Blood on the Stars Collection 1

by Jay Allan

  * * *

  “Are you crazy?” Kyle Jamison was mad, as certifiably, red-faced, searingly angry as Stockton had ever seen him. “You’re a squadron commander, dammit, not some war god who can do whatever the hell he wants whenever the hell he wants. At least you’re a squadron leader for the moment.”

  “Kyle…”

  “I’m Commander Jamison to you, Lieutenant. I think the last thing you need now is any further breakdown of discipline.” Jamison glared at his friend and subordinate. “Now, what the hell do you think you were doing out there?”

  “We were on our way back to Dauntless when I realized there was a force of bombers inbound. I analyzed the situation, and I determined that the pursuing interceptors would not catch them in time to ensure that none reached torpedo range. So, as senior officer at the scene, I made a determination that, despite difficult fuel status, we should intervene. Sir, Lieutenant Steele was only following my orders.”

  “Look at that…you actually can sound like a military officer when you have to. I guess that means you’re full of shit the rest of the time. And don’t you worry about Lieutenant Steele. I intend to have one of these conversations with her too.”

  “Commander, Lieutenant Steele is my subordinate, and she was acting under my express orders. I must protest any disciplinary procedures directed at her, and I will oppose such, by formal statement all the way to the admiralty if need be.”

  “I’d be worried more about myself if I was you. I’m not sure formal statements made from the brig are all that compelling to a review board.” Jamison paused, and then he exhaled. When he continued, his voice was calmer, more relaxed. “You’re a royal pain in the ass, do you realize that? But you’re the most goddammned loyal son of a bitch I’ve ever known. Steele is fine. For that matter, so are you, though for the life of me I can’t explain my foolish blind spot where you’re concerned.”

  “It’s my charm, Commander. And the fact that you know I was right.”

  “Don’t push your luck, Jake. I suspect the captain would have wanted to skin you alive, but…”

  “But we got away with one minor hit, and now everybody’s thinking what could those four birds have done?”

  “Something like that.” Jamison glared at his friend. “But don’t take getting off the hook here as license to do whatever the hell you damn well please. I mean it, Jake. You’re my number two on Dauntless. What would you do if something happened to me? Run the whole strike force like a wild pack of daredevils?”

  “It was you, Kyle. And the captain.” Stockton paused. It was hard for him to display sincere emotion. The defense mechanisms he’d built to survive a childhood in Valaria’s poorhouses were still a bulwark of his personality. “And Stara. Dauntless is the only real home I’ve ever had. I’ll do anything to keep her—all of you—safe.”

  Jamison let out a heavy exhale. “Like I said, Jake, I don’t doubt your loyalty, or your friendship. But you’re not a hotshot pilot fresh out of the Academy anymore. And your decisions rarely affect only you. What if you’d gotten Corinne Steele killed out there?”

  “I didn’t order her to come, Kyle. I gave her the option…”

  “What option? What pilot is going to refuse to follow the legendary Raptor? Especially one of your own Blue squadron. You may have technically given her a choice, but she didn’t have one, not really. Think about that next time. And consider this, too, the next time you decide to treat your life like a disposable commodity. The people you’re trying to protect…do you think they—we—believe you’re as expendable as you seem to feel you are?”

  Stockton didn’t answer, not at first. Finally, he looked over at Jamison and said, “I understand what you’re saying, Kyle.” He paused again. “But where is that line? If we didn’t take out those bombers, Dauntless might have taken two or three more hits. Would it be better if a few dozen of her crew were dead for my caution?” He took a breath. “I’m not crazy, Kyle. I knew we could pull it off. I knew we could save lives. It’s not the first time I climbed into a strikefighter, after all.”

  “Just listen to some of what I said, Jake. Okay? Make sure you’re doing things for the right reason…and remember you can’t just ignore orders, even when you think you’re right.”

  “Technically, I didn’t disobey anything. It was Lieutenant Hooley on the comm, Kyle. She’s a second grade, and I’m a first.”

  Jamison shook his head. “You’re a handful, my friend, you know that?”

  “Then I’m okay? With the captain?”

  “Yes. He was mad, but I spoke to him, told him I’d handle you. He’s focused on the enemy ship…and he recognizes that Dauntless might not have gotten through in the condition she’s in if those bombers had gotten through.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll take on all the squadrons the Union can muster, but Tyler Barron is another matter entirely.”

  “We can agree on that much, my friend.” Jamison looked at his friend. “But I wouldn’t say you’re off the hook completely.”

  Stockton stared back, a confused look on his face.

  “The captain was mad, but it was nothing compared to Stara. She was fuming, Jake, and I suspect you’re going to get it worse from her than you did from me.”

  Jamison nodded to his friend, trying unsuccessfully to keep the amused grin off his face as he turned and walked across the room. Then his comm unit buzzed.

  “Jamison,” he said, tapping to activate the unit.

  “Commander, the captain wants you in the launch control center now. We’re about to accelerate at 10g, and he wants you directing the retrieval of the deployed squadrons.”

  “Understood, Commander. I’m on my way. Jamison out.” He paused and poked his head back. “Gotta go,” he said. Then: “Good luck, you’re going to need it.” He nodded and then he turned and walked down the corridor, heading toward the lift.

  Stockton stood still for a moment, staring at the space where his friend had just stood. Then he sat down in one of the chairs and sighed.

  “Damn.”

  * * *

  “That was the last of them, Captain. Commander Jamison reports all fighters accounted for. Total losses in the recent action, six ships. Three pilots ejected and were recovered.”

  “Very well, Commander.” Three pilots killed. The losses were light, especially compared with the nightmare at Santis, but Barron found they hurt just as much.

  “Captain, Commander Jamison also advises that he can launch a partial strike, twelve bombers with ten escorting interceptors. Squadrons became intermixed during recovery operations, but he advises either he or Lieutenant Federov can lead the strike force on your command.”

  “Thank you, Commander. But I don’t think we’re going to be able to finish the battle in this system, not if that ship keeps accelerating like they are. And if we launch fighters, we’ll have to stop and recover them before we can pursue.” Despite Kyle Jamison’s best efforts to direct the landing, Barron had been compelled to cut Dauntless’s thrust to get his fighters back onboard. The enemy ship had just abandoned their scattered survivors, and they’d continued to blast straight for the transit point. Barron figured he might get off a shot with his primaries, maybe two, but then the Union battleship would transit, and Dauntless would have to follow it to Arcturon to continue the fight.

  “Agreed, sir. Recommend we direct the bays to prepare to commence launch operations immediately after we transit.”

  “Do it, Commander.”

  Travis turned toward her workstation, relaying the command to launch control. “Both bays report ready, sir.” She paused. “Captain, Commander Jamison is requesting authorization to send Lieutenant Stockton out with the strike force when we launch.”

  Barron paused for a few seconds, feeling a reflexive urge to deny the unexpected request. An hour before he’d been ready to skin Stockton alive, or at least take his wings and assign him to Dauntless’s deepest, darkest hole to scrub out conduits. But as much as a pain in his ass Sto
ckton was prone to be, Barron couldn’t argue his strike forces weren’t better off with the ship’s best pilot—and top squadron leader—out there. “Yes,” he said simply. Then: “Advise the commander, that Lieutenant Stockton is cleared for duty.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Barron wanted to laugh, but he held it back. His grandfather had told him stories about the pilots who had served on his battleships, of the crazy things many of them had done. He’d never been entirely sure the elder Barron hadn’t been joking, at least to some extent. But now that he had his own squadrons, he was certain that every one of those tales had not only been true, but probably understated.

  “Entering primary range in three minutes, Captain.”

  “Very well…commence charging of main guns.”

  “Charging underway, sir.”

  Dauntless’s primary batteries were two massive particle accelerators, immense guns that ran three-quarters of the battleship’s four kilometers in length. They were powerful weapons, if temperamental, and they required most of the energy Dauntless’s reactors could produce.

  Barron glanced up at one of the main screens. There was a bar graph displayed, a line of red moving steadily from left to right as the guns charged. Barron still wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have preferred the old primaries, powerful x-ray lasers similar to the Union’s heavy guns. His particle accelerators had longer range, and they hit significantly harder, but they were also fragile and slow to charge between shots.

  “Projected time until enemy vessel transits: six minutes.”

  Barron did some quick math in his head. He would get one shot for sure, perhaps two if his people stayed on top of things. They’d have to get the second shot off at least a minute before the enemy ship transited, and preferably a minute and a half. After that, the gravity waves around the transwarp point would throw off the targeting.

  “Entering range in one minute, Captain.”

  “Advise gunnery crews to fire at will once we’re within range.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Travis leaned over his comm unit. “Primary gun teams, you are authorized to fire at your discretion.”

  Barron watched the red oval in the massive 3D display in the center of the Dauntless’s bridge. The enemy ship was getting close to the transit point, and the blue symbol representing his own vessel was far behind. Barron knew he wouldn’t have had a chance to catch the enemy at all if the Union vessel hadn’t had to first reverse its considerable inbound velocity to head back to the transwarp line.

  “I want recharging to commence the instant those weapons are fired, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir. I will see to it myself.”

  Barron watched the countdown on his screen. Ten seconds.

  He could feel the tightness in his stomach, and the sensation triggered memories of Santis. Dauntless had been engaged for hours now, but a fighter duel, especially a one-sided struggle his pilots won handily, just wasn’t the same as closing into gunnery range.

  Five seconds. He had confidence in his people, and he knew when to sit back and let them do their jobs. That didn’t mean it was easy. A dozen things popped into his mind, warnings, reminders, an unending flow of advice he ached to unload on his bridge crew, his gunners.

  They know what they’re doing…let them do it…

  He watched the countdown hit zero. Dauntless was in range.

  Fire, he thought, already thinking of the recharge time between shots and the dwindling moments before the enemy vessel would be protected by the gravity well of the transwarp link. But firing wouldn’t accomplish anything if his people couldn’t score a hit, and that wasn’t an easy task at this kind of extreme range. His gun teams were the best…in fact, he’d long ago decided he’d stack them up against any in the fleet, no matter what the stakes. They’d proven themselves in the deadly fight against Invictus, and he had no doubt they would do it again.

  Suddenly, the bridge lights dimmed, and the spare workstation screens went blank. The sound of the massive primaries could be heard throughout the ship, a cross between a buzz and a higher pitched whine. Barron’s eyes dropped immediately to his screen, waiting for the report. He had a spread of drones chasing the enemy ship, and he expected solid data on damage assessment.

  A hit!

  His initial excitement was quickly tempered, however, as detailed data began to stream in. Both shots had indeed hit, but they’d been glancing blows, striking the target at its extremities. Between the very long range and the non-critical locations of the impacts, Barron wasn’t surprised when the assessment came in. Superficial damage.

  Any hit at this range was commendable, but he still couldn’t help but feel disappointment. He knew that wasn’t fair to his gunners, that just connecting with both guns had been a success. But they’d spoiled him. He’d seen them make too many impossible shots at Santis, and his expectations had risen to match that performance.

  “Recharge those guns, Commander.”

  “Recharge already underway, sir, per your orders.”

  Barron just nodded. He really wanted to do some damage before the enemy ship escaped. If there was nothing else in Arcturon, it wouldn’t matter much, but if there were more Union forces waiting, anything he could do to wear the enemy down increased the chance of Dauntless surviving the encounter.

  He punched at his controls, and his screen changed, the flat depiction of the space around the transit point morphing into a series of ripples—the gravity waves moving out from the transwarp point. The enemy ship was almost there, and once it moved inside the affected area, scoring a hit would move from difficult to almost impossible.

  His eyes moved to the screen on the far wall, the display showing the recharge almost three-quarters complete. He felt the tension building, not only in his gut but across the entire bridge. The normal chattering between his officers had been silenced as they all waited to see if they’d get another shot.

  Barron stared intently, watching as the red bar ticked slowly toward full. Full charge.

  The lights dimmed again, almost immediately this time. It was clear the gunners knew as well as their captain that they were down to the last seconds to get off their shot.

  Barron leaned forward, watching the data coming in from the probes. Another pair of hits, and this time they seemed better-placed. He waited anxiously for more data, but it didn’t come. The enemy ship was now deep in the gravity well, and the scanners on his probes were hopelessly scrambled. A few seconds later, the icon representing the Union ship disappeared. His enemy had transited.

  “Full thrust, Commander Travis. We’re going in after them. I want all weapons on full alert, prepared to fire as soon as we emerge and locate the enemy. All available fighters are to be launch-ready.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Barron leaned back in his chair. He was nervous, concerned what might be waiting beyond the transwarp link. But he knew the Confederation was hard-pressed, more so, he suspected, than he’d been told. Their duty was clear. Dauntless had found the front lines, farther back perhaps than he and his people had expected, but they’d found them nonetheless.

  If the Union wanted a fight, Barron was sure of one thing. Dauntless would give them one they wouldn’t soon forget.

  Chapter Fourteen

  CFS Intrepid

  Arcturon System

  Deep in the Outer System Dust Cloud

  308 AC

  “All right, Blues and friends, this ship we’re after’s got nothing but a handful of fighters left. So, listen up…I want everybody to save their missiles. We take this tiny screen out with lasers and clear the way for the bombers. But we keep our primary armaments in place, understood?” Stockton was leading a hodgepodge of Dauntless’s fighters, about half of his own Blue squadron, with some Greens and Yellows thrown in, almost as if to emphasize the disarray sweeping the battleship’s bays right now. Somehow, the launch teams had managed to switch over Federov’s Reds to bombing kits, but that had left Stockton with a mix of what remained to form a
n escort.

  He wasn’t worried about the strike. The enemy ship had launched all of eight fighters, apparently the only ones it had managed to recover in the Corpus system before it turned and fled at Dauntless’s approach. His people could blow the meager defensive force away in a matter of minutes, and then Federov’s bombers would have their way open to blast the enemy battleship.

  No, it wasn’t the attack on the battleship that worried him, at least not this battleship. But the other two capital ships moving across the system had him shitting bricks.

  Dauntless had emerged from the transwarp link to find its prey trying to flee with badly damaged engines. The last shot of the primaries had taken the enemy vessel near the aft, and the best the AIs could project, the Union ship was struggling with half thrust at best, and probably a good deal less. But the satisfaction had been short-lived when the long-range scanning reports came in. Two more capital ships were inbound from the Phillos transit point and leading some kind of a convoy. Within minutes, the Union battleships had changed course, and they were heading across the system at full thrust. Right toward Dauntless.

  They’re going to be too late…

  Stockton knew Dauntless could take down its original enemy before it was engaged by the other two ships. Federov’s bombers were like carnivores chasing after wounded prey, and he had no intention of letting even one enemy interceptor escape his grasp to take a shot at them. But after the first fight was over, all bets were off. His birds and Federov’s would be blown, low on fuel and ready to land…just as the two approaching battleships were sending in their own attack waves.

  He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. Captain Barron would deal with it, somehow. Stockton hadn’t realized how his attitude toward the captain had evolved, from respect to affection…and now to almost limitless confidence. They’d been dead out at Santis, by all rights they should have lost that battle. But Dauntless’s captain had proven the Barron magic still ran in his blood. At least as far as Jake Stockton was concerned.