Destroyer (Expansion Wars Trilogy, Book 3)

by Joshua Dalzelle

  "No word either way on Dr. Ella Marcum?" Jackson asked. "We'll likely be heading back to New Sierra, so if there's news I'd like to give it to her father in person."

  "Nothing," Uba shook his head. "All the MIAs are really missing. Even some of the crew we couldn't locate bodies for left enough biomaterial for identification. Nothing on Dr. Marcum or her associates. Don't read too much into that, though … highly unlikely the Darshik decided to start taking prisoners all of a sudden."

  "This particular Darshik isn't like the rest, but point taken," Jackson said. "I think that will be all, Agent Uba. Thank you … the Marine escort standing by the lifts can take you back to the hangar bay."

  Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, the CIS agent nodded to the room and walked out, closing the hatch behind him.

  "So what do we do with this information?" Chambliss asked. The other officers were looking at Jackson with a sort of eagerness that bothered him.

  "Nothing to do with it," he said firmly. "As soon as possible, we'll swing back around and fly back to the Columbiana System where I assume our new orders will find us."

  He was well-aware of his reputation and thought he understood what the crew wanted of him … and it sent a wave of anger through him, making his ears burn. Despite what was said of him, he was not some loose cannon that gave the finger to orders and regs whenever it pleased him. When he ignored orders to pursue the first Phage Super Alpha, the circumstances were entirely different than the ones he found himself in now: They had already made contact, established hostile intent, and saw a clear and imminent danger to Terran-held worlds.

  The second time he had blatantly ignored orders had been to pull his destroyer, the Ares, out of formation because Admiral Marcum refused to budge when new evidence was presented that showed they were about to toss a lot of lives and ships away for nothing. He'd gambled that he was right and in the end he'd been vindicated when the Ares had found the Phage core mind and managed to destroy it.

  Of the two incidents he felt completely vindicated in the former, but acknowledged that he'd been in the wrong during the latter despite the outcome. While he shouldn't be surprised by it, he despised the rogue label that had been applied to him ever since, almost as much as the bigoted Earther slur that had followed him most of his career. Every decision he made had been him doing his very best to do the right thing. Sometimes what was right didn't necessarily align with what was correct.

  "We need a chance to regroup and look at this mission more objectively," he insisted. "Former President Wellington put this together, rushed us through space trials and crew quals, and gave us the near impossible task of tracking down a single ship that doesn't want to be found. These decisions were made in the wake of a planetary invasion … maybe it's better that cooler heads take their time to revise the strategy. I want to end this more than anyone, and I still think cutting the head off the snake will take the fight out of the Darshik fleet … but this mad rush is a recipe for disaster. Everyone but Commander Chambliss is dismissed."

  "Did you really mean what you just said, sir?" Chambliss said as the last grumbling officer walked out and clanged the hatch shut behind them.

  "Fuck no!" Jackson swore and pushed his chair back violently, causing Chambliss to nearly jump out of his skin. "If anything I want to fly this ship into Darshik space and begin blowing up the strategic targets Celesta Wright mapped out and wait for that son of a bitch to come to me. But … the younger officers can't think like that."

  "I understand and agree completely, sir," Chambliss said. "But what happens if we get ordered to dock back at New Sierra … we'll be completely out of the fight when this asshole strikes again and I think we both know it's just a matter of time."

  "That's a good point," Jackson said, rubbing his chin. "If we stay underway, at least we'll be in position to do something if CENTCOM changes our orders." He turned away, looking out over the hull gleaming under the floodlights they illuminated the ship with while she was running in uncontested, friendly space.

  "Maybe we should take advantage of the com carrier in this system to get word back to Admiral Wright about our intentions, sir," Chambliss said. "If she's in the loop, maybe she can preemptively craft our new orders to ensure we're not sidelined."

  "You're a devious man, Mr. Chambliss." Jackson turned and smiled. "I like the way you think."

  5

  The Forge was an ancient construct. It had been bought and sold a few dozen times and refitted countless more over its two-hundred-and-seventy-year history. Currently it was serving as a feeder production facility for the Tsuyo-Barclays and HEI Ironworks shipyards that were further down near the planet of Columbiana, the seat of power for the New America enclave in the system of the same name.

  Starship production had been ramping up as quickly as capability allowed since the middle of the Phage War and hadn't slowed a bit since the Darshik arrived on the scene. The Forge was tasked with laying out the hulls for six different classes of Federation military and merchant starships. Once the hulls were completed, inspected, and tested, they were moved out to a staging area in orbit over the largest moon of the sixth planet. From there the hulls were towed down to one of the two massive shipyard complexes as needed so the ship could be completed and turned over to Starfleet.

  It was nice, dull work … and that's just the way Der Kabalari liked it. He was a retired shuttle pilot that had survived the Battle of Nuovo Patria on one of the Fourth Fleet destroyers that had been in the thick of it. After the largest battle in human history, and now that he was a civilian, he appreciated the monotony of his new career. The work of a tug driver was easy enough for a former combat pilot and the pay was sufficient that, when combined with his military pension, allowed him to afford a small place planetside that had its own yard and—no bullshit—real grass.

  "Which one is this guy?" Der asked over the open channel.

  "How the hell would I know? What hull are you in front of?"

  "It's one of those new Orbital Authority ships … the ones that look like the old Starwolf-class," Der said.

  "I don't even know what that means. Just read me the damn number from the ident tag!"

  "No need to be a prick about it," Der mumbled without keying the mic. He activated the tug's scanner that fired a low-power IR laser, automatically finding the identification tag, and displayed the hull's info on his multifunction display.

  "Alpha alpha seven eight—no, three—one niner."

  "So that was alpha alpha seven THREE one nine?"

  "That's what I said," Der said shortly. He hated the little bastard they'd put in charge of depot movements. The lady that ran the Forge's docking control was nice enough and had been prior service so they got along well, but anytime he had to come get a hull to pull down to one of the yards it was always a chore.

  Once he pulled the hull out of its orbit he would bring it around and accelerate it along the course Depot Control gave him and then let it go. It would drift through the system and then be grappled down closer to the yards by another group of tugs. It saved them the time and fuel of dragging it the whole way down there.

  "Go ahead and grapple on and then stand by for your move ticket. It shouldn't be mo—." The little bastard's voice cut off mid-sentence. It stopped the exact instant a flash behind him lit up the whole cockpit. He hit the jets and spun the tug around just in time to see the last wisps of flames disappear about where the Forge was supposed to be. He looked down and saw that he had no status coming from the facility, not even the navigation beacon.

  "Forge Control, Tug Delta-Two, how copy?" he said over the open channel. He repeated his call twice more on the local emergency frequency before he saw other flashes, this time closer. He spun about and saw that all the gleaming hulls lined up were taking hits. The high-speed chunks of alloy from what used to be the Forge were exploding into brilliant sparks as they hit the thick armor. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened: The Forge had exploded somehow. He slammed the c
ontrols down to send the tug shooting backwards between the two hulls lined up on either side of him, intent on getting behind them and out of the way of the incoming debris. One hit from even a smaller chunk at that speed and he'd be a dead man.

  "Mayday, mayday, mayday," he called over the system-wide emergency frequency. "This is Tug Delta-Two in orbit around Varanda Moon … The Forge has exploded, repeat, the Forge has exploded. No idea on damage, no idea on survi—what the fuck is that?!"

  The strangest ship he'd ever seen glided so close to his position that it was actually visible to the naked eye. The front half of the ship was angular and swooped down to a sharp point, but the back half was a strange mishmash of framing spars, drive components, and weapon placements that looked like they were attached as an afterthought. He'd heard all the rumors among the active Fleet crews rotating through the shipyards and had no doubt that this was the same Darshik ship that Captain Celesta Wright had tangled with over Juwel. What the fuck was it doing so deep in Terran space?

  As the tug's multi-spectral optics automatically focused on the only moving object near him—other than the debris still pelting the hulls around him—he could make out a bit of hull damage that had been hastily repaired and the signature hash marks down the prow.

  "Tug Delta-Two … we have the explosion near your location on sensors," a call came over the system-wide channel twenty minutes after he'd made his mayday call. "Please verify that the Forge has suffered catastrophic failure."

  Der began to sweat profusely. It wasn't some system failure; it was an enemy ship that took out the Forge. They needed to be alerted … but as soon as he transmitted again he would give away his position and the son of a bitch was sitting right there.

  "Thought I'd left all this shit behind," he sighed. "It's just not fair … finally get my house and now I'm going to die in this piece of shit tug." He flicked the switch on the throttle for his mic.

  "This is Tug Delta-Two … Darshik ships have taken out the Forge," he said. "Repeat, Darshik warships are in the Columbiana System!" He let go of the switch, wanting to minimize his transmit time, but the Darshik warship was already turning towards him and angling closer to the formation of hulls.

  He knew he couldn't outrun the big bastard with his little tug, but he'd be damned if he just sat like a bug waiting to be stepped on. Der spun the tug around and zipped behind the second row of hulls, dropping down and behind them to race back the way he hoped the Darshik wouldn't expect: away from Columbiana. The tugs they used out here had miniature fusion powerplants that fed the ionic jets for normal flight and the larger MPD engines for when they needed to break a heavy load out of orbit. Der reached over and flipped the covered switch up to begin generating plasma in the MPD chambers, doubting he had enough time for it to make a difference.

  "Are we hearing this right?"

  "Yes, sir. Apparently the Darshik have just taken out the Forge."

  "Coms! Are we getting any orders from Columbiana Orbital Control or the Fleet office to move for intercept?" Captain Michael Barrett said, not getting up from his seat on the bridge of the Aludra Star. The ship was in the system preparing for his proof of concept demonstration for Starfleet when they began receiving calls over the emergency channel about exploding orbital facilities and Darshik warships.

  "Negative, sir," his coms officer said.

  "Sound general quarters! Set condition 2SS!" Barrett barked, startling the crew. "This is not a drill. Tactical, I want live munitions loaded ASAP and I want the Star ready to fly and fight within the next hour. Move it, people!"

  "Engineering is bringing the reactors to combat levels!"

  "Munitions backshop is removing the hard safeties from all missiles, laser batteries are charging!”

  The calls from Coms and OPS came fast and furious as the crew responded quickly to his orders. Most of the crew was still the same group that had been battle-hardened under Jackson Wolfe during the battle for Juwel. Now it was up to him to earn their trust the same way Wolfe did, but so far he was more than impressed with how they responded to unexpected situations.

  "Coms! Get ahold of somebody on Columbiana and find out who the hell is coordinating the defense of the system, please," Barrett said.

  "There seems to be a lot of confusion, sir, but it looks like the Fourth Fleet ships in the system are now all flying towards Columbiana to form a picket line," the com officer said.

  "And the two irreplaceable shipyards that are orbiting the fourth planet?" Barrett asked, incredulous that all Fleet assets would pull back and leave the facilities unprotected. From a strictly strategic standpoint, they were easily the most vital thing in the system, the lives on the capital planet notwithstanding.

  "Fourth Fleet Command is saying they don't have the assets to protect both and that the capital is the priority," the OPS officer said. "General orders are coming over the Link now … they also have no confirmation that any Darshik are actually in the system, much less a location or potential target."

  "Oh for … the shipyards are the next target," Barrett said, forcing himself to remain calm, cool, and professional … the man in charge with all the answers. "That's the only logical place to strike next after hitting the Forge. Is Fourth Fleet Command ordering us into their defensive picket line?"

  "No, Captain," the com officer spoke up. "First and Seventh Fleet ships are not being ordered anywhere at this time."

  "OPS! Plot me a course that takes us out past the Tsuyo-Barclays complex," Barrett ordered. "Tactical, full active sensors and begin sweeping for returns that are consistent with what we have for Darshik ships in the database, including the Specter that the Icarus ran into. Helm, once you get your course you are cleared to engage the main engines: all ahead flank."

  "All ahead flank aye!" the helmswoman said.

  "Coms, tell Flight OPS I want the launch bays closed and secured as quickly as they can manage it. Suspend recovery operations for now and order the sleds we still have out there to loiter," Barrett said.

  "Aye, sir."

  Moments later, harsh booms reverberated through the hull as the massive armored doors slammed shut over the shuttle launch bays. Adrenaline spiked through Barrett at the realization that he was about to take a starship into combat as its captain for the very first time … and his assault carrier was vastly overmatched when compared to the Specter. The Aludra Star surged ahead on the power of her magnetoplasma main engines on an arcing course that would pull them up out of Columbiana's orbit and off towards the vulnerable shipyards.

  "Coms, try to get in touch with someone on both shipyard complexes and warn them we believe they're at risk for imminent attack and give them our ETA," Barrett said. "OPS?"

  "ETA … seventeen hours including our decel burn," the OPS officer said.

  "Also make sure they're aware this particular ship is very stealthy and can perform much more accurate intrasystem warp hops than a standard Darshik cruiser," Barrett finished his order.

  "Aye, sir," the coms officer said. "Getting the contact channel information for both complexes now."

  Seventeen hours … by the time they got there it was possible two of the most important Federation shipyards would be tumbling from the sky. Barrett had heard of the attack on a highly secret research station out in the middle of nowhere and now they were looking at an attack on critical infrastructure and military production capability. Where were these assholes getting such accurate intel about Terran vulnerabilities?

  "Fourth Fleet Command is sending us a message asking if we're leaving the system, Captain. How should I respond?"

  "The truth, Ensign," Barrett said. "Tell them we're moving to defend the two shipyards higher up the well. We'd be of minimal use in orbit over Columbiana."

  "Aye, sir," Ensign Wu said and slipped her headset back on.

  "Do the shipyards have any defensive capability?" the XO, Commander Simmons asked. He'd remained aboard the Star when Barrett had been named as her replacement CO. Jackson Wolfe had spoken highly of h
im and Barrett trusted his former captain implicitly when it came to judgment of other officers.

  "Minimal," Barrett replied. "This system is Fourth Fleet's home base so normally there would be a large concentration of warships loitering in the orbits between third and fourth planets, but Starfleet is spread so thin that anything in the area will either be unarmed or not even spaceworthy … certainly nothing that could put up a meaningful defense."

  "Yes, sir," Simmons said. The commander seemed neither fearful nor anxious about the coming engagement. Instead, he projected the calm aura of a professional that was both confident and competent. He knew better than Barrett how overmatched the Star was, but nothing about his demeanor would suggest that he had any doubts about his CO's decision to rush into battle.

  "It's too bad we aren't carrying live munitions on the sleds during these final stages of testing your new tactics, Captain," Simmons went on softly. "The bastard may see the Star coming and recognize her."

  "And then step right into a trap when its overconfidence brings it close to finish us off," Barrett finished for him with a nod. "It's too bad the sleds are loaded with dummy munitions. Otherwise this would be a hell of a proof of concept for CENTCOM."

  "Yes, sir," Simmons said with a smile before raising his voice. "Tactical, please put weapon statuses on the main display as munitions gets our missiles ready to fly."

  "Aye, sir."

  "XO, let's go ahead and start rotating people out so that everyone is fresh and ready when we get within the operations area," Barrett said.

  "Yes, sir," Simmons said. "I was about to ask if you'd like us to go to split shifts."

  "I'll leave the details to you, Commander," Barrett said. "In the meantime, you have the bridge. I'll relieve you in five hours so you can grab some rack time. I'll need you here when we're closing in on the shipyards."

  "I have the bridge, aye."

  Barrett nodded to his XO and walked quickly off the bridge and towards his quarters. He was immensely thankful that Simmons was enough of a professional that there had been no friction when Barrett was promoted over him and given command of the ship he'd served on for years. In their initial discussions, Simmons freely admitted that he had aspirations of command one day, but that he understood Barrett's service record meant that CENTCOM was going to be looking to put him in command of his own ship soon and the Aludra Star's seat happened to open up first.