Starcruiser Polaris: He Never Died

by Richard Tongue

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  HE NEVER DIED

  Starcruiser Polaris: Book 4

  Richard Tongue

  Starcruiser Polaris #4: He Never Died

  Copyright © 2017 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

  First Kindle Edition: November 2017

  Cover By Keith Draws

  With thanks to Ellen Clarke and Rene Douville

  All characters and events portrayed within this ebook are fictitious; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Join the Triplanetary Universe Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/A9MdX

  Chapter 1

   Six months.

   Six months since Edward Curtis had abandoned his life as a derelict in the fleshpots of Titan and regained command of his ship, the Starcruiser Polaris. Since he had taken up arms against the Federation, defeating them in pitched battle after pitched battle, now with his son fighting by his side. It had been a long, hard struggle, but finally they were on the verge of success. He sat on the bridge of his ship, looking at the officers around him, some familiar, some new, transferred from ships and crews that had defected to the Rebellion.

   All across space, colonies were rising by themselves now, ColSec forces either changing sides themselves or being battered into submission by hostile populations enjoying their first taste of freedom for decades. There had been a growing hunger, a desire for liberty that had lain dormant all these years, and after smashing Grand Fleet at Hyperborea, it finally had an opportunity for expression that none could have anticipated or hoped for.

   Eight ships were under his command. Two Starcruisers, his Polaris and Regulus, the latter switching to the side of the angels in the Battle of Hyperborea, her veteran commander given orders she could not obey. Three Commonwealth Cruisers, their old enemy had joined forces with them, the discontented peoples of the exiled faction deciding to fight for their homeworld once more, at last recognizing that they were only trading one tyranny for another and three Auxiliary Cruisers, hastily converted into warships in the shipyards of Earth, turrets and launch tubes bolted onto their hulls in an attempt to bolster the flagging Federation Fleet.

   Eight ships. And after the damage he’d inflicted on the Federation, that represented the most powerful force left in space. When they’d begun the fight, he had only a single ship, facing vastly superior odds on every flank, knowing that he had only the slightest chance of winning a victory. The goal of victory had seemed unreachable, yet most of the crew had been willing to give their lives for the cause, even knowing the odds were against them.

   And now, unimaginably, he was leading his fleet to Sol System itself. Eight capital ships. Hundreds of fighters. Thousands of troops, volunteers riding along with the fleet to serve as a Marine strike force if it should be needed. Conquering Earth itself was out of the question, her teeming billions able to overwhelm any conceivable invasion force from the colonies, but he feared that the ColSec forces on Titan and Mars might fight to the last, since they could hold whole populations hostage in a desperate bid to snatch victory from the claws of defeat. The overwhelming tyranny of the Federation had been thrown into stark relief in recent months, exposed for all to see, and even the most ardent loyalist was reconsidering his position.

   The desperate, the brutal, and the greedy remained, those who knew that they would have no place in the new order, that they would face justice from those they had oppressed for decades, that their only slender hope was flight to the Halo Worlds, the ring of lawless outposts and colonies that extended deep into uncharted space. Already, dozens of ships had fled, bearing their criminal crews into permanent exile. He’d let them go, despite the pleas of some of his people. The quest for justice could begin after victory had been won. There would come a time when he had ships to spare for such a vendetta, but that time was not now.

   For now, he was planning to strike the most heavily-defended system in all of space. He’d successfully stripped them of their starships, leaving only a small strike force to threaten and harry them, but the planetary defense systems remained, a thousand mighty mass driver cannons permanently orbiting Earth, ready to defeat any invader. When he’d helped set it up, decades ago, he’d never considered that he might be the invader the system would be fighting to repel.

   They’d be facing swarms of fighters, as well. The Federation would throw everything into the battle, regardless of the risk to their crews, and there were always madmen stupid enough to risk suicide for gold and glory. The jubilant mood on the bridge worried him to his core. They could still lose this war, even now. If their fleet was defeated, they didn’t have the ability to construct a new one in less than a decade, and long before that, new slender shapes from Earth would roam the skies at will, bringing their revolution to an abrupt end.

   “Commodore,” Lieutenant Norton said, turning from the helm. “Arrival in one minute, sir.”

   “All decks are cleared for action,” Commander Hudson, his flag captain, added. “All hands at battle stations, weapons systems armed and ready. Fighter wing prepared for immediate scramble.”

   “Very good,” Curtis replied. “Connect me through to the ship.”

   “Aye, sir,” one of the communications technicians replied, working his controls with practiced ease. “You’re on, sir.”

   “This is Commodore Curtis,” he began. “In a few moments, we will come to the end of a journey that began in the tangled ruins of a dead world, and bring all of our hopes and dreams to culmination. We are going home, back to Sol, back to Earth itself, and we’re going to smash the Federation once and for all, bringing their corrupt rule to an end. No commander could ever ask for a better crew and a finer ship, and I have been and continue to be proud to serve with each and every one of you. Up ahead, there are billions of people who have suffered and bled under the corrupt regime that has dominated all of human space for decades. They’ve earned victory. Our job is to deliver. Good hunting. Bridge out.”

   “Thirty seconds, sir,” Norton said, her hands poised for action.

   “Evasive course immediately upon our emergence, Lieutenant,” he ordered. “I want a complete picture of everything in Saturn-space as soon as we arrive.”

   Nodding, Hudson replied, “You’ll have it in ten seconds, sir.” She paused, then said, “You realize they’ll have seen us coming, will almost certainly be waiting with everything they have.”

   “I’m aware of that,” he said. “In fact, I’m counting on it. This way, they fight us at a time and place of our choosing, rather than where they are strongest. We’re going to have to bleed them, Commander, take them down a piece at a time. This is the first step.”

   “Ten seconds,” Norton said. “Here we go, everyone.”

   Curtis sat back in his chair, attempting to display the confidence he knew his crew needed to feel, watching and waiting as the ship prepared to return to n
ormal space. With a blinding blue flash, Norton brought the ship out of warp, and the familiar rings of Saturn appeared on the screen, Titan just ahead, swinging in front of the massive world. Silence reigned on the bridge for a long moment, the crew struggling with the realization that they were home, despite everything.

   “Contacts, multiple contacts!” Hudson said, breaking the spell. “The rest of our formation came through clean, sir. Not a problem. Commodore McKinnon reports Second Squadron completed egress without a hitch. I’m picking up three Starcruisers and seventy-two fighters in orbit around Titan. They’re breaking and heading right for us at speed.”

   Nodding, he replied, “Trying to pick us off before our two forces can link up. Have Second Squadron proceed to orbital sentry, and launch fighters to support us at once. Their top priority is Larson Tower. If someone decides to knock that piece of hardware out of the sky, there won’t be much left of the moon after it falls.”

   “What about our fighters, sir?” Hudson asked.

   “Not yet. Not until we get closer. Keep them on immediate notice for scramble.” He looked up at the strategic display, his eyes running over the trajectory tracks flickering into life on the screen. His opponent was a conservative commander, keeping his ships in a tight defensive formation. One lesson he’d taught the enemy well was to play it safe, not take any risks, not offer an opening that he could exploit. They had at least a temporary firepower advantage, and appeared to be eager to make good use of it.

   Behind them, the three former Commonwealth cruisers launched their fighters, seventy-two small shapes joining the fight, diving towards the enemy. They’d be too late to intervene in the cruiser battle, but would wreak bloody vengeance in the aftermath. For a second, he hoped that his adversary would take the bait, pull some of his fighters away to fly defensively, but either his opponent was too canny to fall for that trick, or too unimaginative to disobey the orders his superior officers must have given him.

   “Firing range in five minutes, Commodore,” Felix Rojek, his old friend, said. “They’re closing fast, skipper, weapons hot. By the book, we lose this fight.”

   With a wry smile, Curtis said, “Let’s try talking.” Turning to the rear, he said, “Patch me through to them, Spaceman, and if possible, link me up to the colony as well. They might as well hear this too.”

   “Aye, sir,” the technician replied. After a second, he said, “Already getting some signals from the surface, Commodore. Looks like a full-scale uprising is in progress. I think Mars has revolted as well. Nothing from Earth yet.” Tapping a control, he added, “I have the enemy commander, sir. Admiral Hancock.”

   “Admiral?” Hudson asked. “He was a Commander three months ago. Assigned to the orbital defense network. He’s never commanded a starship in his life!”

   “Casualties have been pretty high, and I suspect the politicians wanted a puppet they could trust in the driver’s seat this time.” Curtis paused, then asked, “Do we know anything about him?”

   “Half-decent administrator,” his senior aide, Major Saxon replied, looking down at her datapad as intelligence reports streamed across the screen. “Listed as a reliable. Ah. Nephew of a Central Committee member. This one isn’t going to switch sides, Teddy.”

   “No, but his crew might,” Curtis replied, tapping a control. “This is Polaris Actual. I’d like to speak to Admiral Hancock.”

   “I’m on,” a gruff voice said. “Say what you have to say, but unless this is unconditional surrender, you’re going to be disappointed. My crew and I are willing to die for the Federation, and for Earth, but given the current disparity of forces, I’d say you’re going to get the chance to die for your cause before we have a chance to die for ours.”

   “Admiral, we both know how this is going to end,” Curtis replied. “I have superior numbers at my disposal. You have a temporary advantage at best, and I intend to make sure that you have no opportunity to exploit it. Either surrender or withdraw, and nobody has to die here today. We both know that if the Fleet refuses the fight, the War is over, and I have no intention of launching reprisals. Every extra-solar colony is now in revolt, and now Mars and Titan as well. You don’t have a Federation left to die for.”

   “The ideals of the Revolution will not die with us, Curtis.”

   “They died when pragmatism overrode idealism, Admiral. That won’t happen again. Not this time. We have a chance to build a world we want to live in, one without fear and tyranny.”

   “Words,” Hancock said. “Just words. You’re as much a politician as the rest of them. I know you’ve seen my service record, and I know that you’ll be writing me off as an armchair admiral. Maybe you’re right. I’ve never commanded a fleet before. But I know that, I know my limitations, and I know precisely what I and my people are capable of. You will not find this an easy fight, and I have every confidence that we can win.”

   Against his better judgment, Curtis was actually beginning to like this man.

   “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind, Admiral?”

   “No more than I could change yours, Commodore. I will promise that any of your people captured by my forces will be treated in accordance with the Articles of War.”

   “Likewise,” Curtis replied. “Good luck, Admiral.”

   “And to you. Hancock out.”

   “I’ve never understood that,” Saxon said. “Two enemies wishing each other luck before a battle. Don’t you want to win?”

   “Win, yes,” Curtis said. “Kill, no. I meant what I said to him. Nobody had to die here today. Though if our roles were reversed, I expect I would have acted just as he did.” Turning to Hudson, he said, “Three minutes to combat range. Time to let our birds fly. All squadrons, immediate launch.”

  Chapter 2

   “Scramble!” Wing Commander Winston Kani yelled, the canopy of his fighter slamming shut as the magnetic tractors began to drag his ship across the deck, planting it securely in front of the launch tubes, ready to catapult him out into space. He looked from left to right, watching the rest of his squadron lined up, preparing for takeoff, the first of three that he’d be commanding in the battle to come. Tactical updates flooded across his heads-up display, allowing him to rapidly assess the state of the battlespace, and while he waited for the catapult to engage, he entered a quick series of commands to his squadron leaders, both on Polaris and Regulus, readying them for battle.

   Seventy-two fighters would be launching under his command to meet an equal number of enemy combatants, with more reinforcements to come. The enemy formation had the benefit of years of working together as a team, training in exercises and drills until they could fly their ships almost literally with their eyes closed, but Kani still believed that his forces had the advantage. They might have been assembled from a collection of rebel squadrons, former shuttle pilots and politically disfavored cadets, but all of them were veterans now, all survivors of at least one battle, and many of them had the stars underneath their cockpits to denote their first kill. They were blooded warriors, ready and eager for action.

   He felt the familiar kick on his back as the catapult engaged, hurling him into space along with the rest of his squadron, the hatches opening at the last second to allow him to depart, his engines firing the instant they hit vacuum, auto-navigation putting them smoothly onto the planned attack trajectory. Over to his side, ships were spilling out of Regulus to join the formation. He’d kept it simple, a double-arrowhead, nothing controversial needed for the battle. With an equal number of fighters facing each other, the fighting would rapidly deteriorate into individual duels. His pilots knew that as well as he did, his tactical display flashing updates as they selected primary and secondary targets, calculating their approach to avoid duplication, ensuring that every enemy combatant had a missile with his name on it.

   “Ninety seconds to combat,” he said, tapping to get the attention of his squadron leaders. “We’ve got reserves c
oming in, so we don’t need to worry about that. The Commodore wants us to make a mess of the enemy, and we’re going to do just that. Send the bastards straight to hell. Good hunting, and tally ho!”

   His engines surged as the afterburners kicked in, pushing him towards the enemy with ever-greater speed, the acceleration at the limits of the maximum design specification, amber warning lights winking on to warn him that they were pushing the engines too hard. It didn’t matter. He’d seen the same reports as the Commodore, knew the strategic situation in Sol System. The Federation had only four Starcruisers left, and three of them were here, at Titan, lured into whatever the Commodore’s trap had been. The remainder was waiting at Sol, likely with senior politicians on board, ready to flee to the safety of the Halo Worlds.

   Their day would come, sooner or later. He and his comrades would see to that, after the war was won. He looked up at Saturn, and his heart seemed to skip a beat. He’d seen the films, even visited the system in virtual reality, but now he was here, at the birthplace of humanity. Though he’d worked his entire life to prepare for the day when he’d fly into battle at Sol, somehow he never truly expected to do it, never believed that he would have a chance to visit his homeworld.

   He looked around, trying to find the pale blue dot of Earth itself, finally spotting it with the aid of computer navigation. He could have increased the magnification, taken a closer look with the assistance of the sensor controls, but after a second’s hesitation, he shook his head, turning back to the task at hand. If this battle went as he expected, went as he hoped, he’d be entering Earth orbit in a matter of days, and would be able to see it for himself. Maybe even walk on the surface.

   His eyes drifted down to the cylinder he always kept on his belt, the final remains of his grandmother. She’d rescued her daughter from Earth, got her onto the last ship, then taken care of her grandson alone after her daughter’s death. She’d told him stories of the homeworld, the legends and history of his people, and given him a single request in return. That somehow, someday, he’d see that her ashes rested on her native soil, rested on the Karoo of her childhood.