to mount a defense.” Part of Barron detested himself for even suggesting a retreat, but he had more responsibilities than his own honor, even than protecting the Barron name. Dauntless was the only defense to speak of for an entire sector.

  “Captain…” Jamison’s voice trailed off. “Yes, of course, sir.”

  “I don’t like the idea any more than any of you. But we have to at least consider it.” Barron paused. “We can’t be guided by pride at the expense of reason. We’re at least as badly damaged as the enemy, and very likely worse. If we fight…there’s a good chance we will lose. And the sector will be completely unprotected.”

  “Captain?” It was Bryan Ragan, the commander of Dauntless’s Marine company.

  “Yes, Bryan?”

  “Sir, whatever course of action you choose, I must respectfully request that you allow my Marines to land on Santis.”

  “Land?”

  “Yes, sir. I have reviewed the scanning results from Red squadron’s probe of the planet. They picked up signals, sir.”

  “Yes, I know. It seems clear the enemy landed a ground force and occupied the tritium production facilities.”

  “No, sir…I mean, yes sir. But I think some of the Marines down there are still holding out, fighting.”

  “There was only one platoon assigned to Santis, Bryan. We have no idea what kind of force the enemy landed, but…well, it’s very unlikely the Marines managed to hold out this long.”

  “Sir, the signals. Mixed in with the enemy communications there was…well, it’s an old Marine code. We don’t use it anymore, but they still teach it at the Academy. It was a distress call, Captain. There are Marines down there still fighting…I’m sure of it.”

  Barron leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t imagine how fewer than forty Marines could have held out this long, but Ragan was a gifted officer, and not one prone to follow hopeless causes.

  “Okay, Bryan, if we stay, we will look into it.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I speak for the entire Marine contingent when I request that you allow us to land whether or not Dauntless will be staying.”

  “Bryan, we have no idea how many soldiers the enemy has down there. You have no idea what you’ll be getting into. And if we leave, that enemy ship will be back. You’ll be cut off on the surface, without reinforcements, with the enemy in total control of local space.” He paused. “Your people will be wiped out, Bryan.”

  “We understand the risks, sir. As I said, every Marine on Dauntless has volunteered, knowing everything you just said.”

  Barron shook his head. He knew the Confederation Marines took their bond to each other deadly seriously. But how could he allow a hundred of his people to throw their lives away if Dauntless retreated?

  He was still thinking quietly when the com unit buzzed, and Darrow’s voice came through the speaker. “Captain, we’ve just received a flash com update from the transwarp link.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant?” Barron was impatient, distracted. Flash updates were standard procedure, normally full of nothing more pressing that routine updates and crew mail. Nothing that justified interrupting a vital strategy session.

  “There is a coded message for you, sir. Priority one designation.”

  Barron looked up at his assembled officers, trying to keep the surprise from his face. Priority one was the Confederation’s highest level of urgency.

  He stood up abruptly. “If you’ll all excuse me for a moment.” He turned toward the door, but then he stopped and looked back. “Commander Travis…” He gestured toward the door.

  Travis got up with a nod. Then she walked around the table, following Barron out of the room.

  * * *

  “Well, that makes the decision for you, doesn’t it?” Travis was sitting at one of the two chairs opposite Barron’s desk. She was looking right at Dauntless’s captain, her surprise at the content of the communique obvious on her face and in her tone. “There’s no leaving now, no backing down.”

  Barron sighed hard. “Yes, I suppose it does. I thought the stakes were high enough when it was just life and death, but if they’re right, we may be carrying the future of the Confederation in our hands, the difference between a chance at victory in the coming war…and total destruction.”

  The intelligence report had been clear, and exceedingly blunt. Dauntless was to engage the enemy and destroy them. Whatever it took. There could be no retreats, no stalemates. Only complete victory could avert war with the Alliance. And war with the Alliance and the Union at the same time would doom the Confederation.

  “Scanners report that the enemy ship is still progressing on its original vector. At least we have some time to prepare, and to get the crew some rest.” A pause, then: “Targeting their engines was a brilliant idea, Tyler.”

  “Managing to hit dead on was pretty good too, Atara. Let’s just say we’ll share the credit. Assuming we survive to get out of this system.”

  “We’ll survive, Tyler. I believe in you. The whole crew believes in you.”

  Barron nodded. “That means a lot, Atara…but this is no ordinary commander we’re up against. If the Alliance sent one ship to test our defenses, it’s likely they sent their best.”

  “Fortunately, we also have our best here.” The words seemed like an empty boast, but her tone made it otherwise, as though she was only expressing what she really believed. “We can take them, Ty…you know we can.”

  Barron took a deep breath. “Maybe,” he said softly. “A lot of this is on Fritzie’s shoulders. And on how long it takes the enemy to repa
ir their engines and get back here.”

  “Assuming we stay here…”

  Barron’s eyes widened. “What are you suggesting?”

  “We have engines now, at least fifty percent strength. The enemy had the advantage when they positioned themselves behind planet five. Perhaps we can do something similar.”

  “Withdraw to the fifth planet?”

  “No, I was thinking somewhere else.” She looked down at the large screen on Barron’s desk, and she reached out, pointing to a spot on the map displayed there.

  Barron stared down, his eyes focusing on her finger. “Yes,” he said. “That’s perfect.”

  “We should have enough time to land the Marines, too.”

  Barron frowned. “You know as well as I do, we could be sending them into a death trap. Probably would be.”

  “It’s their way, Ty. They want to go. They feel they have to go. As long as they believe their comrades are alive down there.”

  Barron exhaled hard. “Okay. Why not? We’re all in a fight to the death here. There’s no retreat for any of us, no way out save victory.” He looked across the desk at his first officer. “We’ll land the Marines. And then we’ll move out, prepare ourselves for the final fight.”

  Travis nodded. “The final fight,” she said, with a feral smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  CFS Dauntless

  300,000 kilometers from Santis, Krillus IV

  307 AC

  “Fighters launched, Captain. Commander Jamison reports his pilots are en route and will be ready to begin in eight minutes.” Vin Darrow’s voice came as a surprise to Barron, even though he’d expected it. He’d tried to get Atara Travis to take a break and get some rest, but she’d fought him on it tooth and nail, refusing outright unless he also promised to take a nap. They’d finally compromised. He’d retreated to his office, where he hadn’t exactly slept, but had certainly closed his eyes for a few minutes. She had run down to her quarters for a quick meal and a shower, after which she’d headed to the damaged gunnery sections to check on the repairs underway. Travis had been a gunner, a troubleshooter, and any number of other things as she’d risen in the service. Her hardscrabble rise to rank contrasted sharply with his own virtual inheritance of his position. They couldn’t be more different in background, but they made an effective team. More than a team. Travis was like a sister to him now. He respected her ability to pull herself up from such difficult circumstances. And Travis had told him more than once, the first thing she’d noticed about him was that he wasn’t a smug, self-entitled asshole, like most of the other scions of navy families. It is of such stuff that great friendships are made.