by Jay Allan
Once the battle began, the gunners and tactical officers would become the arbiters of victory, but now, every man and woman in the fleet waited on the skills of their technicians, the crews that ran the power plants and systems of the vessels of the fleet.
Midway’s reactor was down, completely off, as was that of every ship in the rearguard. It was the most daring part of the plan, the most wildly dangerous. Without power generation, Midway was believable as a cripple…and the ships hiding on the flanks were almost impossible to detect. But the enemy was less than two minutes from entering firing range, and restarting a ship’s reactor took at least fifteen minutes. Unless you were absolutely fucking crazy enough to cold start the things. Which Compton was.
A cold restart was an emergency procedure, one requiring absolute precision on the part of the engineering team. One error, a single tiny slip up, and a ship’s reactor could scrag hard. And then a vessel really would be a helpless cripple, one that had just given its position away with a massive power spike. That is, unless the reactor didn’t just go critical…and turn the ship into a small sun that lasted for a few seconds and then faded away to nothing.
“Thirty seconds, sir. Engineering reports cold restart beginning now…” Cortez’ voice had been calm, firm, but now he sounded nervous. It was difficult to sit and concentrate when you were waiting to see if the ship blew up with ten gigatons of explosive force, something he knew could happen at any second.
Midway shook hard, and everyone on the flag bridge tensed, reaching out, grabbing armrests and consoles. Everyone but Compton. He sat as still as he had been, not a trace of doubt on his face. Then the dimmed lights brightened, as fresh power surged through the ship’s conduits.
Cortez spun around. “Cold restart successful, sir! All systems at 100% power.” The tactical officer turned back, looking down at his readouts. Kent and Kosciuszko report successful power ups, sir. Bolivar too.” A brief pause. “Vladivostok…Kure.”
Compton didn’t move, didn’t alter his stare. But a small smile crept onto his lips as Cortez continued to rattle off ship names.
“L1 and L2 report successful power up. And Belfast.” The excitement was clear in Cortez’ voice. “All ships report successful reactor restarts, Admiral. Squadrons A and B executing respective attack plans.”
Compton didn’t reply. He didn’t even move. He just watched, looking at the screen as the icons representing his ships moved toward the enemy from every direction. He tried to imagine the First Imperium intelligences, how they were reacting to his maneuvers. They wouldn’t guess he’d take such a wild risk, or understand how his people had responded to his leadership, that engineers and technicians working in the cramped confines of fifteen vessels would manage to perform so far above the expected mean.
The odds said Compton would lose at least two or three of his ships to restart failures. But he’d spoken to his people before they’d deployed. He’d told the engineers how crucial they were, how he was placing the lives of several thousand of their fellow spacers in their hands. That they had his complete confidence. And they had responded. Compton had drawn that extra bit of excellence from them, the focus and dedication that made the difference. And every one of his crews had come through.
No First Imperium intelligence would understand that. They wouldn’t determine that faith, loyalty, comradeship could overcome statistical norms. And they wouldn’t comprehend that Compton was ready to lose whatever ships he had to lose, to see his crews consumed by the fury of nuclear fusion if that was what it took to win the victory.
First Imperium command units would expend their ships, send hundreds of their vessels to certain destruction. But all their data would tell them that humans did not respond that way, that no human commander could make such cold, bloodless decisions.
But they were wrong. There was one who could. And they had created him.
* * *
“Approaching point blank range, Captain.” Akiko Fukudu was Kure’s tactical officer. She’d been a junior ensign, fresh from the PRC’s naval academy when Kure had joined Admiral Compton’s fleet, but the ship had suffered heavy casualties since becoming trapped behind the Barrier, and she’d risen rapidly through the ranks. She’d adapted well and proven to be a capable officer, one Captain Coda had come to rely upon.
Hitoshi Coda stood in the middle of the bridge, about a meter from his command chair. It was an affectation, born most likely from an excess of nervous energy, but Kure’s captain rarely sat during a battle. “All missiles tubes, prepare to fire.”
“Yes, Captain,” Fukudu said, an edginess to her tone. Kure was far inside normal missile range, but she hadn’t launched yet, not a single shot. She’d been hidden behind an asteroid, powered down and pressed so close against the frigid chunk of rock that the enemy scans couldn’t find her. And when the orders came, Kure’s crew did an emergency restart, taking her fusion reactor from stone cold to full power in a matter of seconds.
It was a dangerous procedure, and Fukudu had waited anxiously along with the rest of the crew as the ship’s engineers did the cold activation. She’d sat at her station, staring at her monitors but not seeing anything, just trying to ignore the pit in her stomach, waiting to see if Kure disappeared in the fury of a titanic thermonuclear detonation…or if her decks were flooded with a massive wave of lethal radiation. But the seconds ticked off, and nothing happened. Then the power monitors surged, and she realized the restart had gone off without a hitch.
Kure then executed a short but sharp burst of lateral thrust, pushing it to the side of its covering asteroid, with the First Imperium fleet just ahead. The engines fired hard, and Kure blasted right toward the enemy fleet, her missiles armed and ready. Kure’s launchers were packed full…not just with standard missiles, but with dangerously over-powered warheads. A cruiser like Kure typically carried moderate-sized missiles with yields of 100-200 megatons. But the weapons sitting in the tubes now were something new. Hieronymus Cutter had adapted some scraps of First Imperium technology with his own previous notes, and he’d modified standard fleet missiles, more than tripling their yields. The warheads Kure was about to fire had a yield of almost a gigaton…but they were untested, and even Cutter had admitted they were more than a little unstable. But the rearguard was facing overwhelming odds, and Fukudu knew they could only win if they were willing to take some risks.
There was more innovation to Kure’s attack than the yield of the warhead. The plan was new as well. Missiles were typically fired from long range, which gave them time to select targets and lock in. But Kure was launching from point blank range, using her normally guided missiles almost like bullets, firing them right at the enemy ships. Normal missile barrages tried for near misses, detonations close enough to cause damage to target ships. It was too hard to score a direct hit an evading ship from 100,000 kilometers. But Kure was less than 15,000 klicks out…and she was closing hard. And the enemy had been taken by surprise, with no time to deploy anti-missile systems. At this range, Kure was firing right at the enemy ships…and anything hit directly by an 800 megaton warhead was going to be destroyed, First Imperium tech or not.
“Twelve thousand kilometers, Captain.” Fukudu glanced back at Coda. Kure’s commander stood bolt upright, looking straight ahead. “Stand by,” was all he said.
Fukudu turned back toward her board. The enemy ships were reacting to the sudden appearance of the human vessels. They hadn’t activated any point defense systems yet. That wasn’t a surprise—there was no way they’d be expecting a missile attack at this range. But their x-ray laser batteries were opening up, and they were already scoring hits on some of the other ships.
Kure shook hard, and the bridge lights dimmed for an instant. “Direct hit, sir,” Fukudu snapped, her eyes dropping to her screen, reading the automated damage reports as they came in. “Reactor down to 80%. One of the port laser cannons is out.” She paused for a few seconds, but Coda didn’t respond. “Ten thousand kilometers,” she added nervou
sly. The missiles in the tubes were dangerous. If Kure took a hit in the wrong place…
“Stand by,” Coda repeated. His voice was like ice. Fukudu knew the captain had to be nervous, but he wasn’t showing it.
“Yes, sir.”
Her eyes were locked on the display. Nine thousand kilometers. She could see the other ships launching, tiny icons on the screen moving from the ships to the line of First Imperium vessels. Bolivar had launched its entire spread. Kent too. Eight thousand kilometers. But Coda still said nothing. He just stood firm, grabbing the edge of his chair as Kure shook again, harder this time. Two enemy lasers had bracketed her, and Fukudu watched as her board lit up, damage control reports coming in from all over the ship. But the launchers were still operation. And the range continued to count down. Seven thousand…
“Captain…” She was turned around, staring at him, just like everyone else on Kure’s bridge.
“Hold…”
She looked back at her station. About half the damage icons had turned green. That meant control teams were on them. Most of the rest remained yellow. Untouched. Two were red, which meant they were deteriorating. One was a power drain, probably a severed conduit sapping energy from the reactor. The other was a fire raging near the stern…far too close to the engineering core for comfort.
“Six thousand kilometers…” Captain…
Coda didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. He just spoke softly, calmly. “All port launchers…fire.”
Fukudu spun around, pressing half a dozen buttons on her workstation. Kure vibrated lightly as her port launchers fired, sending eight enormously overpowered missiles at the enemy Leviathan directly to the ship’s front.
“Navigation, execute 3g thrust, vector 120.233.072…now!” Coda still stood where he was, but the urgency was obvious now in his voice.
“Executing thrust now, Captain.” The helmsman’s voice was loud in the otherwise silent bridge.
Fukudu felt the thrust, the force of three times her body weight pressing down on her. She pushed against it, held herself upright as she looked over at the captain, still standing in his place, giving not a hint that he felt the same pressure they all did.
“Five thousand kilometers…”
“Starboard launchers…fire.”
She spun around, executing the captain’s orders, and once again the ship shook as the weapons blasted from their launchers and raced toward a second enemy vessel, another Leviathan.
“Navigation, execute 5g thrust, twenty second burst, vector 180.120.080.”
“Executing, sir…”
Fukudu watched as Coda slid back into his chair, just as the 5g thrust slammed into everyone on Kure’s bridge. Her eyes darted back to her display, just as the first target erupted into nuclear hell. Two of Kure’s missiles had scored direct hits, and more than one and a half gigatons of destructive force vaporized the huge battleship. She was still watching when the second target disappeared, victim of yet another direct hit.
“Yes!” she whispered under her breath. Kure was a cruiser…and she had just destroyed two First Imperium battleships. She looked up and down the scanning display, watching the ships of the rearguard obliterate an enemy force that outweighed and outgunned them five times over. The battle plan had sounded insane, crazy, reckless beyond measure. If anyone else had issued the command, he’d have faced a mutiny. But Terrance Compton was a living legend…and that legend was continuing to grow.
Coda turned and looked over at Fukudu. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, indeed, Lieutenant.” He paused, just for a second. “But we’re not done yet, are we? There are still plenty of enemy ships out there.” Another pause, then: “All laser batteries…open fire!”
Chapter Twelve
AS Saratoga
X108 System – “Shangri la”
The Fleet: 91 ships (+6 Leviathans), 21979 crew
“Scanners clear, Admiral. No sign of any enemy vessels.”
Erika West sat and looked out at the main display. It was just as her tactical officer said. Completely clear. Just like every system the fleet had passed through over the past two months. Exactly as Admiral Compton had planned.
“Very well, Hank. I want sensors on full power. And launch two squadrons to patrol the system. No sense taking any chances.”
She stared down at the floor of her bridge, her thoughts on Compton. She couldn’t begin to know what he’d done, how many enemy forces he and the spacers of the rearguard had faced off against. But they had done what they’d set out to do. The fleet had made it to Shangri la without incident.
But the cost…
West had tried to keep her hopes up. She wasn’t an optimist by nature, far from it, but she didn’t like the idea of giving Compton up for dead. It seemed somehow disloyal, and every fiber of her being wanted to believe the fleet’s commander was still alive, out there somewhere. But as each day had passed, without the return of the rearguard, without even a single ship carrying a message, it became harder and harder to ward off the dark thoughts.
She’d served with Compton on and off for years, through the massive battles of the Third Frontier War and the brutal fights of the Rebellions that followed. But she’d really come to know him as well as she did over the nearly two years since the fleet was trapped…and she’d learned to appreciate the true depth of his genius. Augustus Garret was widely regarded as the best naval commander in history, and West knew from experience he utterly deserved the distinction. But his friend and comrade Terrance Compton was rightly placed at his side…as an equal in every respect. She knew history—at least on the other side of the Barrier—hadn’t accorded Compton quite that level of regard. But she suspected Garret himself did.
“We’re getting survey results, Admiral. Yellow sun, parameters within two percent of Sol norms. Six planets, two asteroid belts. Planet four is in the habitable zone.”
“Okay, Hank…let’s go have a closer look. “Forward at 1g.” She was anxious, as she suspected everyone in the fleet was. Two years ago they’d been given up for dead, and now they were approaching a planet prepared for them millennia ago, but the same race that built the Regent, their sworn enemy.
Assuming Almeerhan could be trusted…
West was suspicious by nature, a cynic who assumed everything was a lie or a mistake…until it was absolutely proven otherwise. But she respected the astonishing genius of Hieronymus Cutter, and her experiences with him, especially since he’d transferred to Saratoga, had convinced her he was nearly as skeptical as she was. She found it a refreshing change from many researchers and academics who, for all their analytical brilliance, were so often shockingly naïve.
“We should reach planet four in approximately ten hours, Admiral.”
“Very well.” She had a passing thought that she should go to her quarters and grab a few hours rest. It had been almost two days since she’d slept. But she squashed the thought almost immediately. She knew she’d never be able to sleep. Not when the fleet was so close to its destination.
She tapped her com unit. “Dr. Cutter?”
“Yes, Admiral,” came the almost immediate reply. West suspected Cutter was the only one in the fleet who’d gotten even less sleep than she had since Admiral Compton had gone.
“We’re ten hours out from planet four. It is the only world in the habitable zone…which I presume means it should be Shangri la.”
“Yes, Admiral. According to Almeerhan’s notes, Shangri la is an extremely Earth-like planet. I have made very slow progress in finding specifics on the world itself. It appears Almeerhan and his people were concerned their records might fall into hostile hands. So, Shangri la, its defenses, facilities, everything…it’s all going to be pretty much of a mystery, I’m afraid. I’d advise caution on the approach.”
“Oh, yes, Hieronymus. You can be certain I will exercise caution. Still, I suggest you start thinking about your initial landing party. Of course, I’ll send down a company of Marines first to scout the LZ.”
“I wis
h you wouldn’t, Admiral.” Cutter paused. “I am the most knowledgeable individual with regard to Shangri la. I really think I should go down with the first expedition.”
“Hieronymus, this world was built by Almeerhan’s people half a million years ago. Whatever he told you, whatever is in that storage unit, you have no idea what has happened in all that time. The Regent could have forces down there for all you know. Or even another alien race. It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s more dangerous without me there. If there is some kind of security system, I’m the person most likely able to deal with it.” He hesitated. “Besides, I have the chops to handle it…Major Frasier made me an honorary Marine!”
* * *
“All personnel, we are about to transit into the X108 system. If our data is accurate, that should be the location of Shangri la. And the fleet.”
Sasha listened to Captain Skarn on the shipwide com. She was sitting in her quarters, looking at Don Rames as she did. “It is almost time,” she said, her voice stilted, without emotion.”
“Yes,” Rames said, his tone similar to hers. “As soon as the ship transits.”
“Agreed,” Sasha said. She turned back to her computer screen. The humans—that is what they called themselves—had extensive records. Combined with the memories of the biologic unit Debornan, the computer data had given her a fairly complete record of what had transpired. As expected, the bipeds were enemies of the Regent. They were a danger, and they had to be destroyed. But there were many, far more than those on this single vessel. It was necessary to develop a plan. The Debornan and Rames units did not have sufficient skills or access to destroy the entire human fleet. But they could strike a blow that would severely damage the bipeds. The enemy’s commander was highly skilled, and his tactics had thwarted many of the Regent’s plans. With careful planning, Debornan and Rames could get close to him. An assassination was highly feasible.