“It is,” Troy agreed, his hand placed reassuringly on Adlai’s shoulder.
“Don’t even pretend you know what’s going on, Uncle,” Samantha said from the other side of the giant blue orb that represented Elysium. She was smiling, but there was something in her eyes that suggested she wasn’t going to tolerate her uncle’s smugness today.
“Yes, mother,” Troy said automatically, then look pained, no doubt reminded about his mother’s loss. Jennifer was spared from having to comfort him by Elijah, who had scuttled over Michael’s side.
“Have you seen those ejections from J-24?” he asked breathlessly, awed, making a sweeping gesture at the sight. Jennifer dutifully looked over at the crimson orb that represented J-24, and sure enough, tendrils of energy were still reaching out from it in deadly spirals.
“Yeah,” she said, echoed by Troy. J-24 was inconsequential, as far as the two of them were concerned.
“Even better than our simulations projected,” Elijah breathed out. Jennifer knew she should have been grateful to her brother-in-law – after all, without Elijah’s R&D team, today would not have been possible – but his fixation on J-24 seemed to be misplaced. After all, both James and Sarah were fighting at Elysium, not J-24.
Maybe it’s a scientist thing, she wondered to herself, catching the eye of Amanda and trying to smile reassuringly. Amanda was seated near the wall, and almost seemed bored with the proceedings that surrounded her.
Jennifer knew this wasn’t true, of course. Amanda always looked bored when she was close to panicking… but Amanda had insisted on sitting it out when Jennifer had suggested she may have been better off elsewhere.
“Hoshi is fighting at J-24, isn’t she, Elijah?” Troy asked suddenly from beside.
Elijah nodded. “She’s a mechanic on the Bellerophon.”
Jennifer frowned in confusion, then cursed silently to herself as she closed her eyes regretfully. She’d totally forgotten that Elijah’s daughter was military, too, having joined the enlistment ranks just two years ago.
“She’ll be fine,” said Troy confidently, though his forehead seemed to have grown another worry-line. He looked at Jennifer. “Don’t you have a cousin or something in the Navy, Jen?”
“I have two, actually,” Jennifer said almost reluctantly, having completely forgotten about that little tidbit of family trivia. Coming from a large family, naturally there’d be a few military types… but Jennifer hadn’t really been close to her extended family for years, aside from the expected appearance at a wedding or milestone birthday.
“Though I wouldn’t exactly say we’re close,” she continued sullenly, more as a means of assuaging her own guilt at her single-mindedness. “I don’t think I’ve seen Lauren since she was a girl, and as for Carmine…” she frowned in concentration. She didn’t think she’d ever met Carmine Rogério – daughter to her oldest aunt on her father’s side, who was nearly twice her age.
“Fair enough,” Troy said, his gaze on Jennifer one of… puzzlement? Confusion? Understanding? Possibly the latter – after all, while Troy was relatively close to all his siblings, Patrick’s branch of the Hunter clan weren’t exactly close with the other branches in the tree these days. “Kye’s brother is a Gunnery Chief on the Wisconsin.”
“You could have brought him along to watch with us, Troy,” Elijah said.
“Kye didn’t want to come, Eli,” Troy shot back, rather coolly. “He’d much rather get drunk in a bar somewhere.” Troy sighed. “Par for the course for him, ever since he lost his job… and apartment.”
“Poor Kye,” Jennifer whispered pityingly, her attention still fixed on the tactical display.
Troy swept his fringe out of his sight and blinked at her abashedly. “It’ll be fine, Jen,” he said, somewhat automatically – how often, after all, had he said those words to her in the last fifteen years? He hadn’t been proved wrong yet… though he hadn’t been proved right, either.
Jennifer nodded in affirmation, ignoring stray lock of hair from her temple that cast a shadow over everything she saw… she was unable to take her gaze off the glowing silhouette of a specific ship: the Carpathia.
*
“Is something the matter, my lord?”
Kuellan glanced sullenly over at Fel’Tor – what wasn’t the matter was the more appropriate question. The battle had started badly – the Hegemony forces were already outnumbered, and the Commonwealth also had an edge in technological advancement – and was progressively getting worse; Kuellan had already lost a dreadnaught, and the Razor’s Edge was in sorry shape, being slowly pecked to death by tiny hornets.
To try and salvage the battle – or at least, even the playing field – Kuellan had sent the bulk of his smaller ships – fighters, corvettes and gunships – to bypass the bulk of the Commonwealth defence forces and harass their shipyards (the true objective of this invasion, after all). Kuellan had hoped that such a gambit would force the Commonwealth to devote most of resources into defending the shipyards, allowing the larger Hegemony forces to square away with their Commonwealth counterparts.
The shipyards in question were arrayed in a vaguely triangular pattern, with the larger facilities – which scans had confirmed were responsible for the construction of dreadnaughts and larger cruisers – orbiting closest to the fifth planet. The smaller two clusters of drydocks – the expansion project the Hegemony was so desperate to stop – were separated by many thousands of kilometres, and were much less fortified than the larger cluster, with barely a dozen armoured stations between them to protect their assets.
In defiance of Kuellan’s strategic sensibilities, the commander of the Commonwealth forces seemed content to leave the defence of their real-estate to the scores of fighters that swarmed around the vital infrastructure, with the larger defence platforms relegated to dealing with the small warships Kuellan had sent in.
Instead, the Commonwealth commander had fixated the majority of his fleet’s attention on the mainstay of the Hegemony fleet, which put Kuellan in a significant tactical disadvantage – they had more ships of every type than Kuellan. As the deck plates beneath his claws rattled it occurred to Kuellan that he may be successful in eliminating his target, he – along with most of his fleet – would most likely perish in the attempt.
“They’re not defending the shipyards,” Kuellan growled. “Not the way they should be.” He gestured with a claw to the tactical map of the shipyards – even as he a spoke, a fifth drydock facility exploded into a series of vapid fireballs. “Get me a close-up scan of those smaller drydocks, I want to see what they’re actually building here… and why they don’t seem particularly interested in saving them.”
“It’ll take some time, sir,” Tel’For said, even as he pointed a claw at one of the communications techs. “They’re actively jamming us and –”
“Get on with it then,” Kuellan glowered, then pointed with his own claw. “Have Crimson Shadow and Purity of Spirit angle in on that dreadnaught.” The dreadnaught he indicated was at the forefront of the Commonwealth battle group, and had already sustained damage from a sustained broadside by the now-destroyed Devoted Reverence. “Then bring up Patient Commitment to surge between them and into the heart of their formation. If we can keep them off-balance, we can seize the momentum of this battle… and win, on their chosen battlefield.”
“He’ll take a lot of punishment to put down, sir,” Tel’For pointed out unnecessarily, and Kuellan snarled, his pointed mouth snapping open-and-shut in annoyance. It was never a good idea to point the obvious out in his presence. “Yes, my lord.”
*
“We’ve lost the Matador.”
Even as David Garret made the announcement, the old dreadnaught erupted into a fiery ball of deadly destruction, spewing debris, flames and gases every which-way, taking out smaller ships – Commonwealth and N’xin – in its wake. Even in its death throes, the flanking N’xin dreadnaughts that had killed the Matador lit up the space around them with more weapons fire.
“I’m well aware of that, Admiral,” he said calmly, rubbing the back of his head as he put his back to her. “Commander Kowalski, tell the Glory to deal with that fucking dreadnaught at 206. It should have been dead ten minutes ago!” He pointed at the offending battleship that was angling dangerously close to the second cluster of the shipyard. “In two minutes, I don’t want to have to worry about it when the Avalon begins its flanking manoeuvre.”
But even as he spoke, the N’xin dreadnaught detonated, its death throes lighting a fire against the black of space… it was almost beautiful, as was the sounds of cheering that erupted around the bridge of the Carpathia.
“Never mind then,” James amended, almost as an afterthought. Three down, five to go, James thought triumphantly, a surge of adrenaline and excitement pouring through him. So far, the Matador was the only dreadnaught his fleet had lost, leaving him with seven others.
The death toll on the smaller ships, however, was much bloodier, on both sides. Attrition was tearing through both sides – even as James watched, the cruiser Vienna disintegrated amidst a hail of weapons fire, its death rattle taking out the corvette Gettysburg and a host of fighters that were too close to it.
How many people just lost their lives? Five hundred, six hundred? Already the projected casualty tally had nearly ten thousand dead in the battle… and it would easily be double for the N’xin, whose lack of faith in automation meant their ships had much higher crew compliments.
“Hunter –”
“Admiral Halsey!” James cut her off sharply, a snap in his voice as he held up a hand, acutely aware of the thin ice he was about to break through. “The shipyard is secure. The losses we have sustained are both marginal and insignificant.”
“What?” she hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “How can you possibly say –”
“Because, Admiral, everything is not as it seems,” he said, and at her quizzical look, he told her.
*
“What do you mean they’re empty?” Kuellan shouted, so loud it could have cracked transparent metal. His temper was rewarded by most of his underlings cringing and shirking away from him, looking for a scapegoat to deliver any more bad news that may have been in the offering.
Tel’For looked abashed, as if he wasn’t sure what part he had to elaborate to his superior. “Scans of the drydocks in the smaller clusters of the shipyards indicate they’re just an amalgamation of components. There’s minimal power, but virtually no machinery or personnel present. They’re… husks, my lord. The only operational ones are the larger ones along the periphery and –”
A thumping impact silenced Kuellan for a moment as the deck-plates rocked underneath his clawed feet. The sound of serious detonations reverberated throughout the ship, followed by a cacophony of klaxons. Before the vibrations had even
“Hull breach, decks 17 and 18.”
“Starboard shields at critical!”
“Silence!” Kuellan snarled, stamping a foot to punctuate his demands… it was unnecessary, as the cruiser assigned to escort the flagship, Infinite Brilliance, exploded dramatically, the detonation starting towards the end of its pointed prow and arcing its way up its midship before finally blowing out of the engine exhausts. “Recall all fighters!” he snapped. “Come to course 093, and bring us to flank speed!” He paused, completely in awe at the sentence he was about to speak. “Prepare to retreat.”
*
A trigger-squeeze away from being incinerated, the N’xin fighter – an angular, tri-winged craft that looked more like a deformed hand than a spacecraft – that Emil Palhares had been chasing suddenly pulled a sharp turn to port and zoomed off towards a distant N’xin warship, that itself was turning its nose away from the battle.
It wasn’t the only one – everywhere Palhares looked, N’xin fighters were putting their backs to the Commonwealth forces and zipping away to their carriers; the fighter Palhares had been tailing was one of the last ones to retreat, it seemed – it fled to a damaged N’xin cruiser that was limping, its portside engines sputtering and its hull pitted and scorched.
It looked like a regrouping or a withdrawal, but Palhares had seen enough combat in the last twenty years to know that just about anything could happen next.
“All fighters, be alert,” Palhares said – now a Wing Commander, he was responsible for the fighter squadrons on the carrier Yorktown… or, at least, responsible for what was left of them. The battle for Elysium had taken a heavy toll on the Commonwealth fighters, despite their numerical superiority. “Looks like the N’xin are going to try something new.”
“Surely they’re aware that they’ve lost?”
“Quiet, Amber Three,” Palhares snapped, standing his fighter on its starboard wing as he began a steep descent – with his scanners the way they were, he needed a more elevated position to gauge the way the battle was flowing. “Amber One to Control, what’s the sit-rep? We’ve got a lot of birds fleeing the nest here from the looks of things.”
“Stand-by, Captain Palhares, we’re assessing the situation,” the Controller from the Yorktown said, her crisp London accent as cool as a sheet of ice. “Continue standard combat operations and await orders.”
Palhares took a look at his sensor display. “That’s a bit difficult, Control, cos we appear to be all out of enemy combatants.” Even as he spoke, though, blurs of motion amidst the starscape caught his attention – the N’xin were entering FTL, their ships flickering with a sliver of motion… not just some of them, either, but all of them…
… at least those that could move under their own power. There were more than a few derelict hulks strewn across the battlefield, testament to a fierce and brutal campaign.
“Are they retreating?” Palhares asked as the last N’xin warship – tentatively identified as their flagship – departed, elongating towards infinity before disappearing into the darkness of the void.
There was a large pause on the other end. “Inconclusive at this stage. You are cleared to engage any remaining hostiles, but beware of N’xin reprisals in case they regroup and return.”
A sense of jubilant elation surged through Palhares, watching as a battered N’xin warship – seemingly too damaged to flee to safety – disintegrated under the ever-vigilant guns of the flagship, the Carpathia.
“There’s not many of them left, Control.”
“That almost sounds like a complaint, Amber One.”
Palhares smiled – the first genuine smile he’d made since his father’s demise a few years earlier. “Not at all, Control.”
*
“If only all our battles had been this easy,” Lauren Carmichael muttered to herself as the deck beneath her trembled from a nearby explosion, silently praying that she hadn’t just jinxed them. “Or just combat in general.”
Actually, it’s a bit unfair to call this combat, she thought. The situation at J-24 – home to a white-dwarf and a lone planet – was more akin to a turkey-shoot – the N’xin forces in this system had been so adversely affected by the new Commonwealth super-weapons that almost half of the ready N’xin fleet had been literal sitting ducks, unable to move or defend themselves when the fleet had dropped out of FTL.
Unfortunately, that meant that the other half of the N’xin fleet at J-24 was operational and battle-ready – and, obviously expecting trouble, already in battle formation, surrounding the largest of the shipyard complexes when Lauren’s fleet had arrived in force. Outnumbered and outgunned, they had gone down fighting to the last man after just three hours.
A half-hearted offer of surrender had been put forward to the N’xin fleet, which had promptly been rebuffed when the single operational N’xin drea
dnaught had decided to try and take on the entirety of the Commonwealth fleet – it had quickly been dismissed, and the human fleet had sought to systemically wipe out the remaining N’xin presence in the system, including any survivors of the initial battle.
Her ship was in the midst of a pursuit now, surrounded by a violent maelstrom of beauty. System J-24 could, at least, now claim to be the site of the largest battle in the war with the N’xin… and also home to the most stunning victory for the Commonwealth, offering a kill/loss ratio that, until now, had been unheard of in the war with regard to truly large-scale battles.
All around the Endurance – one of the ships assigned to mop-up duty – the charred, gnarled hulls of destroyed N’xin warships spun lazily, frequently crashing into each other and careening off into other directions, creating more chaos just seconds later when they repeated the craziness. Amidst all the wreckage were the uncounted bodies of the dead, sucked out into the vacuum during the battle.
Not that Lauren had much of a chance to properly admire the vista the bridge viewport afforded her. Her focus was solely on identifying any potential threats to her ship and crew, while also keeping tabs on the destroyer they were chasing: the damn thing had led her into the very heart of the remains of the N’xin formation, where the starscape was almost completely blocked by clouds of debris and bursts of radiant energy.
It’s almost as if its commander wants to survive, Lauren thought, smirking as her helmsman banked the ship to port, the starboard wing of the Endurance passing harmlessly over the blackened remains of a N’xin heavy cruiser. Of course, if this debris field gets any denser, I may just have to let it go.
“You’re doing fine, Ensign Bates,” she told her helmsman. Even as Lauren said that, the Endurance began a roll to starboard, bringing its port wing up and over another derelict even as Bates nosed the ship down, seeking to avoid the drifting hulk of one of their own cruisers – the Makarov, one of the few losses the Commonwealth had suffered. “Do you have it yet?” she asked her tactical officer.
“Almost,” Lieutenant Emmanuel Barre murmured from the tactical console on the upper level of the bridge. From her vantage point Lauren could only see his head. “If I could get a proper line-of-sight…”
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