Those orders went out, both on his nest and on the other Swarmer nests. A hint of confusion still floated through the air of the Flight Chamber. Which scent must surely invite a challenge to his leadership. Briefly he felt sadness that the dead nest was not the one led by Support Hunter Seven. That Hunter would surely declare a Challenge at the sight and smell of Swarmers pulling back from an attack. Well, he was ready for that challenge. The challenged Hunter always had the right, by tradition, to set the place and terms of the resulting fight. And he had not survived to lead this colony group by failing to plan ahead.
♦ ♦ ♦
Nine new stars filled the space between the Lepanto and the giant wasp ship.
“Acting captain, we have lost lock-on from the AM emitter,” called Oliver. “Same for our forward lasers. Your orders?”
“Concentrate your laser fire on the left flank wasp ship,” Jacob said quickly, realizing the plasma haze created by nine atomic blasts now hid the five central wasp ships from target lock-on. “Communications, give the same order to all battle group ships.”
“Transmitting order,” Osashi said quickly.
“Enemy is now outside the range of the antimatter cannon,” Oliver said, disappointment clear in his voice. “No evidence of black hole field. Largest wasp ship is now firing at our battle group ships. Which are continuing to fire back.”
Jacob saw that in his situational holo. While they could not fire on the central five wasp ships due to the plasma haze, the same applied to the enemy. Which gave him time to think beyond simple attack and response, so he could look ahead.
“Life Support! Send damage control and firefighting teams to the punch through hull breaches on the nose and belly of the Lepanto,” he ordered . . . Joaquin Garcia it was, he recalled.
“Sending orders,” the American Latino said, his voice gruff.
“Acting captain,” called Louise. “The five enemy ships are moving further out. So is the left side wasp ship, which is diving to join the main group. They are at 8,432 kilometers. Range is increasing. They are paralleling us at 12 psol.”
That news from Navigation drew his attention back to the situational holo. The giant wasp ship was leaking water from its massive nose hull breach and its front ring of tubes were silent. But its middle and rear rings of laser and bolt tubes were now spitting out deadliness at the other ships of the battle group. As were the other wasp ships. Except the attacking beams were not concentrated on a single ship, thank the Goddess! He noticed that Chesapeake and Hampton Roads had adjusted their vector track to intercept most of those incoming beams, acting to shelter the three destroyers and three frigates. But their thick armor could only take so many direct hits from yellow lightning bolts and green laser beams.
“Navigation! Flip us so our nose is aimed at the battle group. Engines, fire all three primary thrusters at maximum yield. Bring us up to a thousand klicks per minute on intercept,” Jacob said firmly. He looked at his situational holo, then over to Rosemary. “Tactical, how soon before the Lepanto can intercept those beams hitting the two cruisers?”
“A few minutes or less,” she said quickly, her gloved hands tapping her control pillar’s touchscreen. “The battle group was not that far ahead of us. And we all shared the same sideways vector track. The enemy is shooting along the hypotenuse of the triangle formed by the group at top, us at bottom angle and the wasps at the left end of the right triangle,” she said.
Her words matched the picture in Jacob’s mind and the images on the situational holo. Clearly the enemy was aiming to get beyond the reach of human proton and CO2 lasers. Could they do more? His mind picture told him that as soon as their vector track toward the hypotenuse line passed beyond the plasma haze, their left side proton laser could fire on any wasp ship. Which might be a wise thing to do. He could not use the ship’s belly hull to block more incoming beams thanks to the deep hole already cut in the middle of the hull, just ahead of the belly plasma battery. Nor could he angle the top hull toward the enemy, or he would lose the AM node. Which left exposing one side or both sides to enemy beams in order to reduce the damage to the cruisers, destroyers and frigates. Which were all firing at the enemy. But like the wasps, the battle group’s counterfire was dispersed. Well, time to fix that.
“Weapons, fire our left side proton laser at the giant wasp ship,” Jacob ordered, noticing they were just clearing the haze. “And signal to your fellow Weapons chiefs on the other ships to join their laser and proton fire on the giant ship. Maybe we can make the enemy move further out if big mama starts hurting more than she is already hurt!”
“Firing left side proton laser at ship’s rear,” Oliver said hurriedly. “Sending co-targeting orders to other battle group ships. Yes! We have punch through on the rear of the giant ship, back where the CO2 lasers had been hitting its engine area!”
The news pleased him. But they were still in danger, even from a retreating enemy. He looked down. “CWO O’Connor, what do you make of the enemy’s movements?”
The white-haired Marine leaned forward a bit as he concentrated on several holos that faced his captain’s seat. “They aren’t giving up on attacking us,” he said. “But the loss of another ship has made them pull back. That and seeing the impact of our antimatter beam. They are now six ships to our nine. Some battle group ships have hull breaches. But all have operational weapons and full thrust capability. My guess is the enemy commander is assessing his or her options. While still hitting at us. Attacking us is likely the wasp way of pretending they are not retreating.”
That sounded familiar. Very human familiar. “We will continue to fire on the wasp ships so long as they are in range,” Jacob said. “Any suggestions?”
The older man looked up at Jacob. His gray eyes fixed on him. Thin lips opened. “Recommend that all ships reduce fusion pulse thrust to normal ten psol, sir. No need to risk sudden failure when the enemy is not closing on us.”
A good idea. One he should have seen earlier. “Engines! Reduce thrust to ten percent lightspeed. Communications, pass on my order to other battle group ships to reduce speed to standard fusion pulse thrust.”
“Reducing thrust,” Akira said, her black-skinned forehead shiny from sweat.
“Passing on your orders to the battle group,” Osashi said quickly and professionally.
Interesting. “Andrew,” he called to the senior crewman. “How are you feeling?”
The Japanese-American jerked his head to the side, looking directly at Jacob. He seemed shocked by Jacob’s use of his first name. Then his face relaxed. An amiable look now filled his high-cheeked face. “I’m feeling fine, acting captain. Ready to stay at this for another 30 hours!”
Which they just might have to do in order to reach the magnetosphere boundary and the safety of Alcubierre space-time travel. An image in the situational holo drew his attention. “Navigation, we are coming up on the direct line of beam attack on the battle group. When we hit that line, turn our nose so we are following the rest of the battle group. Also, tilt the ship’s nose down a bit so the incoming beams hit the rear of the ship’s bottom.”
Louise frowned, nodded and touched her control pillar’s touchscreen. “Adjusting ship’s vector track. Top hull thrusters are pushing the nose down by ten degrees.”
He looked back to Oliver. “Weapons, fire missiles from the rear missile silos. Create a thermonuke warhead spread behind us at about 80 kilometers. Shortly we will do a plasma haze event by touching off those warheads.”
Oliver grinned. “Firing eight missiles from our stern, vector track to the rear. Will advise you when they are 80 klicks behind us.”
Jacob nodded. “Engines, add our fusion pulse exhaust to that plasma haze.”
Akira looked back his way. Her dark brown eyes were bright. “Three primary thrusters are down to ten percent lightspeed acceleration. Our fusion flame tail reaches out 60 klicks to our rear, acting captain.”
That was something he had not known. Like anyone in space who had
watched spaceships maneuver in the black vacuum, he knew every ship's thruster engine produced a plume of plasma from the implosion of pellets of deuterium and tritium isotopes. But the giant tail produced by the Battlestar was new to him.
“Taking laser and lightning bolt hits,” called Rosemary from Tactical. “Rear belly taking the hits. Adaptive optics deflecting much of the incoming energy. We are not yet down to the ablative skin. The lightning bolts, though have ruined our rear sensor array.”
So be it.
“Warheads are at 80 klicks out,” Oliver called.
“Weapons, detonate all surviving warheads,” he said, his voice echoing in his helmet.
“Detonating twelve warheads,” Oliver said softly.
The front wallscreen that showed the view of the enemy wasp ships now filled with twelve yellow-white stars. The plasma balls quickly spread out and joined each other, forming an oblong haze that drank in the incoming laser and bolt beams.
“Hits on the hull have stopped,” called Joaquin from Life Support.
“Most hits on battle group ships have stopped,” Rosemary said, sounding pleased.
He had bought them some time. Jacob checked the distance counter in the situational holo.
“Enemy is now beyond 11,000 kilometers,” called Louise from Navigation.
He looked up. “Melody, do you project any further enemy attacks on us?”
“None projected. The enemy ships are moving close to each other. They are assuming the six-sided formation from before they attacked the battle group,” the AI said, her tone sounding pleased and surprised.
Jacob was not surprised. He’d spent plenty of time watching wasps swarm about their hexagon-chambered nests under the eaves of the barn on his home’s property in Binghampton. These aliens were close enough to Earth wasps for him to understand some of how and why they behaved, as a group, the way they did. Still, at home, no wasp colony had ever left its eave home unless the nest was knocked down by water or burned out with fire. Clearly this star system was a home nest to the aliens. Would they follow his nine ships out to the magnetosphere? If they did, would they follow them to Kepler 10? They were two questions he needed to pose to Lori and to Science Deck chief Alicia Branstead.
“All ships, change ship status from Alert Hostile Enemy to Alert Combat Ready. All decks on the Lepanto, change to Alert Combat Ready. Crew are allowed breaks in groups no larger than ten percent of each deck. No break lasts longer than one hour,” Jacob said.
The overhead alert lights went to blinking red. The ceiling speakers gave out a high-pitched siren. Jacob heard acknowledgments from the command centers for each deck. Seven people replied for the ship’s seven decks. The voices sounded relieved, worried, busy and routine. Should he go there? Or have Branstead come here? Maybe the better spot would be the conference room in the admiral’s quarters. Where this had all started. He scanned his armrest. It showed the All Ship vidcom was still active.
“Science Deck chief Lieutenant Alicia Branstead, please join me in the admiral’s conference room. I have need of your advice.”
“Acting captain, I’m heading your way,” came the Aussie-accented voice of the woman.
“Acting captain,” called Daisy. “May I join you? I have ship issues that need discussion with Lieutenant Branstead.”
Her request did not surprise him. His friend was a forward thinker. That was why she had asked about the sudden silence from the meeting site in the first place. There were some others he should have there too.
“Ensign Antonova, Ensign Mendoza, join me at the admiral’s conference room. All Ship, acting captain orders Spacer Blackbourne to join him at the admiral’s conference room on Command Deck. Acknowledge.”
Acknowledgements came.
He unsnapped his seat straps, took a last look at the situational holo, and noted the wasp ship cluster was now 15,000 kilometers out to one side and receding even as they matched the battle group’s vector track out to the boundary of the magnetosphere. They had also slowed to ten percent of lightspeed. The wasp ship thrusters now stopped accelerating, just as the battle group thrusters had stopped once the new vector track had been set. Both groups held outward momentum at 10 psol. Stepping down, he nodded to O’Connor, then faced forward.
“Chief Warrant Officer Osashi, will you accept command of the Bridge in my absence?”
The man’s vacsuited form turned his way. His black eyes fixed on Jacob. The man stood and saluted him. “Change of command accepted, acting captain.”
Jacob saluted him back. “Good. You know where I will be. Allow Bridge crew to take breaks, one at a time, as before. Command transferred.”
Jacob turned, gathered up Daisy with his eyes, then headed for the exit door, where Carlos and Lori were already awaiting him. Briefly he gave thanks for friends who stood by him. Then he felt the chill of being responsible for their lives. It was a new feeling. But a welcome one.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Support Hunter Seven felt satisfaction as his nest settled into the standard Swarmer defense formation. His flying nest was the sixth to come close to Hunter One’s larger nest. Then again, his nest had had further to fly to reach the other five nests. Looking ahead at the perception imager that displayed images of the other nests, he felt deep surprise at the massive hole on the head of Hunter One’s nest. The hole was nearly as wide as his nest and clearly the Soft Skin heavy sky light beams had cut deep. The lack of stinger fire from the front ring of tubes now made sense. Energy to power the front ring was clearly dead. But why had Hunter One not used his Pull Down device to shield his ship from the Soft Skin black beam?
“Hunter Seven, the Soft Skin flying nests slow the pace of their flight,” scent cast the Servant who handled the nest’s propulsive devices.
“Then let us slow to match their flight speed,” he scent cast in a mix of signal, primer and territorial pheromones, reminding the Servant and all in the Flight Chamber that he was the Swarmer who led their flight.
“Obeying,” the servant scent cast back in a mix of primer and aggregation pheromones.
His three small eyes noticed a change of colors on the control panel before the Servant who was Speaker To All other nests. “What scent arrives?” he scent cast strongly.
The older male’s two antennae bent forward. “Hunter One accepts your Challenge. He sets the encounter site as being in the Practice Chamber of his nest. He requires you to arrive with only your natural weapons.”
Seven flapped his two wings, sending forth a strong scent of trail pheromones. It was his way of saying his path was set. “Respond to Hunter One that I will arrive within nine hundred wing beats.”
“Responding,” the Servant said, lowering his aged abdomen to his bench. Though his four leg limbs shook.
It was clear the Servant had feared his response to the news from Hunter One. Good. Fear in one’s Servants guaranteed maximum stinging effort and full loyalty. He stood up from his bench. He scent cast to the Matron at the back of his chamber. “Mistress, lead these newly hatched ones until my return,” he said with strong trail and signal pheromones.
“Until you return as prime leader,” she scent cast to him, her aggregation scent distinct in its aroma.
She was fully loyal. That was why he had chosen her to be the Matron of his flying nest. Now, soon, he would meet his other ally, Support Hunter Four, whose air bubble was even now leaving his nest. Seven moved past the Matron, then through the chamber’s opening that split apart the way two flaps of soft shell opened on a Soft Skin’s eye. Entering the round tube, he flapped his wings and flew toward the chamber which housed the air bubbles used to move Swarmers and dead matter between nests. As he flew, his mind considered many possible attack angles for forcing his stinger into the head of Hunter One.
♦ ♦ ♦
Daisy sat at the long table in the admiral’s conference room, with Lori on her left and Carlos on her right. Jacob sat at one end of the table, with his back to the Food Alcove. This was the room
where, hours earlier, she had shared her concerns with Jacob about the loss of tablet comlink with Admiral Johanson and the other officers of the battle group. It felt strange to be here, a place she had only seen briefly when arriving to meet the admiral for a trip somewhere in her Landing Craft Assault transport. Now, she and her friends had survived two space battles, she was the ship’s new XO and Jacob had shown a side to him that she had never before seen.
Watching him as they all waited for the arrival of Quincy and Lieutenant Branstead, she noted he was focused on his personal tablet. What was he reading? Or seeing? Messages from the other acting captains? An image of his mother, who was the only family he ever mentioned during the times they all shared a beer in the Mess Hall or met for games of chess? Did he possess an image of his father, Earth’s only five star admiral and the hero, to some, of the Callisto Conflict? Whatever Jacob thought of his father, it was now clear to her that the young, shy man she’d come to like had inherited the daring genes of his father. And maybe the ruthlessness the man was reputed to have shown to some mining rebels who tossed Star Navy captives out of an airlock without a vacsuit. In violation of the updated Geneva Conventions. At the academy, while the Callisto Conflict space battles were required study, no professor discussed the admiral’s handling of rebel captives. Rumors floating through Colorado Springs said the admiral had similarly ejected the rebel ship captain and four men who had killed the Star Navy captives. Watching Jacob over the hours since they had gone to the Bridge, she could believe her friend had inherited both the daring and the ruthlessness of his father.
“Acting Captain Renselaer, Spacer Blackbourne requests admission,” came her British friend’s deep voice from the speaker patch over the slidedoor that gave access to the Command Deck’s hallway.
StarFight 1: Battlestar Page 16