“I don’t know how they got here so quickly, and right now I don’t care. Twenty-three ships to thirty-one is more like it,” she mused to herself.
“Admiral, thought you might need a hand,” said the friendly and familiar tone of Captain Hardy, the commander of CCS Wasp, the powerful escort carrier and flagship of the newly arrived group of warships.
“Glad to see you, Captain. My tactical officer is sending over the full battle plan and details. I need your squadrons to provide a missile screen. This is the final battle, and I need everything you have in space hitting them.”
“Understood, Admiral. They are all ready. I will have birds in the air in less than three minutes.”
Admiral Jarvis nodded to herself. There was a chance, even a good one, that the Confederacy might win a resounding victory here. She looked back to her tactical board and watched the pieces move slowly into position. Off to the right the shapes of what remained of the mauled, but still functional, Furious Battlegroup. They were weakened, but the vessels were strong, and the Furious herself was one of the most advanced heavy cruisers in the fleet. Many parts of her design were similar to CCS Crusader. She was just slightly smaller and carried less weapon batteries. She ran her hand along the shapes of the ships, whispering their names as she recognised each and every one of them. CCS Crusader was of course the most prominent. To her flank was the still majestic CCS Santa Cruz, a massive ship, capable as both a heavy warship and as an amphibious marine transport. Two wings of cruisers spread around them, each blasting away to the front with dozens of railguns. CCS Yorkdale and her escort of four frigates brought up the rear.
She turned to her left to see the tell tale IFF icons. Each represented a single Confederate fighter squadron. She counted three already leaving Wasp, and yet more were preparing to launch. Between the two main groups of ships another batch of eight destroyers rushed about, each doing their best to cut down missiles and torpedoes as the Union fleet did its utmost to cripple as many ships as possible.
* * *
Wing Commander Anders checked the exterior of his Thunderbolt MK II fighter one last time. The fleet was running short of fighters, and this one was cobbled together from a damaged fuselage and a number of parts salvaged from the training module used as a simulator. In peacetime this would never happen, but after the losses sustained at Euryale, CCS Wasp had to manage with whatever parts were available. Finally satisfied it was as good as could be expected, he climbed the ladder and pulled himself down into the cockpit. As the two deck crewmen strapped him in, he remembered his last mission. The drifting in space, waiting and praying a friendly ship would find him before his oxygen ran out. It was a terrifying thing to have to do, and going back out there seemed to be getting harder with each mission.
“You okay, Sir?” asked the Chief.
“Yeah, just the usual nerves.”
The Chief nodded in agreement, “I know what you mean, Sir. Each battle leaves us with fewer birds and pilots. Just watch yourself and bring her home in one piece. A lot of love went into her.”
Anders smiled, doing his best to reassure the over-worked deck chief. He tapped the lock mechanism, and the canopy lowered itself down and locked into place. Without even thinking, he started running through his pre-flight checks. To both his left and right the rest of his squadron was doing the same. He was down to six fighters, rather than the eight he would normally take into battle. Combat losses and fighter attrition had whittled them down to the bare bones.
“Angel Squadron, report in,” he spoke firmly into his headset.
As the pilots of each fighter reported back, he did a final diagnostic check on his weapons. Wilks, his navigator and weapons officer, spoke to him via the internal communications unit.
“Anders, I’m reading an error on the missile rangefinder. Other than that, we’re good to go.”
Anders shook his head, annoyed at the fact he would have to enter combat with a less than perfectly maintained fighter. Still, it was better than being stuck aboard Wasp while everybody else rushed out to fight. Satisfied the fighters were ready, and that there were no serious issues, he gave the signal to the leader of the air group who watched from a highpoint in the landing bay.
“Okay, Angels, you know the mission. Stay tight and watch for enemy torps and missiles. Let’s do this. Launch!”
The crew of the Wasp opened the exterior hatches of the landing bay and exposed the fighters to the harsh reality of space. There was no fancy catapult launch or massive thrust. The launch mechanism was tied in with the rotating section of the ship. The electro-magnetic clamps decoupled and centrifugal force simply threw them off, just like a child being thrown from a merry-go-round if it went too fast. As Anders’ fighter moved away from CCS Wasp, he hit the power and pushed away from the warship. His five companions did the same and formed up in a tight wedge formation. From their position, they had a perfect view of the unfolding battle. To their left was the uniform line of the Union fleet. At this distance most of the ships were too small to make out details, but the cruisers were easy to spot. Flickers of light along the ships indicated the firing of automatic cannons or impacts from railguns. The largest ship by far was the Leviathan, a ship that really was too substantial to be classified as a mere cruiser. Anders glanced quickly to the right to see his own fleet of vessels moving in a large wedge of their own, spearheaded by the Battlecruiser, CCS Crusader. The voice of his commander interrupted his view of the fleets. It was Colonel Gil-dong, the new leader of the fighter squadrons on board CCS Wasp.
“Gunboats are being launched to deal with the heavy warships. In the meantime, our job is to run diversionary attacks on the Union battle lines so that Crusader can get into position. The missile cruisers are the primary targets. We don’t need to destroy them, just get their missiles on us and off the heavies. All squadrons form up into formation Alpha, follow me in.”
Anders acknowledged the order and passed it on to his own group. The six fighters moved into position on the left flank of the group of twenty-two fighters. Most of the craft were the usual Lightning MK II fighters, but Anders spotted six Thunderbolt fighter-bombers lurking at the rear. These venerable craft were four-engine torpedo bombers with enough firepower to cripple a frigate. They dropped behind the more agile Lightning fighters.
“Like that’s going to help you,” snapped Anders as streaks of incoming fire clawed at their small group of fighters.
“Alpha Squadron, move in and attack the designated cruisers. Draw their fire, drop below then hit targets of opportunity.”
Anders checked over his shoulder to ensure his squadron was still intact. All six fighters were in position and ready for combat. He looked back in the direction of the nose of his fighter and at the line of heavy warships. To his right, the other squadrons accelerated ahead and to their own targets. Colonel Gil-dong had already chosen their targets, and each one was highlighted on the head-up display built into his helmet.
“Follow me, we’re going in!” Anders called out. At the same time, he pulled the boost lever that pumped substantial amounts of extra fuel into his already burning hot engine. The additional thrust accelerated his fighter and the rest of the squadron to their first target, a pockmarked and heavily scarred looking missile cruiser. They approached its flank at high speed. Dozens of small turrets blasted away, each gun sending hundreds of small flechette rounds that could destroy an engine or tear off a wing.
“Watch out!” shouted one of his wingmen as a dual stream of cannon rounds smashed around his fighter. Two clipped his left wing and ripped a metre-long section from it. No alarms flashed in the cockpit, so he hoped it was just superficial damage. The enemy cruiser was now within short-ranged weapons and vulnerable to the fighters.
“Now!” he shouted.
All six fighters released a pair of missiles each. It wasn’t enough to destroy even a frigate, but it was more than enough to cause irritation and minor problems for the ship. The fighters split apart in a cascading effec
t and blasted past the ship as the missiles struck home. A series of flashes along the hull showed they were all good hits.
“Level off and move to the second target. This time I want a cannon strafing run on their missile mounts and sensors.”
The fighters moved even closer to the enemy ships, each fighter swerving just metres from their hulls to make defensive fire as difficult as possible. One of the cruisers in the second defensive line must have either made a mistake or been crewed by rookies, as they opened fire with heavy cannons only to hit one of the missile cruisers. Massive chunks of metal tore from the ship, and at least one shell must have penetrated the hull as the cruiser split in half from a colossal blast.
“Great work, Angels,” said Colonel Gil-dong. “Keep up your run then redirect to provide cover for the Furious Battlegroup. They are moving in to start their own attack run.”
Anders altered his course slightly and checked his guns.
“Wilks, I’m getting alerts on the guns, have we got a problem?”
“Negative, the ammunition sensors are off-line. She’ll work, but watch the tracer. They’ll run dry without warning.”
“Understood.”
A squadron of Lighting fighter-bombers rushed past from right to left, and unleashed at least a dozen skua anti-ship missiles. One bomber exploded, and a second one lost an engine from gunfire unleashed from the enemy flagship, Leviathan. With a quick tap on the stick, he connected to the Colonel.
“Sir, what about the Leviathan? She’s dominating the battle.”
“Negative, do not move anywhere near her. Crusader and the capital ships will deal with her. Our job is to keep the cruisers busy, understood?”
“Sir.”
Anders flicked the stick to avoid an approaching missile and locked onto his next target, another missile cruiser that was already taking heavy fire from CCS Furious, a damaged but powerful Confederate heavy cruiser.
“Angel Squadron, follow me in!”
As streams of fire poured in from the cruiser, the six fighters blasted towards the capital ship. Each of them fired their cannon in long, deadly bursts. At the same time, volleys of railguns blasted bulkheads and armoured plating off. For a second, Anders thought it was progressing well, that was until he glanced back and saw the size of the Union fleet compared to the two small groups of Confederate ships. A moment of doubt gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. A warning light from his missile detection panel lit up and sent a surge of adrenalin through his body.
“ECM active, I’ve got it locked down!” called out Wilks from his position at the front of the fighter.
* * *
CCS Crusader and CCS Santa Cruz were well in range now and sustaining an incredible barrage of missiles and cannon fire. The defensive screen put up by the small force was impressive, but for every ten missiles or shells they destroyed, one got through. A section over thirty metres long was twisted and bent from the starboard flank of the marine transport, and a number of lifeboats were drifting in the area of the breaches.
“All ships, switch to close range gunfire, bring down those cruisers!” shouted Admiral Jarvis onto the fleet open channel.
In a matter of seconds, the close ranged sanlav rounds switched to conventional solid shot. Streaks of plasma gushed from the gunports as hundreds of heavy metal projectiles smashed into the cruiser, each one causing devastating damage. With manual defensive fire now being used to protect the fleet, the Crusader started to take continuous hits from gunfire. The XO shouted over the din of the impacts.
“Captain, heavy damage to the bow. We can’t take much more of this.”
Captain Tobler shook his head and pointed at the enemy ships on the viewscreen.
“No time for damage reports, just get us in the heart of the fight. Nobody stops firing until we have destroyed every single ship in their fleet.”
The XO stared at him for a second and then turned back, issuing orders. On the main screen the hulk of the enemy flagship, Leviathan, loomed large. Scores of gun mounts blasted away at Crusader, but she gave back as good as she took. Admiral Jarvis cracked her head on the display unit as a massive blast shook the CiC. The impact stunned her, but she was still conscious.
“What the hell was that?” she snapped, though unsure as to whom she was speaking to.
“It’s the Leviathan. She’s turning from the line. We took a single hit from her particle beam weapon as she moved.”
“What is her course?”
There was confusion for a few seconds as the crew tried to establish what was going on. The battle had degenerated into a series of duels between small numbers of ships. The tactical officer finally turned back and shouted over the noise.
“She’s withdrawing to the Spacebridge, Admiral.”
“What?” she demanded. “Why?”
She watched the screen as two cruisers covered the withdrawal of the deadly enemy vessel. A number of Lightning fighters pursued but two were quickly destroyed by gunfire before they turned back.
“What is the status of the fleet?” she said, trying to decide whether to stand or pursue.
“Only half our ships are still able to keep up the fight. The Union fleet has suffered the same casualties. We’re still outnumbered, but at this rate the battle will be a stalemate. With the withdrawal of Leviathan, we might be able to force a tactical victory here,” said the tactical officer, doing his best to put some kind of positive spin on the battle.
“No, it can’t be!” cried Captain Tobler.
Admiral Jarvis looked over to the viewscreen to see what he was pointing at.
“What is it?” she asked, a feeling of dread building in her stomach. He said nothing in reply. He simply pointed at the screen at the shape of Leviathan vanishing in the Spacebridge only to be replaced by a formation of a dozen cruisers and what appeared to be a carrier.”
“What?” she said in a defeated tone.
“They aren’t ours, but the designs are loosely based on Confed patterns,” said the tactical officer as he checked the system databases.
“Sir, there is a message from the carrier.”
“Put it on,” said Admiral Jarvis slowly.
“This is Admiral Alexander Luczenko of the Confederate Navy. I an authorised by the President of the Centauri Confederacy to reclaim this territory as part of our sovereign space.”
Admiral Jarvis hit back immediately.
“This is Admiral Jarvis, Supreme Commander of all Centauri Confederate forces in Proxima. I have never heard of you, Admiral,” she replied with a tone of contempt in her voice. Captain Tobler called out to her.
“Admiral, what if this is a legitimate taskforce? It could be just what we’ve been looking for.”
“Don’t be a fool, Captain. Where is the Leviathan? Give me full power and put us in the Spacebridge, now!”
“But, Admiral, we can’t turn on…”
Admiral Jarvis stood up from her seat and withdrew her sidearm. She aimed it directly at the Captain’s head.
“Thirty seconds ago you’d never heard of this man. He does not show his face and commands a ship we have never seen. Now get us through the Spacebridge before it’s too late. We have to stop Typhon before he can escape. This ends today!”
Captain Tobler shook his head, a moment of indecision taking control of him. The Admiral also shook her head though the crew couldn’t tell if it was anger, frustration or just simple annoyance. She fired a single shot that struck the Captain in the shoulder and knocked him the ground. She then shouted out to the rest of the ship’s crew.
“I am taking immediate command of Crusader. Helm, take us through, now!”
Without hesitation, the officer pulled the main drive lever and with a rumble the battlecruiser lurched ahead and towards the newly arrived ships.
* * *
Spartan stood in the landing bay as scores of Vanguards and Jötnar climbed aboard the waiting assault ships. CCS Yorkdale was a massive ship and easily capable of carrying more troops and as
sault craft than any other ship in the fleet, including the marine transports. Khan and the 1st Company were already in position in their craft, but the rest were still dragging extra ammunition and weapons aboard.
“This is Major Daniels. I have just received word from Admiral Jarvis. The Leviathan and four other ships are withdrawing to the Spacebridge. We can only assume they are trying to escape through to Terra Nova. The Admiral is in pursuit and the battle here is on a knife-edge. I have decided we will join her through the Spacebridge. It is a gamble, but if there is even a chance of victory, we must take it. No craft are to launch until I authorise it. I repeat. All assault troops are to hold. Stay ready, you will be needed very soon.”
Khan punched Spartan on the shoulder, and the impact almost floored him.
“What the hell?” he demanded.
“Hey, what do I know?” replied Spartan in surprise.
The main doorway opened that led inside the hull of the ship to reveal Commander Gun and his personal bodyguard unit. Each of the Jötnar wore blood red armour, crafted and improved by Marine engineers to a high standard. He moved up to Spartan and Khan.
“There is trouble, more ships coming through. We will chase and hunt Leviathan. If we stay, we will slowly die. Agreed?” he asked.
Khan nodded without even considering the question.
“What about the rest of the fleet? If we leave, they’ll eventually be destroyed.”
Gun shrugged.
“Maybe, but this could end war. If Typhon escapes, he can fight for more years. Admiral Jarvis has already gone, can we leave her on her own?”
“Don’t forget your woman,” added Khan, doing his best to help.
Star Crusades Uprising: The Second Trilogy Page 56