After this, the fighters made one last attack run on the battleship’s hull, sending laser beams through the weakened shields before the troop shuttles threw themselves at the battleship in a desperate attempt to reach her and board.
“Computer estimates the Supership has the throw weight of a heavy cruiser, the shields of a battleship, and a reinforced civilian-class hull,” the other Officer said, sounding shocked. “Estimates suggest the Supership was built around a civilian class hull—possibly an old Constructor design.”
“And that’s why she’s pulling away,” Druid cursed, closing his eyes. No wonder the so-called Supership was putting distance between itself and the overpowering amount of firepower represented by two Harmony Battleships. A weak punch, hardly any shields—for a ship of her size—and paper-thin hull would make him want to protect his ship by putting distance between it and the enemy, too.
“Some of the troop shuttles are getting through!” reported Tactical.
Druid felt a surge of hope, and then winced as he realized just how many of the troop shuttles were being destroyed by lasers and residual shields. Even though they were machines, he couldn’t help but feel pain at the thought of such brutal casualties. Less than half, maybe 40%, of the shuttles were getting through. Although, he grimly knew that the more of them that slammed into #1’s remaining shields, the weaker those shields would be—making it that much easier for their fellows that followed on.
Now that the Sentient Assembly small craft had already made their attack run on Battleship #1, the other Battleship, #3, pivoted and rolled—and she was turning to face the Parliamentary Power!
“Enemy battleship is bringing her resting broadside to bear,” shouted Tactical, “she’ll be able to fire her entire side, sir!”
“Shields are at less than 20%, Commodore,” reported the Shield Lieutenant.
“You do what you have to, Lieutenant, but you keep those shields up,” Druid roared right before the enemy battleship locked on and unloaded her entire broadside.
Then the enemy broadside struck. Over half of the lasers missed outright, but the remaining ones plunged through the Power’s denuded shields and ravaged the ship.
“Both secondary engines are now out. Engineering reports serious damage to the primary engine. We can no longer maintain sustained movement, only short bursts of speed, or the primary engine will tear itself apart, according to the Chief Engineer,” said the Engineering watch-stander.
“Starboard shield generator has sustained heavy damage, and the computer has initiated an emergency shut down,” reported the Lieutenant in command of that department.
Druid glared at the shield officer before looking at the rest of the bridge crew. “We’re dead in the water and without shields, is that what you’re telling me?” he demanded harshly.
None of the other officers would meet his gaze, instead focusing on their consoles, and the battle they were still very much in the middle of.
“I’m reading multiple small explosions on the hull of Battleship #1,” reported Tactical.
“Blast it, turn the ship and get our other side pointed at #3,” Druid growled, sitting down heavily in his chair.
“If we do that, we’ll be putting our most heavily damaged side toward the enemy,” the Tactical Officer pointed out. “And we don’t have a lot of functional lasers over there either, Commodore.”
Druid squeezed the sides of his command chair until he thought something was going to break, either his hands or the arm rest. Wherever he turned, the Power was about to quit. Yet they were so close to coming out the other side of this fur-ball…but it just didn’t look like it was going to be enough! If only his battleship was just a little less damaged, or the Supership had been an actual warship.
“A good point, Tactical—” he started, but was cut off.
“Battleship #2 just fired on Battleship #3,” yelped Tactical, “full broadside right into the unshielded facing of the Harmony Battleship.”
“What?!?” Druid blurted.
“They just hit her engines, too!” reported Sensors.
It looked like the battle was right back onto anyone’s game to win.
Chapter 53: Akantha in Control
“What do you mean ‘we cannot fly this ship at the enemy’?!” Akantha shouted.
“I’ve never flown anything bigger than a shuttle before my Mistress,” the shuttle pilot sitting at the Helm of the new Battleship she had just conquered replied, cringing as he spoke. “I could blow up the engines, or crash us into an asteroid or enemy ship if I do something wrong and get too close.”
Stomping over to the command chair, Akantha picked up the Droid Overlord that had been Lord of this Battleship—until she had conquered it—and kicked it away.
Turning around, she sat down and bestowed a glacial look upon the shuttle pilot pressed into service at the helm of this foreign battleship.
“This goes for all of you,” the Hold Mistress said continuing to look at the reluctant Helmsman but also speaking to the rest of her followers on bridge. “Despite facing minimal opposition, we have been out of the battle for too long. We will fight this ship. We will aid our allies and sworn sword-brothers, and we will not hesitate for fear of making mistakes. I expect everyone to do their best and not make excuses. Now,” she paused, glaring as she thrust her finger at the image of the battleship nearest them—the one with only one side still shielded, and not the side facing them. “That ship offends me, and when something offends me I want to see it destroyed. Who will help defeat that battleship?” she demanded.
As one voice, the Tracto-an warriors in her war band roared their approval.
“Now, forward: full speed ahead and keep the side of the ship that can fight pointed at the enemy!” she shouted.
With a visible gulp, the shuttle pilot turned back to the helm.
Chapter 54: On the Bridge of the Phoenix
“The Parliamentary Power is faltering, Captain,” reported Sensors, “her main engine is damaged, multiple decks open to space, she just lost her shield generator on the starboard side and her broadside has been degraded to less than half her original throw weight.”
Then Battleship #2 had opened fire on the enemy battleship.
Laurent wiped sweat from his brow as another explosion rocked the blasted doors leading into the Imperial Strike Cruiser’s bridge. It rocked them, but for the moment they held—although for how much longer he couldn’t tell.
Then before his disbelieving eyes Battleship #2 activated its engines and started thrusting at full power towards the still enemy controlled Battleship #3.
“It looks like some of our boarding party survived and have taken full control of that battleship,” Laurent crowed and then another blast, this one even more powerful than any of the previous ones, shook the bridge. When he looked over, the blast doors were bowed, bent in, and literally cracked. Not just with a small little crack either—this one ran all the way from the top to the bottom with a large line of broken metal splitting off to the side.
On the screen, the rampaging, captured Battleship continued to fire into the unguarded side of #3, tearing into her hull and ripping large gashes in her exposed flank.
“Battleship #1 is opening fire on #2,” reported Tactical with an uneasy glance at the blast doors.
Then the captured battleship crossed the stern of the damaged #3 and fired right into her engines. Shields already damaged from the prolonged battle with the Parliamentary Power glowed, and then buckled as they were penetrated.
“All engines on the enemy battleship are neutralized,” reported Tactical, “and the newly-arrived United Sentient’s Assembly mother-ship is still pulling back along with her fighters and gunboats.”
“That only leaves one enemy battleship that’s mobile,” Laurent said, wishing he could feel a sense of hope.
“How long do you think the doors can hold, sir?” Lieutenant Steiner asked in a quiet voice.
Laurent just shook his head, not finding it wi
thin himself to tell some kind of lie or morale-raising tall tale. If he were the much-vaunted Little Admiral, no doubt he’d do so without skipping a beat, and would somehow then found a way later on to make good his promise. But despite his best efforts, Laurent was no Admiral Montagne. A competent Captain, perhaps, but…
“Sir, the captured battleship is turning but still moving forward without slowing down,” reported Sensors, sounding bewildered.
Laurent looked up at the course and heading; the captured battleship, still firing for all she was worth at any enemy ship she could range on, was going to leave the battle space pretty soon if they didn’t slow down or come about.
He shook his head, not knowing what was going on over on that ship’s bridge.
“The Admiral!” exclaimed Steiner. “We just got a message from the head of the Armory; Officer Gants reports they just fought their way to Medical and they have the Admiral with them, sir!”
Looking around, Laurent could see, and all but feel, the great sigh of relief and hope the bridge crew felt at the knowledge that their ‘Little Admiral’ had survived and wasn’t yet lost to them.
Wanting to shake his head at the level of belief the officers and crew on the bridge put into one man, he couldn’t help feel envious, knowing that in all likelihood he would never have a crew that thought Captain Laurent could do anything, or by his mere presence make everything better and win battles.
“What’s the, Admiral’s status?” he asked putting some genuine curiosity into his voice.
“Preliminary report from medical says he was banged up but that he’s going to be alright,” Steiner said.
Laurent nodded.
“Uh, Captain,” Sensors said hesitantly, “the captured battleship just made a wild change in course.”
“Where’s she going?” Laurent asked and then he blinked; looking at the screen, there was only one place the battleship could be going now—it was pointed straight at them. For a brief moment he started to feel hope. The Admiral was back, and potential relief was on the way.
Then another explosion rocked the blast doors, sending shards cutting into the bridge from the force of the explosion and destroying the right side of the doors, making an opening onto the bridge.
The remaining Lancer quads rallied to the doorway and Laurent picked up his sidearm. It looked like, in all likelihood, those reinforcements were going to be too late.
“Everyone with a sidearm: rally to support the Lancers. Those of you without sidearms: hold your positions and yourselves ready. When you see a weapon on the ground, pick it up and help defend the bridge!” Laurent barked. And then, putting words to action, moved toward the Lancer positions, firing his blaster every step of the way.
Chapter 55: Akantha out of Control
“What do you mean, ‘you can’t turn us around to finish her off’?!” Akantha stomped over to the beleaguered helmsman, “we struck the crippling blow. We must turn back and finish her off!”
“I told you that I don’t know how to drive a battleship—I’m a shuttle pilot, in the name of all that’s holy,” protested the shuttle driver. Then his eyes desperately roamed the helmsman console before settling on something. For a moment he blinked with surprise and then he spoke quickly, “However, if we continue in the direction we are going, with only a few minor course corrections, we will pass the Furious Phoenix and the two Heavy Cruisers that seem to be boarding her.”
“My Phoenix is being boarded by the enemy?” Akantha stiffened and, after confirming that there was indeed an enemy cruiser on either side of the Strike Cruiser, “take us there with all haste and ensure that this time we do not overshoot our target, else it will go poorly for you.”
“I am working a job beyond my training; we’re fortunate not to have crashed into anything as it is! Don’t blame me for a job you thrust upon me,” argued the shuttle pilot.
“I do as I will, and will not be upbraided by the likes of you,” Akantha said severely.
The pilot took one look at her face and gulped, quickly turning back to his console and the work he still had there yet to do.
Within minutes the captured battleship had arrived in the vicinity of the cruisers. Slowing down as safely as he could, the pilot navigated them around behind the three ships which were all aligned the same direction.
“Bring us around behind the cruisers,” Akantha ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the pilot replied.
“Enemy cruiser on the port side is beginning to cast off,” reported the woman at sensors, “and now the starboard cruiser as well is starting to pull away.”
“Fire on the port cruiser before it can flee,” instructed Akantha, “target their engines and destroy them!”
Because they had been hard-docked with the Phoenix, neither cruiser had been able to raise its shields until it was far enough away from the Furious Phoenix that the Strike Cruiser was outside its shield radius.
“Order the slaves to fire!” Akantha ordered as soon as they had a clear shot up the bow of the first Heavy Cruiser.
“Slaves: fire on the instructed cruiser,” ordered Isis from her position at Tactical and into the microphone leading down to the gun deck of the captured battleship.
Lines of righteous wrath—made manifest as laser beams—lanced out from her captured battleship, striking the first Heavy Cruiser in the stern. It was a full broadside attack, and it caused an explosion in the rear of the cruiser.
“Port Heavy Cruiser has ceased accelerating and is now drifting,” said the warrior at Sensors.
“Instruct the slaves to fire on the starboard Cruiser,” Akantha said with relish in her voice. The battleship, at close range, was much more powerful than the Phoenix. It was quite gratifying to unleash that power on her enemies.
“Slaves: fire upon the second Heavy Cruiser,” Isis ordered.
However, this time when the firepower of the battleship at close range flew, it was ragged and much less satisfying as the broadside was stopped by shields.
“They are still moving,” Akantha complained, “hit them again!”
Isis relayed the message and then listened. “The slaves report that they cannot fire again; the lasers need to cool down or the focusing crystals will explode,” reported the temporary Tactical Officer.
Akantha scowled. “Order them to fire as soon as they are able,” she instructed.
Far too long for her tastes, but relatively quickly in the grand scheme of things, the battleship was again ready to fire. Lasers lashed out, striking the fleeing Heavy Cruiser in the shielding over the stern. The Cruiser was fleet, and continued to draw away, but the battleship followed and her pilot turned her each time the broadside weaponry was ready to fire.
The shields began to spot and they even damaged one of the cruiser’s two primary engines but because they had to stop chasing and turn eventually the cruiser escaped into the midst of the jammer field.
Unable to find the cruiser any longer, the frustrated Hold Mistress ordered her new battleship to return to the Phoenix.
“Set a course for the Furious Phoenix and prepare to send a sortie over to assist in driving out the invaders,” she instructed.
As her scratch bridge crew hurried to obey her orders, she wondered if she would be in time.
Chapter 56: The Gun Deck Rumble
“Hold steady lads,” cried Lesner.
Several warrior droids advanced, rolling into balls and scurrying from cover to cover.
“Fire!” he shouted from his position behind a heavy laser mount. Then, sticking his blaster pistol around the edge of the mount, he fired at the nearest warrior droid.
A hailstorm of mixed blaster, plasma, and sonic weaponry shot out—although there were far too many pistols and not enough rifles in the volley for his taste.
The droids returned fire and, while a pair of droids fell, several more of his brave gunners were sent to the deck.
“Medic!” screamed a grief-stricken grease-monkey, grabbing a fallen gunner and hauling hi
m away from the fight.
There wasn’t much further to go before they ran out of gun deck to retreat to. They had been pinned down for the past half hour, and were slowly picked off while a steady stream of droids headed deeper into the ship.
The line was wavering and about to fold when there was a disturbance to the rear. For one heart-stopping moment, Lesner feared the droids had snuck up behind them. If they were caught in a cross-fire they were dead, it was that simple.
Then a familiar voice, normally heard only over the speaker system, brought his thumping heart back into steady rhythm.
“Is that you, sir?” Lesner asked with surprise.
“Chief Gunner, we came to see what we could do over here,” said First Officer Eastwood.
“Reinforcements,” the Chief Gunner asked with a growing smile. “How did you manage to swing that?” he asked as a number of gunners, assistant gunners, and grease-monkeys from the starboard gun deck joined up with his group. There weren’t as many as he would have liked, but they could use every crew member willing.
The First Officer’s face fell. “Survivors, Chief,” Eastwood said harshly, “this is all that made it out. After we lost the starboard side, I figured to see if you lot could use some help.”
Lesner’s face fell but then he tried to nod stoically. He felt near tears as he came to grips with the fact that this was all that was left of the Gunnery Department: a few ragged survivors controlling less than a quarter of one gun deck. It was too painful for words.
“They’re getting ready for a big push, First Officer,” he informed the other man.
“Then it’s a good thing we showed up. It’s time for a counterattack,” said Eastwood.
“That’s suicide,” Lesner said harshly, “the only reason we’ve made it this long is because we’ve been fighting from cover and making them pay for every square meter.
“Look around you, Chief,” Eastwood waved his arm to indicate the relatively small area controlled by Lesner and the port side, “if we stay cramped up here, we’ll die just as surely as if we do so trying to take back the rest of the deck. But at least with my way there’s a chance of success.”
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