by Jay Allan
“Unacceptable, Commander.” Sara Eaton was Intrepid’s captain. She was still getting used to Nordstrom’s voice in place of Vargus’s. Her new exec was a capable officer, one she knew was up to the job. But going into a fight like this without Vargus had seemed like leaving one of her arms behind. “Get me Commander Merton now.”
“Yes, Captain.” A few seconds later. “Commander Merton on your line.”
“Commander, what’s going on down there? We haven’t been hit that hard, not yet. I need those main guns.”
“We’re doing everything we can down here, Captain. Those damned things have so many weak points. There’s no significant damage…it’s just a question of tracking down the breaks in the power lines.” Intrepid’s chief engineer was tense, the stress clear in his voice.
“Then do it, Doug. Now.”
“Captain, we’re on it…but it’s not…”
“Don’t waste time telling me what it’s not. Just fix it.” Eaton’s hand slammed down on the comm unit, closing the line. She knew she wasn’t being fair to her engineer, but she was just as aware that Merton had been with her long enough to know she believed in him. Eaton was a slender woman, medium height, her pale blond hair cut into a short bob. She looked younger than her forty-one years, a good bit younger when she was someplace less aging than the command station of a Confederation battleship. But no one who had served under her doubted her toughness, or her tactical skill.
Intrepid shook. Another hit. The enemy primaries weren’t a match for her ship’s, assuming the temperamental beasts were functioning, but they still packed a punch.
The battle was fully underway now, both lines locked in the final struggle. In another thirty seconds, Intrepid’s secondaries would come into range. Strategy had played its hand in selecting Arcturon as the site of the Confederation’s bid to halt the enemy advance, and tactics had ruled in the formation of the fleet and its timing and maneuvers. But now it was down to skill and perseverance, the toughness and grit of the spacers on both sides. The willingness to stand, to fight through exhaustion, pain, fear…to ignore wounds and radiation and sweltering heat, for just that much longer than the enemy.
And the will of the commanders…of Admiral Winston’s determination, and the enemy admiral’s…
She knew Arthur Winston had his share of courage. Though she’d never acknowledge it in public, she thought he was a mediocre tactician. But she didn’t doubt his bravery. And she’d be the first to say the man’s fifty years of service and three wars earned him the confidence of his people.
Still, something’s wrong…
Intrepid had fired its primaries half a dozen times, targeting two enemy capital ships, and causing what her scanners told her was extensive damage to both vessels. As well as she could follow events across the half million kilometers of engaged front, the story was the same all down the line. The enemy was inflicting a toll, their weapons tearing into the Confederation battleships. But the Union was losing the battle. Intrepid and its brethren pounded away, moving relentlessly forward. She wanted to believe the fleet was on the verge of victory, but something was nagging at her. As bloody a fight as it had been, one thought kept slipping into her mind.
It’s been too easy.
That sounded insane, she knew. But for two months the Confederation forces had fallen back everywhere, unable to stop the Union invasion at any point. Was it possible that, all of a sudden, they would stop the enemy cold? Here? Now? She desperately wanted to believe it…but she didn’t.
She watched the scanner, her eyes following as clusters of fighters and bombers zipped across the screen. The Confederation attack squadrons were moving forward, making attack runs at the Union ships, adding more destruction to that inflicted by the primary batteries of the fleet. The Union bombers were conducting their own assaults, but their squadrons had been savaged on the way back to their mother ships, and they had launched the second time at half strength, even less. And the Confederation CSPs were obliterating the approaching bombers, blowing whole squadrons away before the attackers could loose so much as a single torpedo.
That wasn’t the case all along the line, of course. Two Union squadrons had broken through and closed on Warspite, planting half a dozen torpedoes into the damaged battleship’s midsection. The old vessel was still there, but from what Eaton’s scanners could tell her, she was a lifeless hulk, silent, drifting.
“Entering firing range for secondaries, Captain.”
“Open fire, all guns.”
“Yes, Captain.” Then, into his comm unit: “All batteries, open fire.”
Intrepid lurched again as another enemy blast struck her amidships.
“Reactor A down to fifty percent, Captain.”
“Increase Reactor B to one hundred ten percent.”
“Yes, Captain.” Then: “Captain, Engineer Merton reports primary batteries back online.”
Yes!
“Reroute power to primaries. Put secondaries on rolling barrages, allocating power as quickly as possible between primary recharges. And tell Commander Merton to squeeze every bit of power he can from Reactor A.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Intrepid, like virtually any vessel, had more systems than she could power simultaneously. With her engines shut down, even her damaged reactors could easily power the secondary weapons system. But charging the particle accelerators took almost every watt the straining power plants could produce.
Eaton looked straight ahead, even as the bridge lights dimmed. She could see the unused workstations going blank, Intrepid’s AI conserving power any way possible.
She sat, silently, waiting as the main guns charged. Time passed slowly, glacially, each second stretching out interminably. Then, finally, she heard the words she’d been waiting to hear.
“Primaries ready to fire, Captain.”
“Lock on to target A, Commander.” A pause, no more than a second. Then: “Fire.”
The bridge went completely dark for an instant, not a spark of light save the red glow from the battlestations lamps. The primaries made a sound, a hideous shriek that reverberated throughout the ship, far louder than normal.
Probably the result of Merton’s makeshift repairs.
Eaton looked down at the scanner, waiting to see if her gunners’ accuracy had been true. Just as she saw the report, she heard Nordstrom’s voice, his discipline slipping for an instant in the face of his obvious joy.
“Direct hit, Captain! Both guns.”
Eaton felt a wave of excitement herself, and it grew as she watched the damage assessments flow in. It was raw data at first, energy readings, long-range optical scans. But then the AI finished crunching the numbers, and it posted the report she’d longed to see.
The enemy vessel had been torn apart, split in two by the deadly shots and the internal explosions that followed. One of Intrepid’s foes was gone, nothing but floating wreckage remaining where a Union battleship had been.
“Well done…all of you.” She reached down to her comm controls and opened the shipwide line. “Congratulations, everyone. That’s one down, but stay focused. We’re still faced off against another battleship. Let’s show them what we can do!”
Eaton was unorthodox in the way she communicated with her crew. She was prone to making shipwide announcements, and she was as selfless an officer as any had seen. She shared everything with her crew; glory, rewards, her gratitude for their tireless efforts.
“Okay, Commander…let’s see about that other sh…” Her voice went silent, her eyes catching something on the long-range scanning display. It was a contact, a ship of some kind, coming in from the Copernika transwarp line. Behind the fleet.
It was smaller than a capital ship, she realized as she stared at the tiny dot.
Some kind of escort vessel…
For an instant she thought it might be the enemy, but then her scanners picked up the identification beacon. It was a Confederation ship.
But the feeling in the pit of her s
tomach remained, and somehow, she knew…something was very wrong.
Chapter Eight
CFS Repulse
Arcturon System
Deep in the System Oort Cloud
308 AC
“It’s one of ours, Admiral. ID beacons transmitting…CFS Stanton. She’s a Wilson-class light escort.” Beltran’s face was pressed against the scope at his station, reading the details as quickly as they came in. His voice changed, the tone moving from concerned to grave. “She appears to be badly damaged, sir.”
“Send a message, Captain. Tell them to transmit a full report immediately.”
“Sir, we’re receiving a signal…I’ll put it on your screen.”
Winston looked down, watching as the lists of fleet stats vanished from his display, replaced by the image of a Confederation officer. His uniform was soiled and blackened with soot, and he looked like he was in pain. Winston could see at once the bridge behind him was in shambles.
“This is CFS Stanton to Confederation fleet command. Please respond. This is CFS Stanton…”
“Stanton, this is Admiral Winston. Report at once.”
There was a brief delay, as Winston’s response traveled to the new arrival, and then a signal returned. A look of partial relief came over the man’s face. “Admiral Winston, thank goodness we got to you. I am Commander Jergen, commanding CFS Stanton.”
“Report, Commander.” Winston regretted the curtness and impatience of his tone the instant he spoke, but he knew Stanton’s arrival was unlikely to herald good tidings.
“Admiral, Second Fleet was attacked at Ghallus.” Jergen paused, wincing in pain. Winston realized the man was injured worse than he’d thought at first. “They outnumbered us, sir. We fought hard, sir…we really did. But there were just too many of them. Admiral Marionberg sent me to warn you.”
“Warn us?”
“Yes, sir…the enemy is coming this way. They’re in the Copernika system now, Admiral. Not far behind us.”
Winston sat still, staring at the face on his screen. “In Copernika?” His stomach tightened. There couldn’t be enemy forces in Copernika…it was impossible. “Where is Admiral Marionberg, Commander? Where is Second Fleet?” It was too much, and it was coming too quickly. First Fleet was facing the bulk of the enemy forces, he had been sure of that. Second Fleet was strong, twelve capital ships and almost thirty escorts…more than enough, he had thought, to cover his flank, especially with the main enemy force engaged in Arcturon.
“Second Fleet, it…” A burst of static drowned out Jergen’s words.
“Repeat your transmission, Commander.”
“Second Fleet…destroyed…”
Destroyed? The word hit Winston like a brick.
“Did you say destroyed, Commander?”
“Yes, sir. Eight capital ships gone. The others were fleeing, trying to escape.”
“Admiral…” It was Beltran, and the urgency in his voice was clear. “We’re picking up energy readings from the transwarp link, sir. Something is coming through.”
Winston’s eyes flashed toward the main display. “Zoom in on the Copernika transwarp point,” he snapped to the ship’s AI. The projection shifted, seeming almost to wiggle for a second. Then it displayed a yellow circle, the link leading to the Copernika system nine lightyears away. The escort vessel was there too, a small blue dot, and closer to the transwarp link, three small red spheres. Enemy ships.”
“The new arrivals are firing on Stanton, sir.”
“Commander, you have bogeys on your tail. Can you accelerate toward the main fleet?”
“Negative, sir. We burned out our engines getting here ahead of the enemy. We don’t have any effective thrust.”
Winston could see tiny flashes in the display. Laser fire.
“Commander Beltran, who is closest to Stanton?”
“That would be Starfire, sir. But she is heavily engaged right now, and she’s twenty minutes away at full thrust.” The meaning in his tone was clear. Stanton didn’t have twenty minutes.
Winston turned back to the com unit. “Commander, what happened to Admiral Marionberg?”
Jergen looked back at him from the screen and his expression answered Winston’s question even before the words sunk in. “Aspirant was destroyed, sir. The admiral is dead.” Jergen sat, staring at Winston through the com unit. A few seconds later there was an explosion behind him…and then the image vanished from the screen, replaced by a static pattern.
“Stanton has been destroyed, sir.” Beltran’s tone was grim, confirming what Winston already knew. The flag bridge was silent, the meaning of the past few minutes’ events gradually sinking in to those present.
“Fleet order, Commander…the battle line will decelerate at 4g.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Legion, Phalanx, Exeter, Constellation, Nova, and Resolution will decelerate and come about, moving to protect the rear of the line.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
Winston looked down at his workstation’s screen, his fingers moving across, turning the focus of the display to the battle line. As he did, Repulse shook hard, a hit…and a reminder his flagship was still in a desperate fight. He was questioning his order of a moment before, wondering if he should have ordered the fleet to accelerate rather than decelerate, to close and try to finish off the enemy line before whatever was going to emerge from the transwarp link arrived.
“We’re picking up more energy surges, sir…ships transiting.”
There was his answer. The enemy was already here in force.
He turned back to the display just as red icons started to appear, floating in the tank, moving forward into the system. He watched as the icons moved forward, unidentified as the seconds passed while scanner data flowed in. The AI crunched on it, and then small labels began to appear next to the vessels coming through, now six, with continued energy spikes signaling that more were on the way.
Winston read the small tags next to each icon. CS. Two small letters, the same near each small oval. Capital ships. All six of them.
Seven, Winston thought as he saw another symbol appear.
His eyes were fixed on the display as the AI’s notation confirmed the seventh vessel was also a battleship. His mind was racing, trying to decide what to do. Second Fleet had been powerful enough to protect his flank, to beat back any peripheral force…he’d been sure of it.
How could the enemy have so many ships?
The reality of Caitlyn Marionberg’s death was still sinking in. He’d known her for more than fifty years. She’d been another of Rance Barron’s protégés.
And now she’s dead.
His eyes were fixed on the display, watching the enemy ships stream in, even as he struggled to maintain control, to decide what to do.
Eight…Nine…
* * *
“Keep firing.” Eaton’s voice was calm, cold, as if she was issuing a routine command of no consequence instead of one to hold position in the battle line even as a massive enemy force was moving around behind the fleet.
“Yes, Captain.”
Intrepid’s commander stared at the display. She’d received the orders from fleet command to decelerate along with the rest of the line. But that wasn’t going to be enough to escape the trap that was clearly developing…and there had been no word since from Admiral Winston. Enemy battleships had continued to pour into the system from Copernika, twenty-one so far. The new arrivals were moving in from the transwarp link, accelerating to cut the fleet off from escape.
What is the admiral waiting for? We have to retreat…
She hated even thinking that. The battle had been going well, and even with the pain from their losses, the hint of possible victory had been like manna to the battered Confeds. But the situation had changed abruptly. Eaton was a realist, and she understood almost at once that the fight at Arcturon was a lost cause. The enemy just had too many ships, and if they managed to get the flanking force completely in position, the entire fleet was
in jeopardy.
Second fleet…gone. My God, the Confederation is in real trouble. If we lose all of First Fleet too…
She tried to shake the thoughts from her head. It was Winston’s place to direct the fleet, and hers to follow his orders and command Intrepid. Her vessel had finished off one of the enemy ships it had faced, and only one other remained in range. She didn’t have the authority to order a retreat, and she wasn’t about to break ranks and flee without Admiral Winston’s order. But she could clear out the space around her, buy some time for her ship if and when the orders to bug out came. All she had to do was destroy one more enemy vessel.
“Increase power to secondaries to one hundred ten percent.” She hoped her tone sounded more like confidence than the desperation she was truly feeling. Overpowering guns was a dangerous tactic, but one that could make the difference in a desperate fight. The enemy ship opposing Intrepid had already been damaged when it closed, and she was sure if she kept hammering away at it, she could finish it off. Before Intrepid was too badly battered herself to stay in the fight.
“Yes, Captain.” Nordstrom leaned forward over his workstation, staring down at the screens. “Captain, we’ve got friendly fighters inbound. Looks like part of our Longsword squadron and some from other strike groups.”
Eaton just nodded. The fighter battles had raged all along the line, and she knew the squadron structures were hopelessly intermixed. She had the urge to order all the fighters near Intrepid to land, whether they were hers or not. If she waited, and the order to retreat came through, there wouldn’t be enough time to get them all in. The idea of abandoning her pilots—any Confederation pilots—was horrifying to her, but she knew the priorities as well as anyone else, and the fighter jocks knew them best of all. Capital ships were the primary concern. If it came to a choice of saving the battle line or recovering the fighters, she knew Admiral Winston would have no choice. It made sense, in a mathematical or logical sort of way. After all, little purpose would be served by landing fighters only to have the pilots die when the mothership itself was destroyed. But there were things that made up the essence of a man or woman besides logic, and she dreaded the order to leave her squadrons behind and flee.