Loyalty to the Cause (TCOTU, Book 4) (This Corner of the Universe)

by Britt Ringel

  Vernay batted away the chief’s hand and looked fiercely at him. “I don’t care.” She pointed toward the status display on the weapons station console. “That board will be green before our next pass.” She returned her attention to Gables. “I don’t care how you do it but it must be done.”

  Gables’ expression was pure horror. “Who do you want me to send to certain death, Commander?”

  Vernay looked ready to explode but took a breath and softened her stance. “Look, Denise. I can order someone to go but that’s your job. You’re the Operations lieutenant. I’m doing my job by telling you to get it fixed.” She tapped her own chest. “Blame me, if you want to, but someone is going down that hall and resetting the exchange. Otherwise, we’re all dead.”

  The junior officer deflated but acquiesced. “Aye-aye, Commander,” she said hollowly. Gables stared at the deck for several moments and then turned to Brown. “Chief, you’ll take my place on the bridge while I go down and order someone’s death.” Before Brown could protest, the damage controlman turned aviator turned executioner left the bridge.

  “Let me know the instant it’s been fixed, Chief,” Vernay ordered before returning to her seat.

  * * *

  Heskan guided the fleet into a slow turn designed to buy much-needed time. He noted, with satisfaction, that Wallace had ordered a similar maneuver for his ships. Maybe we hurt them as bad as they hurt us, Heskan thought optimistically. Courageux had failed to complete the maneuver and had strayed from the enemy’s formation.

  The damage to Heskan’s rearguard had been significant but not the utter devastation of the main. Ajax could respond to her helm but had struck her lights. Commander Nguyen in Hawk, the brig that sailed directly in Ajax’s wake, followed her example and darkened his running lights as well. Tigre, the snow trailing in the formation, had also capitulated. Of the five original ships in the section, only the corvette, Fly, remained willing to fight.

  I only have a couple snows and a single corvette out of two entire sections, Heskan thought grimly as guilt began to pass through him. What was I thinking? There’s a reason these captains feared a second pass. The appalling attrition was exacerbated further by Elathra’s inability to offset the horrific losses with damage reports from Wallace’s fleet. “Jack, what’s the status of the Fisheye?”

  “Bad,” Truesworth said simply. “It’s barely able to keep up with the tactical display. I’m getting some shared data from Ravana though. Let me split the center screen.” The screen divided and a rudimentary status display appeared for Wallace’s fleet. Damage markers painted themselves on every ship in each section.

  Thank you, Ravana, Heskan thought gratefully. He glanced at his fleet status display. A Seshafian lieutenant named Covington commanded that snow. Have to remember him, he promised as he brought his attention to the center screen.

  The enemy fleet had not been spared. Elathra’s counterpart, Courageux, suffered massive propulsion damage from multiple particle cannon hits and was wallowing. In fact, three of the four remaining ships in the enemy vanguard, while able to maintain formation, had struck their lights. Heskan noted one of the retirees was Sultan and smiled as he thought of her captain. Sorry, Dexter, old boy, do you still welcome me to this slice of the galaxy? A lone snow, Spite, appeared to have been stripped of the majority of her weapons but stubbornly refused to concede. One section down, Heskan counted elatedly.

  The Saden flagship, Formidable, was marked with heavy damage ranging from the loss of weapons to the destruction of not only her AIPS capability but both of her shield generators. Would she risk a third pass? Heskan wondered. The news regarding the rest of the Saden main was bitterly disappointing. The brigs and snows had taken only moderate damage. We’ve lost two ships, including our flagship, and most of the main section. And for what? A bit of damage to some of their ships and maybe the retirement of that second-rate. Heskan shook his head. Not worth it.

  The status of Wallace’s rearguard looked initially dismal as well. Only one of its snows was obviously knocked out of the battle, with lights dimmed. However, upon closer inspection of the damage markers, Heskan saw that critical systems were hit on three of the remaining four ships. Boosting his spirits further, the most heavily damaged ship was also the largest brig, his nemesis from the first pass, Scepter.

  Heskan leaned back in his chair as he considered the outcome. We have about a section and a half of ships, all damaged. He squinted at the enemy fleet status and counted. They have nearly two full sections. He nodded firmly to convince himself. The numbers aren’t horrible but it’s still my snows and corvettes against their brigs and snows.

  He traced a finger around his console as he reorganized his fleet. Do we have enough?

  Chapter 30

  “Prepare to record,” Wallace said irritably from his extravagantly padded command chair. His fleet had been battered senseless in the last action but the deed had been done. Even though Formidable and Courageux would require months of repair along with numerous brigs and snows, his skill and resolve had smashed the enemy to pieces, including the complete destruction of Seshafi’s flagship. Most important to Wallace was the pounding the insufferable privateer captain’s snow had taken. The imbecile dared to pit himself against a ship of the line and his arrogance had cost him dearly. From the comfort of his C-3 ship, Wallace watched the skirmish play out in a time-delayed optical. Although originally irate that Courageux had not dispatched its opponent outright, Wallace was satisfied when his battle analysts projected the results of the fourth-rate’s third shot from the second lens of her quad GP laser mount. That particular event had pierced deeply into Elathra at such an angle that the odds of a bridge hit were ninety-two percent. The outlander fool insulted the wrong man, Wallace thought smugly.

  “Ready to record, Admiral,” a communications officer replied eagerly.

  Wallace steeled himself with a stern expression. “To the commander of the Seshafian fleet, whoever you may now be. I will accept nothing less than your unconditional surrender due to your hubris of insisting upon a second battle pass. Many of your ships have, rightfully, struck their lights. I will give you ten minutes upon receipt of this message to surrender the entire fleet or I will demand extraordinary terms for your personal lands and family holdings when IaCom inevitably absorbs this system.”

  Wallace motioned curtly at his communications officer and then waved his advisor forward. “Damien, we must send some escorts out to Courageux. She’s drifted completely out of formation and I don’t want her honor impugned because of that man.”

  * * *

  Lieutenant Gables stood at the end of the main hallway on the starboard wing’s only deck. The corridor ran the entire one hundred seven-meter length of the wing from tip to stern. Sixty meters ahead of her, a hellfire existed. The heat emanated not from raging infernos brought about by Courageux’s fire but caused by Elathra herself. During the last combat pass, the links coupling the snow’s GP lasers and particle cannon to her thermal management systems had been severed, and the tremendous waste heat built during the encounter was trapped in the forward portion of Elathra’s starboard wing. The current temperature was well beyond habitable limits.

  Petty Officer First Class Kevin Perritt pointed at the molten abyss and said, “Like I told Chief Brown, we can’t reset the exchange from this compartment. The connections are all severed farther forward.”

  Ordinary Damage Controlman Dana Reed shook her head as she implored, “It’s impossible, ma’am. Maybe my shocksuit could withstand that kind of heat getting to the exchange room but I’d never make it back.”

  Gables stared down the corridor. After a mere ten meters, heat distortion made the path almost unrecognizable. “We can’t give up. The captain is counting on us to do our job.”

  Perritt pointed at his spaceman. “Is it her job to commit suicide?” he asked cruelly. “Tell the captain to strike our damned lights.”

  Gables’ eyes drifted toward Reed. She hardly knew the you
ng Seshafian. Her face, scarcely visible behind the tint of her visor, appeared to be about eighteen years old. Can I really order her to her death? Gables asked herself. Perritt, also a virtual stranger to Gables, was a bellicose non-commissioned officer in the Seshafian Navy. As a prior enlisted sailor, Gables encountered his type several times before. She had done nothing to curb the man’s belligerent attitude in the minimal amount of time she had with her staff mostly because Chief Brown acted as an effective barrier between her and the problem. Even if he is an ass, is that reason enough to kill him? She looked down at the deck. And who will cry for me? She shook her head subconsciously. Don’t think like that, Denise. You can do it.

  Gables tinted her visor to maximum and dialed her shocksuit’s temperature to below freezing. She jabbed Perritt hard in the chest with a finger. “As soon as I get the exchange back online, you notify Chief Brown.”

  Without further word, she faced the inferno and ran.

  Her shocksuit alarm sounded ten seconds into the race as her suit singed from Hollaran green to brown before finally settling on charcoal black. Gables’ extremities felt the unbearable heat first but soon the glow from hell moved into her core. Pumping her legs faster, not thinking about her one-way journey, her vision became obstructed first with sweat and then with tears. By the time she arrived at the compartment containing the only functioning heat exchange control panel, her vision cleared because the tears in her eyes were evaporating faster than her body could produce them. Blackened gloves danced over the panel. The needle of a nondescript gauge dipped fractionally from red to yellow when her modest task was completed.

  Her shocksuit beginning to ignite, Gables turned toward the exit and the corridor beyond. It may as well have been a hundred kilometers away. The junior lieutenant stumbled into an adjacent compartment before dropping to her hands and knees. Near the deck, the heat distortion was marginally less dizzying. She willed herself forward through another portal but the heat was unrelenting. Before she knew it, she was completely prone. From her new perspective, she stared impassively at the stars beyond a shimmering, translucent containment field.

  * * *

  “Starboard weapons back online, Commander,” Brown said gruffly over the private channel.

  “Good work,” Vernay acknowledged and began to turn from the chief but stopped short at his expression.

  Brown looked her squarely in the eye and stated, “Denise is gone, ma’am.”

  She winced at his words and turned quickly away.

  Seated beside her, Heskan was issuing fleet orders from his command chair. “Captains Hayson and Chadsworth, decrease your ship’s speed to point one-eight-C and join with Fly to form a new main section.”

  “What for, Captain?” Chadsworth questioned after a six-second pause. “Shouldn’t we be following the ships that have retired from battle?”

  “Not yet, Lieutenant,” Heskan growled. “You have your orders now carry them out.” He switched over to the general channel and addressed Wallace’s communique. “Command of the Seshafian fleet hasn’t changed, Admiral, and the way I see it, it’s still an even fight. You might not have noticed that, situated as far from the battle as you are.” He gestured to Truesworth to send his response.

  “Captain,” Chadsworth exclaimed in the fleet frequency, “you can’t be serious? I’m not dying to serve your ego in attempting a third pass.”

  “Dammit, Karl,” an angry voice rebuked in the channel, “he’s not doing it to serve his ego, he’s doing it to protect our homes!” The new voice was scathing. “Wallace has changed the game and IaCom wants everything we have. Can you really assume that your status is off the table if we’re defeated? Are you telling me that you’d let this privateer defend your home while you surrendered?”

  Who is that? Heskan wondered. A quick check revealed the speaker’s identity as Lieutenant Clayton Covington. Ravana’s captain again. That man is a lion.

  Chadsworth’s resolve was weakened though not extinguished. “But what else is he going to ask of us, Clayton? I can face death but not a dishonorable one.”

  “Captain Heskan,” Covington asked earnestly, “can you promise us that whatever the outcome, you’ll conclude this battle with honor… with corporate honor? You wouldn’t fire upon retired ships or threaten Admiral Wallace’s C-Three ship directly, right?”

  “Of course not!” Heskan insisted with a wounded voice bordering on indignation. Scratch my idea about Wallace’s ship, he thought. “This is about protecting your homes, soon to be my home. This is about sending a message to Wallace and all the other armchair admirals that Seshafi won’t go gently into that good night. Our navy does not flag or fail; we push on, and any invader who would dare try to take our home better be willing to pay the price we’ll exact.”

  After several moments of silence, Covington stated boldly, “That’s honor, Karl. Look at his ship! If he’s willing to press on, I’m willing to follow him. Every sailor will eventually face his end. We get to face ours protecting our system and everything it stands for.”

  Rumbles of agreement coalesced over the fleet command channel. Finally, when the comradery settled, Chadsworth stated, “Very well, Captain. Sell our lives dearly, sir.”

  Heskan clenched a fist in triumph over his small victory while scanning the tactical plot. Wallace’s ships were scattering in anticipation of the battle’s end. The disarray among his fleet brought a smile to Heskan’s lips. He’s going to be disappointed when he receives my message.

  * * *

  “…situated as far from the battle as you are.”

  The jaw of Wallace’s assistant dropped open. “What? He’s been beaten… how can the man not understand that the conflict is over?”

  Wallace inhaled deeply as he felt his cheeks flush with anger. “He’ll draw this battle out until both sides are eradicated.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Damn that man. Damn that man! Why would a privateer so eagerly insist upon mutual annihilation? Where is the profit in that?”

  “You wouldn’t actually consider a third pass, would you, Admiral? We’d lose our line ships! Our brigs are already smashed! The Unadex Corporation will, undoubtedly, become aware of the results.”

  Wallace stared in cold rage at the tactical plot. The privateer and his nightmare vanguard were still intact. Seshafian ships from the rearguard were closing with the main in an effort to reconstitute the depleted section. In contrast, his own ships were spreading further into disorder. Two snows had rotated away from their section, following orders to sail with the crippled line ship, Courageux.

  Wallace ground his teeth and muttered, “The indignity of it.” He growled at his assistant, “Order Formidable and Courageux to strike. Redeploy our brigs and snows. Form them into two sections. We’ll place our two strongest brigs, Scepter and Superb, in the vanguard.” He searched over the remaining brig on the tactical display before continuing, “Keep Renown in the main section to lead it.”

  His eyes found their way to Elathra again. “We’ll see who takes this battlefield today.”

  * * *

  Heskan’s fleet, just eight ships, formed into a full vanguard and an undersized, three-ship main. He had just issued an order setting them back on course toward the Saden ships as he watched the invaders begin to scramble back into formation. He quickly sent a comm request to Ravana.

  Lieutenant Clayton Covington was a handsome, blonde man, in his mid-twenties. “Yes, Captain?” he questioned with a curious expression.

  “Captain Covington, I need your advice,” Heskan stated as he spoke into his helmet mic. “If we push in hard right now, we can catch Wallace’s fleet while they’re still forming up. Is that against the corporate code of war?”

  Covington dipped his head. “Afraid so, Captain,” he admitted. “Think of these combat passes as an old medieval joust. You can’t tip your lance until the other side is ready.”

  Heskan sighed. He looked around the bridge in disgust, but noticed containment fields appearing near the ceil
ing. “Very well, we’ll wait. Thank you, Clayton, and thank you for your support earlier.” He glanced upward at the fleet status screen. “Ravana is pretty badly damaged. Are you sure you can continue?”

  The young man nodded eagerly. “I’m not giving up, sir.” The transmission terminated on Heskan’s console.

  From outside his helmet, Heskan heard Vernay’s voice. “We have atmo’ again, Captain.” Visor raised, she wiped at her brow while she spoke.

  Heskan immediately broke the seal of his shocksuit and wiped the sweat from his own eyes. Once he finished, Lieutenant Hall stated, “Captain, you should know that Lieutenant Covington is the Archduke’s son.”

  Heskan felt his eyes widen in surprise. That explains the determination, he thought. What happens if Ravana is lost? Will the Archduke still pay me if his son follows me to his death? Heskan frowned immediately in response to his question. You ass, Garrett! Maybe you should be a little more concerned with the lives of the people under you than the size of your paycheck. He looked once more to the tactical plot and promised himself that this was his last battle as a mercenary.

  Heskan stabbed the fleet command channel and ordered, “All ships, line ahead, follow your section leader.” A study of the tactical display revealed the main was now comprised of the snows, Fame and Dart, and the corvette, Fly. “Lieutenant Chadsworth,” Heskan ordered the main’s leading ship, “mirror the van’s moves but maintain your nine light-second interval.” He leaned forward slightly as he commanded, “Diane, come to three-one-one, same plane. Make your speed point one-six-C.”

  The navigator acknowledged as Heskan watched Wallace’s ships intently. As he hoped, two of the three brigs were entering the enemy vanguard. That’s the problem with pride, Heskan thought. You lose focus and let combat become too personal. The taunt issued earlier had obviously struck its mark as the two brigs took station at the front of Wallace’s van.