by Jay Allan
She twisted to the side, wincing at the pain from even the small movement. She’d had to talk her way out of the hospital…yell and scream her way out was actually a more accurate description. She had to use virtually every bit of the influence her newfound celebrity as a hero of the fleet afforded her, but she’d finally gotten clearance to return to duty, over the objections of the medical staff. The pain was often bad, and she had to admit she walked like someone fifty years older, but otherwise she was healthy enough.
The surgeons had assured her that, with additional surgeries, they could restore her to her old self, that the pain and difficulty walking would be a thing of the past. But they’d also admitted it would take six months, at least, between operations and rehab periods. And it simply wasn’t an option in her mind to be away from Intrepid for another half a year in the middle of a war. Six more months of medical leave, and she would have lost her beloved ship for sure.
She promised her doctors that if she survived to see peace, she’d return and take them up on their promises. But now her place was right where she was, in the center of Intrepid’s bridge.
“Active scanner reports confirm preliminary data, Captain. We’re getting strong energy readings. Very strong.”
Eaton shook her head. Something was wrong. All intel reports stated the same conclusion. The enemy fleet was badly damaged, and the stalemate was expected to continue for the foreseeable future. But that reassuring prediction didn’t explain what she was seeing on her screen right now.
Epheseus was a barren expanse of space, an ancient, dying star whose sole significance was it lay between two systems heavily occupied by the warring fleets. It had been a sort of no man’s land for the past six months…but the Confederation didn’t have any patrols out there now, so anything that came through was almost certainly hostile. The Union knew very well there was a strong Confederation task force in Hystari, so if something was on the way, it was a significant fleet.
Fencing in Epheseus was one thing, testing the enemy, probing…even the occasional battleship duel like the one Dauntless had fought a month before. But moving straight through that system, into one as strongly held as Hystari? That could only be a major assault. But how? Why? The enemy couldn’t possibly sustain a push forward, so why risk losing capital ships just to outrun its supply sources?
“Get me Commodore Reynard.” Eaton didn’t like the looks of this, not one bit. But she wasn’t the task force commander, and there was only so much she could do by herself. “And bring us to yellow alert. I want all pilots to report to the bays and prepare to launch immediately.”
“Yes, Commander.” A short pause. “Commodore Reynard on your line.”
“Commodore, we are picking up…”
“Yes, Captain…we’re reading the same thing. But before we jump to any wild conclusions, let’s remember it could be probes or a scouting force…it’s not necessarily an assault.” Reynard’s words said one thing, but his tone another. Eaton could hear the nervousness in the veteran commander’s voice, and she knew instantly that he was as worried as she was. That didn’t surprise her, but she realized she’d been hoping irrationally that the commodore would offer some kind of explanation that hadn’t occurred to her, one that didn’t involve an imminent Union offensive.
“I thought that too, sir, but the energy readings suggest a significant number of ships in transit.”
“Yes, they do. I’m bringing the fleet to yellow alert, Captain…” He paused for a few seconds. “…though I see you’ve beaten me to that.”
“Yes, sir…sorry Commodore. I thought it was prudent.”
“And you were damned right too, Captain. Don’t ever apologize for doing the smart thing, whatever officious horse’s ass gives you a hard time about it.” Reynard had a reputation as a bit of a maverick, one with a penchant for blunt speech…and he rarely disappointed in that regard. “You were right to put your squadrons on alert too…I’m making that a fleet command. Hopefully, we’ll both end up being a bit hair-triggered. But if those are enemy battleships coming through, at least we’ll be ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Eaton snapped back. “We’ll be ready, sir.” She flipped off the comm and took a deep breath. “Order all crews to gunnery stations, Commander. And advise Commander Merton I’m going to want full power on short notice.”
“Yes, Captain.” Her exec’s tone suggested he agreed with her moves. Eaton had been a bit concerned about how Nordstrom would handle moving back to a first officer’s duties after months of acting command, but so far it had been as though nothing had changed. The two officers worked well together, just as they always had, and she hadn’t detected a hint of resentment at his loss of authority. “Captain…we’re getting fresh readings. Ships, emerging from the transwarp link.” A pause, then: “Large vessels, mass estimates coming in…” His head snapped up from his station and whipped around to face Eaton. “They’re battleships, Captain. Three so far…but energy readings suggest more vessels coming through.”
“Battlestations, Commander.” She knew the fleet order would come any second, but she saw no reason to wait. The enemy was coming…and they wouldn’t be in Hystari if they didn’t mean business. Her people had a fight on their hands, she had no doubt about that.
Intrepid’s bridge was bathed in red light, and the alarms sounded on all decks. Half her people were already en route to their combat stations, per her earlier orders. But now the entire ship was moving to combat readiness.
“Transmission from Vanguard, Captain. The order is, fleet opposed invasion.”
Eaton stared at her screen for a few seconds, silent, watching as a fourth enemy ship appeared…and then a fifth.
“Fleet opposed invasion order acknowledged, Commander.”
Nordstrom relayed her words on the fleetcom channel. As soon as he had finished, Eaton turned and looked right at him.
Launch all fighters, Commander.”
* * *
Angus Douglas pulled back on his throttle, accelerating toward the ships deployed in front of the transwarp link. The fleet orders had come through, and squadrons from all six Confederation battleships in Hystari were streaking across the system, heading for the invading Union vessels. There had been five of the enemy monsters when Douglas had set out at the head of two of Intrepid’s three squadrons, but now there were nine, plus almost a dozen escorts. The tactical situation had changed considerably, and not for the better. But it didn’t matter. Hystari was important tactically, and yielding it to the enemy would compel withdrawals from two neighboring systems, not to mention abandoning almost a million Confederation citizens to Union control, for the second time since hostilities began.
Things were starting to look a little hairy, but Confederation forces were used to being outnumbered by the Union fleets.
Douglas was Intrepid’s strike force commander, the senior officer of her fighter wing. He’d left the Longsword squadron behind on defensive duty to protect Intrepid, and he was leading the remainder of her wing, thirty Lightning-class fighters, right at the enemy ships. The Gold Shields were half of that strength, formed up fifty thousand kilometers behind and armed as bombers. He was at the head of the Black Helms, equipped as interceptors and assigned to protect the vulnerable attack ships as they moved against the enemy line.
“All right Shields,” he said into the small comm unit projecting from his headset, “I know you’re all anxious, but you need to stay back at least fifty thousand kilometers. We’re going to need time to cut through their interceptors, and if you move up too far, we’re not going to be able to keep them off you.” Douglas knew his pilots already understood that. But he had a fair number of replacements, men and women he didn’t know as well as his veterans, and he wasn’t taking any chances. Three or four bombers had already moved ahead of the formation, and he wasn’t going to let it get out of hand.
“Roger that, Commander. You heard the orders, Shields. Get the hell back in formation now.”
“Stay on it
, Gold Leader.” Douglas knew Todd Eckert was a good pilot, and an effective squad leader. But he was as excitable as any of his rookies, prone to push too far, too fast without a firm hand directing his actions.
Douglas’s eyes dropped to his screen. There were clouds of small dots, coming in waves. Union fighters, hundreds of them. At least six of the Union ships had already launched, and the rest would follow any minute, he knew. His people were badly outnumbered. But their quick launch had forced the invading ships to commit their fighters piecemeal, sending their squadrons out as soon as they were ready, instead of waiting and organizing the entire force for an overwhelming strike. Douglas could see his people were going to be facing at least three times their number, and more if enemy battleships kept transiting. But the first line was almost in range, and that was an even fight, more or less.
Which means we’ll cut into these Union pukes like a razor…
He was counting down in his head, watching the front line of dots get closer. It looked like the Union had their interceptors upfront, as expected. The same as always.
Time to show these fools what a dogfight really looks like…
“Black Helms, with me…break and attack!”
The same as always…
* * *
Eaton’s eyes were glued to the display, watching as her Gold Shields made their attack run. Angus Douglas and the Black Helms had sliced through the Union interceptors so savagely, she’d almost felt sorry for the enemy pilots. Her elite squadron had almost obliterated the first wave, and they’d cut right through the next two, clearing a path for the bombers to attack the nearest battleship.
She knew the way back would be harder, that her people would pay a price when they tried to return to Intrepid. They had cut through specific sections of the Union fighter formation, and even now, interceptors were closing in, coming up behind.
Enemy capital ships had continued to pour through the transwarp link, thirteen battleships now, and more than twenty-five escorts. Any chance the Confederation force had of holding Hystari was gone…it was just a question of inflicting as much damage as possible on the enemy fleet before running.
Not a word hinting at retrograde movement had come from the flagship, not yet. She hated the idea of retreating, but she knew it was only a matter of time. Reynard was an aggressive task force commander, known as a tough fighter in the Confederation service. But he wasn’t a fool. He wouldn’t throw his command away in a battle he couldn’t win. The trick would be to hold long enough to recover fighters, and then to execute a fighting retreat. The battleships could escape easily now if they abandoned their squadrons, but that wasn’t the Confederation’s way. At least it wasn’t unless there was no other option.
Eaton could still remember the waves of fighters left behind when the battle line had fled after the fleet’s terrible defeat at Arcturon. Intrepid had been trapped by the enemy flanking force, and she owed her ship’s survival to what she still considered the ignominious tactic of hiding in the system’s massive dust cloud.
She’d saved several squadrons worth of fighters then, and for a short time, Intrepid had managed to carry more than double her normal complement. It hadn’t even occurred to her to try to hang on to some of them after Intrepid had rejoined the fleet, but she’d heard rumors that Tyler Barron had done just that. She tried to tell herself she’d have never gotten the okay, that Barron owed his influence to the shade of his grandfather. But whatever the case, it was a lesson in audacity, in going after something, even if it was a difficult target. She’d done that in battle, but then, fearless combat veteran that she was, she had shrunk down before the fleet bureaucracy in a way she had never done in the face of enemy warships.
We could use those fighters now, especially if this is the beginning of a major move. And what else could it be?
“Commander, the Gold Shields are to advance. I want that assault force intercepted well before they get into range. If we hit them a hundred thousand kilometers out, our fighters may have time to come about for a second run before those bombers can launch their torpedoes.”
Eaton doubted Reynard would keep the task force in the system long enough to fight the enemy battleships, but she knew Intrepid and her sister-ships would at least have to endure multiple bombing runs. The Confederation interceptors had savaged the bombing wings, but they hadn’t gotten them all. They were just too numerous…and there were far too many Union interceptors escorting them, peeling off to engage the Confederation fighters.
“Lieutenant Weld acknowledges, Captain.”
Eaton watched as the fifteen tiny circles around Intrepid began to move toward the approaching bombers. The response time was impressive. Weld was her junior squadron commander, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t good.
“Gold Shields attacking the lead bomber wave, Captain.”
Eaton just nodded…and watched. The Black Helms had hit the enemy force hard, and they’d stripped away most of the interceptor cover from the bombers. The ships coming in were weakly defended, and vulnerable to Weld’s attack.
She listened as Weld snapped out orders, splitting her squadron, breaking into three attack groups. Two of them went for the remaining enemy interceptors, while the larger center group flew right at the bombers.
The fight was sharp, brutal, and she watched her pilots taking insane risks, driven by the knowledge that anything that got by them would hit Intrepid. She was excited, at first at least, one rush of elation after another as enemy ships winked out of existence all across the line. Then, one of the Shields vanished, and she felt like a deflated balloon. Her squadron was doing well, better than she’d dared to hope, but it still hurt watching her people die.
She watched another half dozen Union birds destroyed…and then she felt as though she’d been punched in the gut.
Sandy Weld’s fighter disappeared from the screen. Eaton searched frantically for signs that the squadron leader had managed to eject, or that her fighter had just been knocked out of the data net. But there was nothing…nothing except the yawning pit in her gut, and the grim realization that she’d lost another friend.
Chapter Eleven
Approaching CFS Dauntless
System Z-37 (Saverein)
Inside the Quarantined Zone (“The Badlands”)
309 AC
“Form up on me. I want you all in tight. We’ve got to land quickly, but before we can do that, we’ve got to match Dauntless’s vector.” Stockton sat in his cockpit, his vision blurred from sheer exhaustion. He’d been in longer battles, but he couldn’t remember any as intense as the one his people had just fought…except perhaps against the Alliance squadrons at Santis. He had a headache that felt as if it was digging a trench right through his skull, and even his hands were sore from gripping the throttle and the controls of his fighter. He reached down and grabbed one of the small ampules in the first aid kit, jabbing into his leg right through his uniform. He felt his head clear almost immediately as the powerful stimulant worked its magic. His vision was sharper too, though he could feel his heart beating in his chest like a drum, and a nervous tension that had him fighting to keep his hands from shaking. Nothing was free, after all.
Right now, however, the battle was still on. His squadrons had managed to get the better of their opponents, but a significant number of enemy craft had survived and broken off, as low on fuel and energy as his own birds. The two sides had fought to exhaustion, and the extensive use of thrusters and turbos in combat had drained both sides’ tanks, forcing an end to a struggle that would otherwise undoubtedly have gone to the death.
At least both landing bays were operational. Stockton knew Dauntless had taken a hit, but he had no idea how bad it was. The Union ship had also taken a torpedo impact, perhaps two. It was hard to sift through the various comm lines and scanner reports in the middle of battle, especially when fighting enemies as skilled as the pilots his squadrons had just faced.
Stockton had been worried about his lack of kills, but th
at was no longer an issue. He had three now, and he’d almost gotten a fourth. But there was no sense of triumph this time, nor of glory. Too many of his people had fallen in this struggle, and two of the three fighters he’d bagged had been vengeance kills. Each of them had defeated one of his pilots as he watched, helpless, too late to intervene as he had for Talon. Stockton couldn’t describe the rage that overtook him when he watched one of his people killed. He became some kind of avenging angel—or devil—and he went after the victorious enemy with such a single-minded ferocity, he scared even himself. He’d hunted down the enemy pilots, blown them to plasma…but when he was done, nothing changed. His pilots were still dead. The satisfaction he’d once gotten from such things seemed lost to him.
“Dauntless, this is Blue leader, requesting permission to land Blue and Scarlet Eagle squadrons.” There was no time to waste. Kyle Jamison was bringing up the rest of the strike force, the bombers that had attacked the enemy battleship and Olya Federov’s Red squadron escorts. He had to get his people back aboard and out of the way. Jamison’s birds would be even lower on fuel than his own, and they would need immediate clearance to land.
“Blue leader, you are clear. To expedite landing operations, reroute the Scarlet Eagles to beta bay and bring the Blues into alpha bay.” It was Stara, and he could hear the hint of relief in her voice. He smiled for a few seconds, realizing that a good portion of that tone was a response to his safe return. It was gratifying, but still strange to him. He had friends all over Dauntless, and he and Kyle Jamison were like brothers, but Stara’s concern felt good in a way that was quite new and different.