by B. V. Larson
The holoplate’s icons flashed into detonation, and the Archer rattled with the dimensional bleed-over. The predicted path of the attack squadron passed through Revenge’s location. “Emerge!”
“Emerging.”
The holoplate and other sensor displays updated slowly due to the spreading radiation of the fusion blasts. “Any attack ships left? Find them!” Engels snapped.
“It is difficult,” said her sensors officer.
“We’re looking straight at Lockstep’s fusion flare ourselves, now, trying to pick out any survivors,” explained Zaxby.
“Of course, but we should be able to see their flares if they’re still accelerating in pursuit.”
“Sensors show no flares.”
“Helm, ninety degree course deviation spinward. Get us some angle so we can see.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.”
The Archer turned away from its course. The new angle eventually allowed them to confirm the good news: no operational attack ships remained. Several were intact enough to have beacons crying for help, but none maneuvered. They’d been eliminated as a threat.
“Set us back on course for the frigates,” Engels ordered.
Zaxby waved at the holoplate. “That may not be sufficient. They have dispersed.”
“Crap.” Engels watched as the icons for the frigates diverged from their former courses in three dimensions, but continued at full acceleration in the general direction of the freighter. “They probably think the attack ships hit stealth mines dropped by Lockstep, and so they’re evading on parallel courses. Now we have three problems instead of one.”
“I suggest we insert soon,” Zaxby said. “Their active sensors are on maximum and they could spot us any time.”
“Do it. Insert the ship.”
“Inserting. Underspace achieved.”
Engels sat back down and chewed her lip, using the time to intercept to think, and think hard. The float mines weren’t actually stealthy enough to lay in wait in front of a frigate pounding away with full active sensors. To catch a target unawares, they had to pop out of underspace at the last moment.
Ditto for her shipkiller missiles. They could be cold-launched and laid like mines, one at a time, but they would also be seen.
This meant that she could only attack one target effectively, and she’d only have one chance. The Archer wasn’t fast enough to chase down the other two frigates from aft. She could launch one chase missile, but it would almost certainly be picked out of space by lasers.
An Archer was a poor man’s—being’s—weapon, meant to pick off the low-hanging fruit of war. It was no doubt devastating against an enemy’s cargo shipping, but it wasn’t meant to fight warships, and certainly not squadrons. It was fragile, and couldn’t stand toe to toe with anyone.
If only underspace engines could be installed on something big enough to really fight—at least a destroyer, or better, a heavy cruiser. That would make it a nasty long-range independent raider. She filed the idea away for later.
Engels spoke. “Ops, project when the enemy will overtake Lockstep.”
“Sixty-seven minutes, Captain.”
“Minimum time to Lockstep’s transit?”
“One hundred and eleven minutes.”
Engels rubbed her eyes through her open faceplate. “So, if we can buy forty-four minutes, she’ll get away.”
“Assuming the enemy does not launch shipkiller missiles,” said Zaxby.
“There is that. I’m hoping they won’t, unless they believe they’re losing their prey. Straker has an Inquisitor aboard, and the rescued prisoners from the camp. Plus, I’m betting somebody really wants to capture the man who keeps sticking his finger in the Mutuality’s eye.”
“Are you sure that’s not wishful thinking?”
“It’s the best I’ve got right now. Helm, set us on a combat intercept for the lead frigate. We might as well thin the herd by one.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.”
The intercept went like clockwork. A float mine left a frigate broken and drifting in space, and the other two began to evade more strenuously, though they still pursued the freighter.
Unfortunately, Revenge ended up following hopelessly behind the other two frigates. Launching her only effective weapon, her shipkiller missile, would merely call attention to herself, and it was important to deny the Mutuality crews any information as to what frightening weapon kept attacking them from out of nowhere.
“Give me a tightbeam comlink to Lockstep,” Engels said.
“I am sorry, ma’am, but that is not possible due to engine flare.”
“Dammit.” Of course, they couldn’t punch a beam through the fusion engine’s interference, as the Archer was directly behind both the remaining two frigates and the freighter they pursued. “Well, Derek, I did all I could. You’re on your own now.”
***
Straker paced the freighter’s cramped bridge, happy that at least it was dry. Engels was going to have a miserable trip home if they couldn’t finish off all their enemies and join up before sidespace insertion.
“She got one, but two of them are going to catch us before we can transit,” said Loco, stepping up beside him. “It’s going to be a gang-bang, and we’re the pivot point. Well, if a threesome can be called a gang-bang... Maybe just a—”
“Save it, Loco,” Straker said. “We’ve got work to do. Let’s go. Captain Gibson, we’ll be opening the far-aft cargo door.”
“Good luck, Commodore. If your tricks don’t work… well, thanks for getting our families out of there. Better they die here with us than in a camp.”
Straker speared Gibson with a stare. “Nobody’s dying today but our enemies, Captain.”
Gibson nodded, his eyes bleak and unconvinced.
Straker led Loco off the bridge. He called for a detail of troops to assist, and Nazario, Redwolf and Aldrik showed up with a dozen men. They quickly donned pressure suits and tromped to the aft cargo bay door.
Strapped to the wall were six shipkiller missiles, newly manufactured by the industry of the Starfish nebula. In the month he’d had to prepare for this mission, he’d browbeaten the Ruxin Premier Freenix into supplying many of his battle needs.
“Seal up and depressurize the bay,” Straker ordered. “Turn off the gravplating.” He quickly input commands into the missiles’ simplified external interfaces.
The cargo bay door in the belly of the flattened freighter opened to reveal the flare of the fusion engine at the ship’s centerline. Soon, the Breakers were unstrapping the missiles and manhandling them into space. They fell into the void, tumbling, left behind by the continuous acceleration of the ship.
They shot briefly through the edges of the drive plasma. Fortunately, like all such weapons, they were hardened against heat and radiation.
In a short time they would become visible to the enemy’s hard-driven sensor waves. On schedule, the missiles’ own engines burst to life, and their SAIs aimed at the nearest of the following frigates.
The jerry-rigged surprise flight of six apparent shipkillers caused their target to veer off, blasting desperately to the side in order to avoid the possibility of destruction. The closing speeds of the frigate and the missiles would give the defender only a short time to try to knock them down with lasers, so the ship increased her survival probabilities by creating a side intercept profile, rather than a disadvantageous nose-on aspect.
By doing so, she’d taken herself out of the fight. She couldn’t catch the Lockstep in time anymore.
Unlike her sister ship, which kept on gaining.
Straker smiled grimly as Gibson reported the enemy action over his comlink. “They’re going to crap their pants if one of those things actually hits them,” he chuckled.
“They’re real missiles,” said Loco as he closed the cargo bay door. “Too bad we didn’t have enough fusion warheads.”
“I wouldn’t want fusion warheads hand-strapped into the cargo bay anyway. Too much could go wrong.”
“Only one, but you won’t like it. It’s crazy. Batshit crazy.”
Loco raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? I like a lot of crazy shit. In fact, crazy is my middle name.”
“I thought it was Miguel. I’ll remind you that you said that, in about…” Straker checked his chrono, “…twenty minutes.” He turned his eyes to the Foehammers reclining on the deck. “Time to suit up.”
“Mechsuits? In open space?” Loco grinned. “Now that’s batshit crazy.”
Chapter 4
Interplanetary Space, Prael System
As Straker was settling into his suit and running systems checks, Captain Gibson came onto his comlink. “Sir, the last frigate is in direct-fire weapons range and they’re calling on us to heave-to. They’re giving us one minute to cease acceleration and be boarded, or they’ll destroy our fusion engine.”
“How long until we can transit?”
“Thirty minutes at least. Should I begin evading? We’re still heading for flatspace, so all we need is to hold them off for that long.”
“No,” Straker said. “Shut off our engines, but make sure you present our top spine to the enemy. Use the gyroscopes so they don’t see thrusters. You have to keep them from getting eyes on the main cargo bay door.”
“Why, Commodore?”
“Well, they said something about boarding, right?”
“Yes…”
“Might as well oblige them.”
“I don’t understand,” said Gibson.
“You will. Put me through to Lazarus right now; I need to talk to him for a moment. Make sure to notify me when they come alongside. And remember to keep the main cargo bay door out of sight!”
“Aye aye, sir.”
A moment later, Lazarus’ voice said, “Commodore Straker?”
“Yes, Inquisitor? We’ve destroyed or delayed all of your ships but one. You’ve lost a lot in this operation. Would you like to cut your losses further?”
“As I understand from the talk going around,” he said, “we’re about to be boarded. That will put an end to your depredations. Even if you murder me, you will have failed.”
“Inquisitor, you should know by now that I’m not a fan of failure. I’d rather not have to destroy this last frigate. Send them away and save their lives.”
The smile in Lazarus’ voice was audible. “You’re bluffing, trying to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat—otherwise you wouldn’t be talking to me. I won’t help you.”
“So be it. Who’s there with you?”
“Conrad Ritter here, sir.”
“Conrad, make sure Inquisitor Lazarus is secured, but give him a front-row seat to what’s going on. I want him to understand that everyone I have to kill is on him. I want him to see how badly he screwed up by setting this trap for me.”
“Aye aye, sir,” said Conrad. “We’ll take him to the bridge and tape him to a chair.”
“Excellent. Straker out.” Straker finished his systems check and switched to local comlink. “Loco, you ready to do this?”
“I was born ready, Derek. You know that. We should have died at Helios, so every day alive’s a bonus.”
“Damn, Loco. You’re becoming a philosopher in your old age.” He comlinked the bridge. “Straker here. Depressurize the main cargo bay and open the doors completely.”
“In deep space?” came the reply from Captain Gibson.
“Affirmative. As soon as our guests arrive, Loco and I are going to suit up and pay them a personal visit. How close are they?”
“Ah…the frigate is matching velocities with us now, Commodore. Cargo bay doors are opening. Did I understand you right—you’re going to try to board them?”
“Yes, we are. Make sure this comlink is secure and encrypted. As soon as I say so, fake a thruster malfunction and set the Lockstep tumbling violently. Tell them you’re trying to fix it, but stall. You’re on a ballistic course that’s taking you closer to transit every minute. From now on, your sole mission is to get into sidespace and head for home. Got it?”
“But we’d be leaving you behind!”
“All that matters is you getting away. We’ll survive, even if we’re taken prisoner. We’re mechsuiters. They want us alive, just like they did before. Commander Engels can mount a rescue. Do your job and follow my orders, Captain Gibson. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your sole priority is to escape. Repeat it back to me.”
“Our sole priority is to escape. But sir—”
“Quit arguing. Tell me when the frigate is at relative rest.”
“Less than one minute.” Gibson waited. “They’re here. They want us to shut down all systems and prepare to receive a boarding party at the main airlock. They’re sending a shuttle. They say to have the Inquisitor waiting.”
“Perfect. Make it look like you’re complying, but slowly. We’re going exo now.”
Inside his mechsuit, Straker rolled to a crouch and ape-walked to the cargo bay door. Rotating to put his magnetized feet on the outer hull, he shuffled carefully toward the rear of the freighter and its inactive fusion engine. Peering around the bell of its exhaust guide, he spotted the frigate.
Despite their completely different functions, both ships were about the same size. The freighter was configured as a lifting body, an elongated and blunted triangle that could enter atmo and set down on a planet. The frigate sported the usual modified cigar shape of most warships, an efficient and flexible design for deep space combat.
The frigate had come alongside the freighter, so the sterns of both were lined up nicely for what Straker was about to try. “Loco, we’re going to leap across to land on their aft hull. Use magnetics and drop jets to get there any way you can, because if you miss…”
“You’ll cry at my funeral. Okay, boss, let’s do it.” Loco strode past Straker, circumnavigating the freighter’s skin until he stood directly “under” the other ship.
Straker followed quickly, and set himself to jump as soon as he could. Loco seemed out to prove he was crazier than his boss, so there was no need to wait or give orders. Straker shut off his magnetics and leaped directly toward the frigate.
A quick drop-jet adjustment kept his aim true, and a little calculated flailing brought him around feet-first. As soon as he struck the frigate’s hull, he reactivated his magnetics.
Loco thumped down nearby. “Woohoo! What a rush. I bet we’re the first mechsuiters ever to do that!”
“No doubt. This is the only time it would work, when someone’s parked and trying to board already. Hope they haven’t spotted us yet. We go opposite directions around the hull until we find their shuttle bay doors. Move!”
“On my way.”
Loco walked laterally around the curve of the frigate’s skin, and Straker headed the other direction. He resisted the urge to fire a force-cannon bolt into the barrel of a laser waveguide twitching in its mount. Two mechsuiters couldn’t take down a frigate from the outside. But from inside…
“Found it,” called Loco.
A moment later Straker spotted the other mechsuit as he rounded the hull of the warship, and he hurried over. “Any moment now…”
The armored doors to the frigate’s launch bay puffed residual air and slid open. “I’ll take out the shuttle,” said Straker. “You get in there and head for Engineering. If this is a standard floor plan, we shouldn’t have far to go.”
“And then?”
“Wreck their reactors if I say so, or if they take me out. Without main power, they can’t hurt Lockstep. Stay in contact.”
Loco said, “They could still launch a shipkiller. That doesn’t take much power.”
“I think I like you better when you’re joking.”
“There’s no pleasing you, boss.”
Straker grinned in spite of himself. “Then I’m doing my job.”
“Here it comes.”
The doors opened completely and the shuttle floated gently out, nose-first. Through the thick crystal of the cockpit canopy Straker saw the wide eyes of the pilot as he stared at the Foehammer, just before the jet of his force-cannon cut through it and filled the interior with superheated plasma. The man ignited in a flash as the boat drifted clear.
The pilot’s dying pain only lasted a moment. Even if anyone inside survived—maybe if they were in a separate compartment and suited up—the shuttle was now unflyable, its controls melted to slag. That was one threat eliminated.
“Go!” Straker said, but Loco was already in motion, rotating his mechsuit into the frigate’s interior. “Straker to Gibson!”
“Gibson here.”
“Start your tumble. Act panicky. In fact, ask them for help. Confuse them as long as you can.”
“Aye aye, Commodore.”
“Straker out.” He followed Loco into the shuttle bay.
Loco had already enlarged the internal hatch into the main passageway aft toward Engineering by the simple expedient of ripping its edges apart like a man tearing at cardboard. The bulkheads were no match for a mechsuiter’s powered duralloy gauntlets. Only the ship’s structural skeleton could resist such forces.
Fortunately, frigates didn’t carry man-portable weapons powerful enough to hurt a mechsuiter. They didn’t usually even have battlesuits aboard, merely a few marines—Hok or human—to keep order and guard the ship in port. The crew should be helpless against a Foehammer’s armored strength.
There was no room to help Loco in his depredations toward the stern, so Straker headed for the ship’s centerline, tearing at the bulkheads. His hands registered mild pain feedback from his gauntlets’ pressure sensors and his HUD showed the pinpricks of hand lasers bouncing off his reflective skin.
He ignored them. A few marine weapons or welding lasers couldn’t possibly do any damage… until a jolt shot an ache into his left shoulder.
Straker had forgotten about the havoc the rocketeer on Prael had caused to his shoulder armor. Now his HUD lit up with red warning lights, and his gatling went offline just when it might have done some good.