Dauntless

by Jay Allan

  She knew her friend and his ship were in trouble. They were badly damaged, behind enemy lines, with a dozen battleships headed their way, and the pulsar just waiting to finish them off if the stealth generator failed again. She tried to imagine the terror of Dauntless’s crew, how alone they must feel.

  She also knew Tyler Barron and Dauntless were the fleet’s best hope. Maybe its only hope.

  * * *

  Villieneuve stared at the main display, watching the Confederation fleet advance. The operation had gone more or less according to plan. He’d expected his flanking force to remain hidden for longer, and he knew he owed their discovery to Van Striker’s meticulous nature. But that wasn’t what troubled him the most.

  His mind was fixed on the Confederation battleship operating behind his lines. The Confeds clearly had some kind of stealth capability, though the fact that only one ship seemed to be so equipped suggested it was highly experimental…or perhaps a unique piece of old tech. Whatever it was, it complicated his plan. That ship was after the pulsar…that much was obvious. And it couldn’t be allowed to get close enough to attack, however long the odds of it succeeding in its mission.

  He’d already dispatched a force of battleships to find and destroy the Confederation ship, but it would take some time to get there. Time he might not have.

  The Confed ship’s fighters, far more than he’d ever seen launched by a single vessel, had trounced his own squadrons, both those from Temeraire and from the stations deployed to defend the pulsar. The Confed wings were badly hurt, too, and he was confident they didn’t have the firepower to destroy the pulsar itself, but he didn’t know about the battleship. It had taken a hit, and his best guess was the damage had been extensive. But if she had operational weapons and could get close enough to the pulsar undetected…

  “Get me Temeraire,” he snapped.

  “Yes, Minister. You may transmit on your line.”

  “Captain Turenne, this is Minister Villieneuve. I need a status report. You must find the enemy battleship and destroy it…at all costs.”

  Villieneuve sat and waited. Temeraire was a good four light seconds from the fleet flagship. An extra eight seconds didn’t sound like much between exchanges, but in practice it was annoying even when the parties weren’t under enormous stress. Right now, Villieneuve was ready to punch the wall waiting for a response.

  “We are pursuing the enemy, Minister. We have considerable damage, and are operating with limited thrust capacity. The enemy seems to have reestablished their stealth capability. I have analyzed all possible locations the Confeds could reach based on their apparently degraded engine capacity, and I have cross-indexed with likely routes toward the pulsar.”

  Villieneuve was impressed, not just in what Turenne had said to him, but in the officer’s confidence, his strength of will. He’d been ready to space Temeraire’s commander earlier for disobeying orders, but Turenne’s willful action had created the best chance to intercept the Confed ship before it could make an attempt on the pulsar.

  “You must squeeze more thrust from your engines, Captain. Do whatever you can, take any risk…just destroy that Confed ship.”

  The wait seemed even more interminable, but finally, Turenne’s voice came through the comm speakers. “Yes, sir. I’ve already got the reactors on overload.” A pause. “But we still have to find the enemy. I’ve narrowed it down to possible locations, but that’s all I’ve been able to do. We won’t be able to target the ship unless they drop their cloak…or it fails again.”

  “They’ll have to drop it, Captain, to attack the pulsar.” He didn’t know that, not really, but it made sense. And even if they didn’t have to cut the cloak, their first shot would give away their position. “I need you to be ready. You’ve got to take out that ship…and if you do, it will be Admiral Turenne.”

  Villieneuve generally found negative reinforcement to be more effective than rewards, but that was far from a universal rule. Turenne was clearly much more capable than the average Union officer, and the best people needed to be treated in their own way.

  And if Temeraire found that Confed ship, and destroyed it, Gaston Villieneuve would pin those admiral’s stars on Turenne’s collar himself.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Formara System

  “The Bottleneck”

  313 AC

  “We’ve got a message on the comm, Andi.” Vig Merrick looked over at her. His voice was edgy at first, but then she recognized genuine surprise. “It’s Admiral Striker.”

  She sighed. Looks like we’re busted. “Put him through.”

  “Andi, this is Admiral Striker. You did one hell of a job sneaking into this system and working your way around the edge of the fleet without being detected…but you’ve got to go. Now.”

  Lafarge shook her head as she listened to the message. She hadn’t come this far just to turn around, to leave Barron and her friends to their fates. She could see the situation in the system, and she’d watched the battleships of the fleet moving toward the pulsar.

  And she knew what Barron was doing. She hadn’t had scanners powerful enough to detect Dauntless when the stealth generator had failed, but she’d picked up enough from comm chatter to piece together what was going on. Barron was deep behind enemy lines…he’d snuck back there to destroy the pulsar. But the ancient artifact hiding his ship had failed, more than once, with nearly disastrous consequences.

  She’d also watched as the ships of the fleet began taking loses, one big battleship obliterated with the first shot from the enemy superweapon, and another three severely damaged and effectively disabled. She’d taken Pegasus on a wide course around the edges of the action, but she’d never expected to get this far without being challenged.

  “Admiral Striker, I know what’s happening here, and I’ve come to help.” She realized immediately how ridiculous that sounded. Van Striker had brought the largest fleet every assembled to the Bottleneck, to face an even more powerful weapon…and she was sitting in her tiny old free trader saying she’d come to help.

  The comm was silent as her message made its way to the flagship and a response returned. She’d intended to say a lot more than she had, but she’d run into a wall. She didn’t know what she intended to do here, or even any way she thought she might be able to do some good. But she wasn’t leaving.

  “Andi, listen to me. This is dangerous. You can’t do anything here. Pegasus doesn’t have the firepower to make a difference in this fight. Go back. Now. It’s what Tyler would want, too.”

  She was shaking her head as she listened to his words. She knew she should go back…and that it was exactly what Tyler would want. At least that would save her crew. She loved them for interfering as they did, for coming with her, but now she wished they hadn’t. It was simpler when she planned to be alone. Her sacrifice—if that was what it came to—would have been hers alone. Now, if she left, if she turned and slipped back out of the system, leaving Barron to his fate, she could at least ensure Vig’s safety, and Dolph’s and Lex’s. It was one thing if she felt driven to get herself killed…out of duty, or insanity. Or love. But it was another to condemn her loyal shipmates to that fate.

  She almost gave in to Striker. The guilt was too much. If she’d really believed she could make a difference, that her presence improved Tyler’s chances by even the slimmest of margins, perhaps she could have justified staying. But she had no idea how she could even help.

  Then she looked across the tight confines of Pegasus’s bridge, toward Merrick. He was shaking his head.

  She looked at him quizzically.

  “You can’t go, Andi. We can’t go. If you leave and Tyler is killed, you’ll never forgive yourself. And we won’t let that happen.”

  She put her hand over the microphone and looked back at her second. “Vig, if we stay we could all die. Probably will die. I can’t lead you to that.”

  “Don’t you think we knew what we were getting into? We knew about the danger when we ambushed yo
u in the docking bay, same as we know now. But, we’re with you. And we have to finish this. Tyler Barron saved all of us. We may not be in this as deep as you, Andi, but we pay our debts.”

  Lafarge sat silent, stunned. She’d always believed she thought the best of her people already, but they could still surprise her. The guilt remained, but Vig’s words had restored her resolve.

  “Andi, are you still on the line?” Striker’s voice was insistent.

  “Yes, Admiral. I’m here…and this is where I’m staying. I don’t know what we’ll be able to do, but we’re not leaving, not until I know exactly what happens here.”

  “Andi, you have to go. Reverse your thrust now, and get the hell out of here.”

  She looked across at Merrick and forced a smile to her lips.

  “I’m sorry, Admiral, your transmission is garbled. I can’t hear what you’re saying.” She reached out and closed the line. Then, she took a deep breath.

  “Well, Vig, we’re in this deep now…so let’s press on and see what we can do.”

  * * *

  “The generator’s out again, sir. I’m down by the starboard batteries, but I left Walt Billings up there, and he knows everything about that device that I do. He says it’s completely dead now. No chance of restarting it, not without tearing it apart and figuring out what’s wrong. No power readings at all.” There was a short pause, then: “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Barron could hear the self-flagellation in Fritz’s voice, and he suspected his engineer blamed herself for everything that was going wrong…the stealth generator failing, the weapons systems going down, her not being with the artifact when it scragged, even the dozen enemy battleships heading right for Dauntless. Barron had more problems than he could easily count, and, truth be told, he had no idea what to do next. But he still hated the idea that Fritz was taking so much guilt on herself.

  “Fritzie, you worked miracles keeping it going this long.” Barron could feel the silence and tension on Dauntless’s bridge. His people had faced extreme danger before, but he couldn’t see any way out of this one. He suspected every officer on the bridge felt the same way. They couldn’t even fight to the death, not with all the weapons down.

  “What do you want me to do, sir? Should I stay with the batteries or try to get back to the generator?”

  There was no point in sending her back. Dauntless would be dust and plasma before she even got there and, while Walt Billings wasn’t Anya Fritz, he was the next best thing. If he said it was hopeless, Barron was sure that was the case, whether Fritz was there or not. Especially in the miserable few minutes they had left.

  “Stay on the batteries, Fritzie. Try to get me something that shoots.” He turned toward Travis. “Atara, tell the engine room we need more thrust…now. I don’t care what it takes. Or what risks they have to take.”

  “Yes, sir.” She relayed the order, with a forcefulness that surprised even Barron. Then, she turned back toward his chair. “Sir, Commander Stockton and the fighters…”

  Barron’s head snapped around. With the generator not drawing power anymore, Travis had upped the power on what remained of Dauntless’s sensor suite.

  The fighter squadrons were in two separate groups, and the first thing Barron noticed was the gaps in their ranks. Fewer than half the ships he’d launched appeared to be left.

  Then, he saw where they were. One group was relatively nearby, in the final stages of a dogfight with Union fighters. They were in the mop up phase, the battered survivors finishing off the last of the enemy ships. He noticed the Alliance fighters were all there, also at fewer than half the numbers they’d started with.

  His eyes moved to the other group. Jake Stockton was leading that force. Barron was relieved to see his strike force commander still alive. Then he saw the rest of the ships, the shattered remnants of Blue and Scarlet Eagle squadrons…and every remaining bomber in the force. All heading toward the pulsar.

  No, not the pulsar. They’re going toward the power stations.

  Of course!

  Barron suddenly felt a rush of hope. Dauntless might not be able to destroy the pulsar, but if Stockton and the surviving fighters could take out enough of the reactors that powered the thing, they could shut it down…long enough, at least, to save the fleet, to allow the battleships to close with the Union line and fight a straight up battle. One he was confident they could win.

  He felt a little of the excitement slip away as his eyes landed on the battleships moving back toward Dauntless. He’d fought against long odds, but there were a dozen ships heading his way, and he didn’t have an operational gun onboard.

  Still…if Stockton can take out those power plants, at least it won’t be in vain. The fleet will be saved.

  He looked around the bridge, watching his people with a combination of sadness and pride. They truly were the best the Confederation had to offer, and if their lives were what it took to save their tens of thousands of comrades, and billions of fellow Confederation citizens…well, there were worse reasons to die.

  He watched, waiting to see if the pulsar’s next shot would hit, if the giant weapon would get a solid lock on Dauntless before Stockton’s people could shut it down. If they could shut it down.

  Barron knew his ship and people had almost no hope of survival, but there was still a part of him that refused to yield to destiny. It wasn’t rational, and he couldn’t conceive of any plan that would get his people out of the Bottleneck alive, but the spark burned nevertheless, resolute, defiant.

  Everyone on Dauntless might die.

  But they would die fighting to the last breath.

  * * *

  The rearguard fought hard, its ships firing their weapons relentlessly, its crews ignoring pain, fatigue, casualties. But it was being pushed back. Duncan had brought his ships almost to a dead stop, but the enemy hadn’t cut their velocities. The Union ships charged right through the zone where the Confederation primaries raked them before they could return fire. Then, they entered close range, and the two forces engaged in a furious firefight, laser cannons and short-range rockets firing back and forth, gutting vessels on both sides. Still, throughout the deadly fight, the Union forces held their velocity, ripping right past the Confederation ships, turning as they did to bring their guns to bear and continue the exchange as they moved away.

  Duncan had sworn at least a dozen times, first to himself, quietly enough to spare his crew, and then out loud as his frustration grew. His mission was to hold back the enemy, to prevent them from hitting the main fleet in the rear, just as they engaged the primary Union line…or, if it came to that, tried to retreat through the transit point. He’d expected the enemy to stop, to line up and engage his forces in a protracted duel. But now it was clear that wasn’t going to happen.

  “All ships…prepare for 6g thrust, heading 300.230.280, directly after them.” Duncan couldn’t make the enemy stop and fight him, but he could damned sure follow them. The Union ships had a velocity advantage, one it would take his forces time to overcome. His targets would be moving farther away, at least for a while. But, if he executed things perfectly, he could accelerate his ships enough to maintain primary weapons range. The recharge time of the long-range guns would be offset by their hitting power…and by the fact that the enemy would no longer be able to return fire.

  “All ships report ready, sir.”

  Guardian shook hard again from yet another hit. Duncan’s flagship had been in the thick of the fighting. His force had taken significant damage, and lost three ships outright, though they’d given rather better than they’d gotten. “Primaries?” He shot a glance over at Sonya Eaton.

  “Still online, sir.”

  He nodded. Based on the most recent reports, about half his ships still had their primaries operational. The big guns were fragile, subject to damage not only to themselves, but to the intricate web of power lines that fed their almost insatiable need for energy. Considering the intensity of the fight, he was lucky to have half the system
s functioning.

  Still, the damaged half would lessen his firepower…and his gut told him a few more ships would see the particle accelerators knocked out before the Union ships moved out of their own firing range.

  “Increase that thrust level to 8g, Commander.” Duncan shook his head. He’d have pushed higher if he hadn’t thought half of his ships were too battered to make that speed and fire their weapons. He had to keep up with those enemy vessels. If they managed to hit Admiral Striker’s ships as they were engaging the enemy fleet and the pulsar…

  “Thrust level 8g, sir. All ships report locked and ready.”

  Duncan sat in his chair, silent for a few seconds, trying not to think about the pain he was about to bring on his battered body. Then he turned toward Eaton.

  “Execute.”

  * * *

  Grachus tightened her fingers, squeezing the firing stud slowly as her ship came around, matching the vector of her target. An instant later, the high-pitched sound of her lasers firing filled the cockpit, and the small dot on her screen disappeared.

  The warrior inside her rejoiced at victory. Her latest victim had been the last enemy ship on the display. A few had escaped, blasting away deep into the system, but she knew she’d seen the last of them. They would die in their cockpits as their life support waned, alone and far from aid. It was a poor death for a warrior, to suffocate or freeze fleeing from battle, but so be it. The cowards had chosen their destiny, and she had no pity for them.

  Her emotions were reserved for her own warriors, Alliance and Confederation alike. The pilots under her command had held fast, enduring wave after wave of fresh enemy fighters coming at them. Not one had broken and fled from the fight, and more than half had been knocked out, killed outright, or stranded in escape pods or crippled ships, facing an end likely little different than that awaiting the Union routers.