Starship Guardian (The Galactic Wars Book 4)

by Ellis,Tripp

  “I need an answer.”

  “Any answer I give you would be just a guess. 5 minutes. Maybe 10?”

  Slade’s eyes were fixed on the LRRADS display. “Helm, all ahead full.”

  “All ahead full, aye.”

  “Get us as close to one of their ships as possible.”

  “Sir?”

  “If my guess is right, their warheads won’t arm until they reach a minimum safe distance. If we get close enough, their nukes will be useless. The other warships won’t target us for fear of missing and hitting one of their own. Then we can duke it out with the cannons. Might buy us some time.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The Mark 25s took out the first round of incoming nukes. But more were on the way. The Revenant raced toward one of the warships. A flurry of cannon fire blasted across the star field. The rumble of the heavy guns clamored throughout the Revenant. Alarms blared and klaxons sounded. Several enemy fighters broke through the defenses and began pummeling the destroyer. They strafed the old battle weary relic, blasting it with small tactical rockets.

  Two nukes slipped through the wall of cannon fire and impacted the hull. The dual explosions shuddered the ship. Slade hung onto her command console for dear life and somehow managed not to slam against the deck.

  “Damage report.”

  “We lost one of the Mark 25’s,” Zoey said. “119 through 127 port-side took heavy damage.”

  The Revenant barreled toward one of the warships. It swooped in parallel and began trading punches. Cannon fire erupted from the starboard Mark 25s, blasting the port side of the Decluvian warship. It was a brutal exchange. Bulkheads were shredded and blown apart. Twisted bits of metal showered into space. Blinding explosions erupted from the two ships.

  The Decluvians didn’t show any sign of slowing up. The virus wasn’t working.

  “We can’t hold out for much longer like this,” Slade admitted.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong. The virus should have taken effect by now. We should be seeing some signs of disruption.” Violet’s face was creased with worry. It was easy to see that she felt responsible. A miscalculation on her part was going to seal the fate of mankind.

  The Revenant was getting torn to shreds.

  “It’s now or never, Violet,” Slade said. Her face was grim.

  Violet studied the display at her terminal. She was analyzing hundreds of lines of code, faster than any human could. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. “I think I know what the problem is. I’ve been monitoring the Decluvian data transmissions. Each one begins with a hardware encrypted data packet. Without that code, the system ignores the transmission. The devices will only talk to each other. The virus can’t get a foothold. But, if we send the virus—”

  “From the Decluvian transport—”

  “It just might work.”

  There was a glimmer of hope in Slade’s eyes. “Go. Now!”

  Violet copied the modified virus to a portable data drive and sprinted from her terminal.

  Another blast rocked the Revenant. The impact slammed Violet into the bulkhead. She regained her footing and kept running. The corridors of the ship were filled with screeching alarms. Crew members scurried about. Damage control teams rushed to secure compartments. Several fires blazed throughout the ship. Smoke and haze filled some of the passageways.

  Violet descended a few levels and made her way to the hangar deck. Rows and rows of fighters, gunships, shuttles, and troop transports were neatly packed away. Her determined eyes surveyed the hangar, looking for the Decluvian transport that Walker had used to escape from the Korvectus.

  She spotted the ugly behemoth and ran across the hangar. Another blast knocked her off her feet. She stumbled to the deck and quickly sprang up again. She ran past Stingrays and Skylarks, finally reaching the transport. She scaled the loading ramp and dashed to the cockpit.

  Violet was familiar with multiple flight systems, and she had a cursory knowledge of the Decluvian language. She flipped a few switches and powered up the transport. The console came to life, and the displays illuminated.

  Violet connected the portable drive and transmitted the virus once again. She crossed her fingers for luck.

  40

  Revenant

  The med center was overwhelmed with trauma victims. Head wounds, abdominal wounds, burn victims. It was horrendous. Agonizing screams filled the facility. Sailors lay on gurneys with blood-soaked fatigues and bandages. Corpsmen scurried about, attending to the most critical—giving high-dose pain meds to those who were beyond hope.

  Doctor Jackson tried to prioritize the victims in terms of who had a good prognosis for survival. Patients who were beyond care were marked with an “X” on their forehead—it let all the corpsmen know not to divert precious resources, or time, to those patients. It was a tough decision for anyone to have to make, but in those types of situations there were only so many people that you could save. Putting time into someone who was too far gone might cost the lives of other sailors.

  There was no easy way to live with yourself after having to make choices like that. Doctor Jackson often woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, haunted by the faces of men and women that he couldn’t save. It didn’t matter how many lives he saved, the one’s he couldn’t always seemed to stick with him.

  Wounded sailors were backed up into the corridor. There wasn’t enough room in the med center to treat them all. And there were more coming.

  Another blast rocked the ship.

  In the CIC, Slade was tossed to the deck. She hit her knee and smacked her wrist so hard she thought it was broken. She pulled herself up and hobbled back to her console. Her hand felt numb for a minute. Then the pain felt deep and sharp in her wrist. But that was the least of her worries.

  This was it. The ship couldn’t take anymore.

  If this was going to be humanity’s last stand, Slade wanted to go out with a bang. She thought about launching every nuke they had at the neighboring warship. The blast would take the Revenant out as well. But they were going to be destroyed anyway, might as well take one of the Decluvian ships with them.

  She was about to give the order when the enemy fire stopped. The attacking fighters lost control and continued to drift on their current trajectory. Some of the fighters collided with each other in brilliant explosions. Some collided into the hull. Some were just going to drift into space forever.

  The Decluvian warships began to lose their rigid formation. They pitched and rolled randomly. The virus had worked. It had disabled every ship in the fleet.

  On New Earth, Decluvian fighters were falling out of the sky. Hover-tanks stopped and crashed to the ground. Even heavy artillery that was connected to the network stopped working.

  A slight grin curled on Slade’s lips. “Helm, bring us around. Give us some room to launch the fighters.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Fire control, target the operations center and propulsion. Were going to permanently disable the ships one at a time. Keep in mind there may be federation prisoners aboard. We want to disable, not destroy.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Launch all squadrons.”

  “Aye, sir. Launch all squadrons.” Zoey said.

  Pilots scurried across the flight deck to their Stingrays. Within moments, the fighters launched into space. They swarmed about the lifeless Decluvian ships, wreaking havoc. Blinding explosions filled the star field.

  Slade watched with glee from the CIC. It was time for a little payback. One by one, the warships fell.

  “Open communications across all channels,” Slade said. She tried to hold back a smile, but she wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

  “Aye, sir,” Zoey said.

  Slade grabbed the handset from the command console. “This is Captain Slade of the USS Revenant. I require your immediate and unconditional surrender. I repeat, I require your immediate and unconditional surrender. You have five minutes to comply or face total destruction.”


  The controls went dead, and the hover-tank crashed to the ground. 85 tons of composite steel slammed against the concrete at Lexington and 33rd Street. The metallic clamor was deafening inside the vehicle.

  The Decluvain tanks were impressive pieces of machinery. The massive plasma cannons delivered a bolt of destruction that was hotter than the sun. The turret basket contained the tank commander and the gunner. The driver was in the front section of the hull, under the main gun.

  Tyvelon was sitting in the gunner’s position. He wanted to fire off a few rounds himself.

  “I’m not sure what’s happening,” the tank commander said. “Must be some type of system malfunction.”

  The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. He clenched his jaw, furious. Then he heard Slade’s demands filter through his ear piece. His big protruding eyes filled with rage. He looked like his head was going to explode.

  Tyvelon climbed out of the gunner’s seat and pushed up through the top hatch. He scanned the streets. All of the tanks were down. Nothing was moving. The skies were empty.

  The general was following behind in an APC, along with Tyvelon’s security detail. The detail climbed out of the APC and rushed to the tank.

  “Sir, I’m getting reports from the fleet… all of our vehicles have become non-responsive,” the security advisor said. “This isn’t an isolated incident.”

  “I will never surrender!”

  “We may want to consider falling back to a safer location,” the security advisor said.

  Tyvelon clenched his jaw. “I have never retreated from a fight in my life. I’m not going to start now.”

  The security advisor searched for the appropriate words, treading cautiously. “Perhaps I misspoke. I was merely suggesting we reposition ourselves, so that we may resume our attack when we possess a strategic advantage. As it stands, we are defenseless.”

  Defeat was a bitter pill to swallow. He had never lost an engagement. But Tyvelon knew the advisor was right. Tyvelon gave a reluctant nod.

  “Commander Fesand has captured a functional UPDF troop transport,” the advisor said. “I suggest we use that to better our situation.”

  “Where is Commander Fesand?”

  “This way, my Lord.” The security detail ushered Tyvelon through the battle-scarred streets. The Decluvians controlled all but the south side of the city. But without air support, or heavy artillery, the UPDF would quickly gain ground.

  Tyvelon reached Commander Fesand and was ushered aboard a captured UPDF Hedgehog. The security detail, and the general, followed.

  A platoon of Decluvian soldiers watched with sour faces as the dignitaries evacuated. They knew the troops were going to get the short end of the stick—grunts always did. They were stuck on this planet without any support. They were either going to be taken prisoner or killed, and neither sounded appealing.

  The Hedgehog lifted off the ground and lumbered into the sky. It rocketed into the upper atmosphere. Within moments, it was floating in space. Tyvelon got his first look at the destruction of the fleet. This time, it wasn’t so pleasing to him. His fleet was in disarray, drifting through space. One destroyer, and a squadron of fighters, were dismantling an entire Armada.

  Tyvelon’s face tensed. It was embarrassing. How was he going to live with this kind of defeat? How would his people respect him? The thought crossed his mind to take the ship and inflict whatever damage he could upon the UPDF destroyer. One last stab at the enemy. He would die in battle. It would be honorable. He would be remembered favorably.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not that he was afraid to die. To the contrary, death in battle was considered, among the Decluvians, to be the highest honor. A ticket to sit among the gods. But, despite their differences, he didn’t want to leave his daughter. He didn’t want her to grow up without a father. Not that he had been much of one—always focusing on politics or war.

  He settled his emotions, swallowed his pride, and let his anger subside. He would live to fight another day. One day, he swore to himself, he would avenge this loss with a swift and decisive victory.

  “Plot jump coordinates,” the Emperor said. “Take us back to Decluvia.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  A moment later, the bulkheads warbled and distorted. The Hedgehog vanished into slide-space.

  41

  New Earth

  The Decluvian fighter unleashed a torrent of cannon fire at the MAC 626. Presley dodged and weaved the craft. But she wasn’t going to be able to evade the fighter for long. She lacked the skill and experience—and the MAC didn’t have any electronic countermeasures.

  An alarm sounded. A solid tone filled the cabin. The enemy had achieved missile lock. In a matter of moments the MAC 626 would be a ball of flaming wreckage, plummeting to the ground.

  Presley took a deep breath and exchanged a glance with Tim. Her face was creased with worry. Her lips tensed into a frown. There was a somber look of resignation in her eyes. This was it. They were going to die. They had given it their best shot, and had gotten close to escaping, but this was the end of the line.

  Before the Decluvian could fire a rocket, the fighter’s system was infected with the virus transmitted from the Revenant. The controls became non-responsive. The gauges flickered, and displays scrambled. The engines died, and the glowing thrusters faded. The fighter plummeted like a brick.

  “What happened?” Tim asked.

  “I don’t know,” Presley said, gawking at the LRADDS display. She watched the fighter’s icon descend at terminal velocity.

  “It must have had engine failure, or something,” Tim said.

  Presley shook her head. “All four engines don’t fail at once. That ship was disabled, somehow.” Her brow furrowed, and she had a puzzled look on her face.

  The comm line crackled with distortion. Then, Slade’s voice boomed, calling for the surrender of the Decluvians.

  Presley’s eyes lit up with glee.

  “Whoa, was that really Captain Slade?” Tim said, astonished.

  “I think so.”

  “Do you think they’ll really surrender?”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Presley rocketed the ship into space. The entire enemy fleet was drifting listlessly. Massive super-carriers slowly pitched and rolled. Squadrons of UPDF stingrays blasted at their command centers. Bits of debris and twisted bulkheads littered the star field. Drifting chunks of metal pinged against the hull of the MAC 626.

  “Bad ass!” Tim’s eyes were wide.

  A voice crackled over the comm line. The Revenant had picked them up on LRADDS. “This is the USS Revenant. Please identify.”

  “This is Presley Johnson. We just escaped Nova York.”

  The line was silent for a moment. Then the voice returned. “You’ve been cleared to land on flight deck A. We’ve identified you in our system, so the weapons won’t target you on approach.”

  A look of horror washed over Presley’s face. “Which one is flight deck A?”

  “Starboard side. Look for the flashing green light.”

  “Well, this should be interesting,” Tim said.

  Levi’s face was full of concern. “Why?”

  “She can’t land on the ground, much less a flight deck.”

  “Thanks for the confidence boost.” Presley glared at him.

  “She failed basic flight,” Tim mumbled to Levi.

  “The class isn’t over yet,” Presley said.

  “It is now,” said Tim.

  Presley brought the vehicle around to flight deck A and lined up for landing. The bay opening looked small, and the flight deck narrow.

  “MAC 626, call the ball,” the LSO said.

  Presley swallowed hard. She looked for the optical landing system. She had done one simulated carrier landing in flight school. It didn’t end well. She came in too low and smacked the edge of the flight deck in the simulation.

  The LSO was growing impatient. “MAC 626, Call the ball.”

  “MAC 626, ball,” Pre
sley stammered.

  “Roger ball,” said the LSO.

  Presley made her approach, but it didn’t take long for a nervous LSO to chime in. “MAC 626, you’re high.”

  “Roger,” Presley said, adjusting her position.

  A few moments later, the LSO crackled back over the comm system. “MAC 626, you’re low.”

  “Roger.” Presley was starting to sweat.

  Tim was white-knuckled as they plowed toward the deck.

  The craft pitched and drifted. It looked like it was going to be a disastrous landing—if they were able to land at all. Smacking into a bulkhead, or the edge of the flight deck, wasn’t completely out of the question. Presley knew the transition from Zero G to full gravity was going to be a doozy.

  Presley made some adjustments and got into the groove. She barely crested over the edge of the flight deck and made adjustments for full gravity. The skids touched down on the flight deck with little more than a jolt. The approach was uncontrolled, but the landing wasn’t that bad.

  Presley breathed a sigh of relief. She glanced to Tim and gave him a smug smile.

  They climbed out of the craft and onto the flight deck. It was buzzing with activity. Flight crews scurried about in color-coded shirts—yellow for the handlers that directed traffic, red for the sailors who loaded ordinance and explosives, white for the LSOs and safety personnel. The smell of steel, grease, and ion exhaust filled the air.

  The OOD greeted them.

  “Permission to come aboard, sir,” Presley said.

  “Permission granted. Was that your first carrier landing?”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “See the board over there,” The OOD said pointing. “That’s the greenie board.” It listed the entire squadron by callsign. “Every landing is rated by the LSO and placed on the board. A green square is the highest grade available. Yellow is fair. Red is a cut pass.”

  The board was mostly green, with a fair amount of yellows, a few reds. There were also a few browns.