by Jay Allan
We’ll see about that, you piece of shit…
If her people were going to die here, they were going to extract a price first…
“Commander, prepare to jettison five hundred liters of fuel, and ignite.”
Nordstrom stared back at her, his face frozen in shock. The entire bridge was silent.
“Captain?”
“You heard me, Commander. I want an explosion. Nearby. I want them to think we’re even worse off than we are. And I want to mask the power flow to the primaries. We’re going to take that first ship by surprise.”
Nordstrom nodded, a look of understanding replacing the mask of confusion on his face. But he still looked a little stunned. Intrepid’s fuel was compressed tritium. When Eaton said “ignite” she didn’t mean start a fire. She meant set off a fusion reaction…a miniature sun. Right next to the ship.
He turned back to his board, his hands moving across the keyboard and touchscreens. He was running calculations, with the ship’s AI checking him every step of the way. He had to know just how far from the ship that cloud of tritium had to be before it was…ignited.
Eaton looked up from her own screen. “We don’t have all day, Commander.”
“Yes, Captain,” he said, sounding a bit flustered. The cloud needs to be nine hundred meters from Intrepid…but that’s cutting it close.”
“That’s what I had as well, Commander. Well done.”
The surprise returned to Nordstrom’s face as he realized that Eaton had done the same calculations he had.
“Well, Commander?” Eaton said sharply.
“Yes, Captain!” He turned back toward his station, his hands moving again, faster this time, almost a blur. A moment later, he turned back. “We’re ready, Captain.”
“Proceed, Commander.” Her eyes shot back to the screen, checking the progress of the lead enemy battleship. There were half a dozen escorts closer, but she wasn’t going to waste the one or two telling shots she had on frigates and scouts. “Begin charging primaries as soon as the reaction ignites.”
“Yes, Captain.” Stockton flipped a series of small switches, and a few second later he said, “Fuel ejected.” Then: “Detonating ignition charge now.”
Eaton watched on her screen as the nuclear trigger ignited inside the large canister of compressed fuel. In a fraction of a second, the tritium began to fuse, giving off massive amounts of energy. A yellow circle appeared on the display as her ship’s scanner picked up the reaction, and the massive amount of heat and radiation it gave off.
Intrepid’s armor blocked most of the harmful radiation, and the tiny sun was just far enough from the ship that the heat didn’t melt the hull. But it was close enough to interfere with the enemy scanners, and block detection of Intrepid’s reactors as they powered up her main guns.
“Energy to primaries, Commander…now.” With any luck, her target would blunder right into her primary range, which was fifteen thousand kilometers beyond the reach of the Union guns.
“Primaries charging now, Captain. Gunnery crews ready and in position.”
Eaton took a deep breath. She would surprise the enemy ship, she was sure of that…but the shot would be at long range, and even her veteran gunners could miss. The Union ship was being careless, moving forward on a highly predictable course, seemingly confident Intrepid had nothing that could threaten it. She reminded herself never to get cocky, no matter what the situation…assuming she lived more than another ten or fifteen minutes, of course.
“Primaries charged and ready to fire, Captain. Gunnery teams are awaiting your order.”
Eaton sat stone still, her eyes fixed on the display.
A few more seconds…let them get a little closer…
She didn’t say a word. She just leaned forward, even the pain from her back pushed aside now. She had no thought in her mind except the enemy’s lead ship. If her people were going to die, they were going to make the enemy pay for it.
“Captain, we’ve got it!” Doug Merton’s voice erupted in her headset, the normally dour engineer sounding downright giddy. “We’ve got the engines back online.”
“Well done, Commander. You and your people earned your pay this month. Stand by for maximum possible thrust on my command.”
“Yes, sir…” Merton sounded confused. Eaton knew why. He’d expected an immediate order to fire up the engines. But she wasn’t ready to leave, not yet. She was going to give these Union bastards a lesson in the pitfalls of carelessness, of arrogance.
“Gunners, fire at will…and make it count.”
“Gunners, fire at will.” Nordstrom nodded to himself. “Make it count,” he added, his voice taking on an almost sinister tone.
Eaton sat where she was, her teeth gritted against the pain in her back, her eyes locked on the display, waiting…
The lights dimmed, and the familiar sound of Intrepid’s primaries echoed off the ceiling and walls of the bridge. There wasn’t a sound after that, save for a few deep breaths. Every eye was fixed on the display, waiting to see what the gunners had wrought.
Eaton could see the enemy ship had not altered its vector at all…and she knew, even before the scanners updated, that her gunners had hit. Her people wouldn’t miss a target on a fixed course, not even at the longest range.
“A hit, Captain,” Nordstrom shouted, even as her own eyes were fixed on the data streaming in the display.
Two hits…
“Two hits,” her first officer said echoing her thought. “Directly amidships, Captain. We’re detecting hull breaches and massive ejections of atmosphere and fluids.” Nordstrom paused…then he spun around and said, “Internal explosions…she’s hurt Captain. She’s hurt bad!”
The bridge erupted into applause, a wild round of cheers. Eaton knew it for what it was. Her people had been under enormous tension. They still were. But with the engines back online they had a chance to survive…and the hit on the enemy ship was a trigger to release the fear and anxiety that had been gnawing at them all. So, she let it go on…but just for a few seconds.
“All right, I know you’re all excited, but we’re still sitting in the path of a huge enemy fleet, so back to your stations, all of you. Let’s get out of here.”
She turned toward Nordstrom. “Commander, full thrust if you would. Follow the rest of the task force out of here.”
Chapter Thirteen
CFS Dauntless
System Z-37 (Saverein)
Inside the Quarantined Zone (“The Badlands”)
309 AC
“Primaries are still down, Captain. We’ll be in range of the enemy’s main batteries in two minutes.” Darrow was tense, clearly edgy at filling in for so towering a presence as Atara Travis, but he was holding his own.
“Very well, Lieutenant. Prepare for evasive maneuvers as we enter range.” Dauntless was accelerating at 6g, heading straight for the enemy vessel. Barron intended to continue increasing his velocity, at least until his guns were in range. He was going to take everything Vaillant could throw at him, a run of roughly twenty thousand kilometers where his enemy’s main weapons could hit him before he could return fire with his secondaries. He hated giving the Union vessel—especially one as competently crewed as Vaillant—time to fire at him unanswered. He hated the fact that he couldn’t get a decent scanner read on how badly his own bomber squadrons had damaged the enemy. He hated just about everything regarding the current situation. But there was nothing he could do. Nothing but gut through it, and rely on his people rising to the task. That, and a little bit of luck.
“Evasive maneuvers locked in, sir. Ready to commence on your command.”
“Captain…”
Travis’s voice came through on his headset, just as he was about to acknowledge Darrow’s report.
“Yes, Commander?” he replied, holding his hand up, gesturing for the communications officer to stand by.
“We’ve got Blue and Scarlet Eagle squadrons ready to launch, sir. Awaiting your order.”
; Barron felt a surge of excitement. It was the first good news he’d had so far in this fight. His eyes darted to the display, to the red ovoid that represented his adversary. There was nothing around it, no clouds of tiny dots, not even one or two specks representing newly launched ships. The enemy hadn’t managed to refit and launch any of its fighters. Yet.
“Launch, Commander, now! With all possible speed.”
“Yes, sir.” Travis cut the connection, and a few seconds later, Barron felt the vibration under his chair, Dauntless’s launch catapults hurling the fighters of his two elite squadrons into space.
None of the Blues or the Eagles had been fitted as bombers. There simply hadn’t been time to change their configurations. Strafing runs with lasers could damage the enemy ship, especially if there were hull breaches and other vulnerable areas to target. The impact of that kind of attack was not nearly as severe as a successful bombing run, far less likely to be decisive. But it was better than nothing.
A lot goddamned better than nothing…
His eyes darted back to the display. Still no launches from Vaillant. He was thrilled to have fighters in space, and he was amazed that Travis had made it happen so quickly, but he was also well-aware Dauntless hadn’t really gained an edge. Not yet. His two squadrons had to get to the Union battleship and launch their attack before the enemy got their own fighters into space. A dogfight three-quarters of the way to the Union battleship would accomplish nothing, and with his primaries down, the enemy benefited from any delay in fighter attacks.
His squadrons were launching with Dauntless’s intrinsic velocity, which meant they would be moving fast. That, at least, was a good thing. They’d ultimately have to decelerate to make their runs, but first, they would blast hard with their turbos, accelerating further and closing the distance to the enemy ship rapidly. It gave them a chance of getting there in time. If they didn’t, they’d end up in a massive brawl with the Union squadrons. That would take them out of the ship versus ship struggle. And Barron needed those fighters hitting that battleship.
“Entering range of enemy primary batteries in twenty seconds, Captain.”
“Commence evasive maneuvers. Random thrust pattern.”
“Yes, sir.” A few seconds later: “Engine room acknowledges, Captain.” Barron knew, even as Darrow made the report. He could feel the change in his ship’s thrust, the random blasts that would alter Dauntless’s exact location enough to confuse the enemy targeting systems, while generally maintaining its overall vector.
The tension on the bridge was palpable. Most of Dauntless’s crew were veterans, and they’d been in tough fights before. But Barron knew from the tightness in his own gut that experience only went so far. Facing a dangerous enemy, fighting at a disadvantage, struggling to stave off defeat…it never got easier.
“Enemy opening fire, sir.” Darrow’s report was loud, clear, the lieutenant putting his best effort into sounding professional. But Barron could feel the impact of the words, on himself—the sound of his heart pounding in his own ears—and on his crew. He could feel their fear…but something else too. Their eyes were on him, the confidence they in him that went beyond facts. He loved them for their loyalty, but they would never know the weight their faith placed on him. They believed he would get them out of this. And he was far from sure he shared that point of view.
Barron watched as laser blasts erupted on the display, ripping through space exactly where Dauntless would have been, save for the last burst of thrust that had taken his ship five hundred meters from the enemy’s first shot.
He exhaled hard. His ship would be vulnerable for a little over two minutes before he could return fire. Dauntless had to make it through without taking serious additional damage. Then, at least, it would be a fight where the skill of his people would matter.
Time to run the gauntlet…
* * *
“Raptor, I’m picking up launch detections.” Timmons’s voice was as calm as usual, at least to most ears. The Scarlet Eagles’ commander was an unflappable veteran, one who rarely let concern or fear show…but it was still clear to Stockton that his comrade knew the implications of the news he reported.
Stockton looked down at his own screen, confirming what his comrade had just told him. Damn. It was bad news. His people could handle the squadrons now pouring out from the enemy ship in a head on fight, but that wasn’t the problem. Dauntless needed his people to make strafing runs…and there was no point to his pilots winning the fighter battle only to watch their base ship destroyed. The loss of the battleship would mean certain death for his people. He would never surrender, especially not to the Union, and he was sure none of his pilots would either. That meant the enemy battleship had to be destroyed, whatever it took.
His eyes darted to his scanner again, this time searching for the rest of Dauntless’s fighters. Red, Green, and Yellow squadrons were coming, he was sure of that…but none had launched yet. The Greens and Yellows had been outfitted as bombers, and that meant it would take longer to get them refit and back into space—whether Barron had ordered them reloaded with fresh torpedoes or stripped down to interceptor kits. But Olya Federov’s Reds would have been quicker to refuel and rearm, and Stockton suspected they’d be ripping down the catapults any minute. The “book” called for holding them until the bombers launched, but he’d have bet his last coin that Tyler Barron would send them out the second they were ready.
But even then, they’ll be too late…
“Warrior, those fighters will still be shaking down into formation when we get there…especially if we don’t decelerate.” The idea just burst into his head. It was crazy, unorthodox for sure. But he thought it just might work.
“How can we engage them if we don’t dec…” Timmons’s words trailed off, and Stockton knew his former rival had just caught his meaning. “You mean ignore the enemy fighters?”
“That’s what I mean. We blast right through them and launch a fast attack on the enemy battleship. Those birds will still be getting themselves set up…they won’t be able to hit us too hard.”
“You hope,” Timmons replied. “We’ll be giving them an undefended flank…and if they realize we’re not going to turn to face them, they’ll be able to ignore defensive maneuvers and be that much more aggressive with their attack.” He paused then added, “Even if we get past them, this velocity is hardly optimal for attacking a battleship.”
“What the hell is optimal about any of this, Warrior? Dauntless is hurting, you know that. We’ve got to help her win this fight, whatever it takes. We won’t be able to do multiple runs, at least not before we can decelerate, but maybe one will do the trick. That crate took two torpedo hits…even if neither was critical, there have to be weak spots, maybe even hull breaches.”
“That’s probably true, but precise targeting at this velocity? Is that even possible?”
“Sure we can,” Stockton snapped back, struggling to hide his doubts. They were moving at four hundred kilometers per second, far faster than optimal for precision strikes. “We can do it because we have to do it. Because that’s what Dauntless needs us to do.” There wasn’t a lot of logic in his argument, but it was the kind of thing fighter pilots were prone to say. And in his experience, desperation alone had fueled more than one unexpected success.
“Those aren’t rookie fighters coming out of there, Raptor…they’re going to hit us hard if we don’t engage them. Even a few shots at our flanks and rear are going to hurt.”
“But like you said, it’ll be just a few shots, Warrior. Their intrinsic velocity is almost opposite ours. They’ll whip by us and have to decelerate to come about and re-engage. And by then, we’ll be through with our run, and Dauntless will be in firing range…and our chance to give the captain an edge will be over. Then we can take down those fighters.” They had to hit the enemy battleship, and that was the primary consideration. The only one.
“I’m with you, Raptor.” There was a level of camaraderie Timmons’s voice t
hat he’d never expected to hear coming through his comm. War had brought the rivals together, and now it was time to show the Union just what the Confederation’s two best pilots—and squadrons—could do.
Stockton switched to the wide channel. “All right Blues and Eagles, listen up, I’m going to give it to you straight. We’re not going to decelerate…and we’re not going to engage the enemy fighters you see popping up on your screens. We’re going in fast and hard at the enemy battleship, and I need your best shots. I know I’m asking you all to put yourselves at greater risk, to ignore those birds firing at you, but Dauntless needs us, and the captain’s counting on his two best squadrons. Are we going to let him down?” He knew he was asking a lot of his men and women. Ignoring an enemy trying to kill you was far from easy…especially when you knew that foe was good enough to take you down. But he believed in his own pilots, and he believed in Timmons’s men and women as well.
“You all heard Raptor.” Timmons’s voice came through the comm right after Stockton’s. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but that’s what we’ve got to do…and that’s all any of us needs to know.”
“Warrior is right,” Stockton added. “This is what we have to do…and that’s all we need to know about it.”
He listened to the responses on the comm channel, mostly raucous battle cries he suspected were as much attempts to cover fear as genuine reactions. But whatever they were, one thing was clear. They were with him. They were ready.
“All right, squadrons, let’s do this…”
Chapter Fourteen
CFS Dauntless
System Z-37 (Saverein)
Inside the Quarantined Zone (“The Badlands”)
309 AC
“I want the fighter launches interspersed with evasive maneuvers…that gives a one second window to get each wave of ships out.” Barron had been snapping out orders nonstop, obsessing over every aspect of his ship’s approach to the enemy. Dauntless was in range of the enemy’s main guns now, and she was dodging a barrage of fire, seemingly-random bursts of thrust making the battleship as difficult a target as possible. She’d been hit twice, though neither shot had damaged anything critical. But now he had to get Red squadron into space, and if he sent the fighters out while Dauntless’s engines were blasting in a random direction, it would take Olya Federov half an hour to get her birds into any kind of useful formation…and that was time they didn’t have. Time he didn’t have.