Albion Lost (The Exiled Fleet Book 1)

by Richard Fox

  Whoever had sent the Storm to its destruction must have known the ship was doomed and decided to make her last moments count. Gage wished he knew the name of the brave soul responsible, but the battle continued.

  “Reform the fleet,” Gage said. “Someone tell me where that last battleship went.”

  “There,” Clark said as he tapped one of his screens, “near the nexus point to Sicani and with several escorts.”

  The enemy vessels appeared in the holo tank along with an alert message over the nexus. Gage frowned at the readings.

  “Astrogation, care to explain this?” Gage asked.

  “It’s a low-level slip frequency, sir.” The lieutenant peered at her screen. “And I’m getting a weird resonance in our own engines…graviton readings from the nexus are fluctuating. I don’t think we can leave, sir. Some kind of jamming I’ve never seen before.”

  “Enemy fighters in the void,” Price said, “and missiles, all vectoring toward us.”

  “Launch all fighters.” Gage’s hands maneuvered the holo tank as blinking red icons of fighters and larger missiles tracked away from the last Daegon battleship and several of the escort ships clustered around it. The missile tracks moved slower than Albion torpedoes and faster than the spear-tip-shaped fighters…but not by much.

  The Daegon force was several hundred kilometers from the nexus point and nearly stationary. Gage had a straight shot to their escape…but the door was slammed shut.

  Gage touched a fighter in the tank as it flew from the Orion’s second flight deck.

  ****

  Wyman gripped his control stick, appreciating acceleration’s press against his body as his fighter raced toward the approaching swarm of Daegon missiles. He was well trained in interdiction of enemy fighters, but shooting down the incoming torpedoes was going to be a challenge.

  “You never mentioned the enemy using torpedoes,” Ricks said through the squadron’s network.

  “Didn’t see it,” Ivor said. “Our torps—and any other core-world torps I’ve ever heard of—are a lot faster than theirs. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Easy kills,” Wyman said. He maneuvered his fighter alongside Ivor’s and the rest of their new squadron, the Reavers.

  “Stand by,” Ricks said. “New instructions from the Admiral—Commodore—whatever…we’re to bypass the incoming bogies and hit the battleship. Red Arrow squadron will join us. Rest of the fighters might if they can get all the debris out of the way from their flight deck. Primary target is their slip generators. Orion needs that destroyed or we’re not leaving this garden spot. Freak Show, Briar, what does it look like?”

  The squadron banked to the side as Ricks sent out a new flight path that curved around the incoming fighters and missiles.

  Wyman looked at Ivor in her cockpit. She looked at him, then raised her hands and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Edgy,” Wyman said, using Ricks’ call sign, “we don’t know. Didn’t get a close look at their cap ship hulls during the dogfights.”

  “Our slip generators look like nacelles and are on the outer hull,” Ivor said. “I know it’s hard to believe these Daegon are human, but they’ve got to follow the same laws of physics as everyone else. Graviton waves are so weak you can’t detect them through any armor or within a hull. I bet we can find them if we look in the right place.”

  “Let’s go sniffing around that monster,” Wyman said. “Sure they won’t mind one bit.”

  “You have something constructive to add to this mission, Freak?” Ricks asked. Wyman shut his mouth.

  “Slip generators need some shielding from engines,” said a pilot, call sign Tanner. “And offset depending on how hot the engines are…bet we find their generator on the fourth or fifth diamond from the engines.”

  “A concentration of point defense turrets,” Wyman said, “it’s a critical system. It’ll be protected. If we take more fire than usual from an area, that’s a hint. See? I’m helping.”

  “Sure hope you two are right that our guns can get through their shields,” Ricks said. “Else this is about to become a stupid way to die.”

  Wyman looked up as Daegon fighters and torpedoes flew past far overhead.

  “Lot of contacts,” Wyman said. “Sure hope the destroyers and the flak can handle it.”

  “How about we worry about our own problems?” Ivor asked.

  “Red Arrows to the forth diamond, Reavers to the fifth,” Ricks said. “Arrows will work back toward the aft if they come up empty. We work toward the fore. Any questions?”

  “Bogies, coming right for us,” Tanner said.

  Ten Daegon fighters flew between the escort ships.

  “Phalanx,” Wyman said, “we need to watch for it.”

  Cannon blasts came off the outer ring of escorts. Blue light washed over Wyman as they zipped between the squadron.

  “Ready missiles,” Ricks said. Wyman chose an approaching fighter and activated one of his Shrike missiles.

  “Tone,” Ivor said. Other Reaver squadron pilots repeated the word as they locked on.

  Wyman felt a tinge of fear as the Daegon fighters snapped away from each other and their edges glowed bright.

  “Move. Move!” Wyman pushed his control stick down and sent his fighter into a dive. He rolled to the right as a solid beam of energy ripped through space in front of him. He continued rolling and missed the phalanx beam by a distance he did not want to dwell on.

  He pulled up and found the enemy squadron flying at minimal power. He locked a missile and let it fly. A dozen more Shrikes joined his and annihilated the enemy in a ripple of fireballs.

  “Hot damn,” Ivor said. “It worked.”

  “Lost one,” Ricks said. “Vulgar, form on my wing. Get through the picket ships and remember the mission.”

  Wyman fired up his engines and soared forward, snapping over an escort ship firing wildly at the incoming Typhoons. Double-barreled turrets on the battleship opened up, clipping Wyman’s wing and ripping a Shrike from its mount.

  Wyman banked to the side and dodged another blast that would have blown him to fragments. The blast hit a picket ship and punched a dent into the hull.

  “Freak?” Ivor asked.

  “Fine. Just fine.” Wyman accelerated toward the fifth diamond, keeping a few seconds behind Ivor. “Didn’t like that missile anyway.”

  “Not getting any fire from the escorts,” Tanner called out. “Anyone else?”

  “Negative.” Wyman jinked to the side, watching as a turret struggled to keep up with his maneuvers. “Nothing from behind.”

  A fireball erupted overhead. Wyman glanced up and saw one of the smaller ships breaking apart as shots from the battleship chased after Red Arrow fighters, impacting the spreading cloud of debris.

  “Shit rolls downhill in this fleet,” Ivor said. “Think I’ve got something. Freak, let’s cut over.”

  “On your wing.” Wyman followed her over the battleship, its hull shimmering beneath active shields. He ached to strike at the exposed tubes running between where the diamond tips met, but that wasn’t why he was there.

  They crested over the top of the ship…and found another flat hull section.

  “I see it!” The words were full of static as a Red Arrow pilot joined the Reaver network. “Third diamond, forward left—” The transmission ended with a squeal as a fireball erupted just off the battleship’s side.

  Ivor and Wyman turned toward the engines and saw a torrent of fire rising from a cluster of point defense turrets on the Daegon ship. Red Arrow pilots dove at the hull from well above the shield wall, firing their cannons that sent high-velocity slugs through the shields. At their present distance, a direct hit would take a miracle. Two more Typhoons exploded as the defenders found their range.

  “Not going to be easy,” Ivor said.

  Wyman dipped his nose down to dodge a double bolt. He looked at the battleship and saw a hexagon the size of a soccer field on the same hull plate as the defense cluster protrudin
g from the hull near the turret.

  “That’s a shield emitter. I’ve got an idea.” Wyman pulled up and into a loop, then dove straight down on the hexagon. He fired, unleashing the full fury of his guns. Bullets sent ripples through the shield wall as they passed through, then punched into the hexagon. Electricity snapped out like lightning along the base of a thunderstorm. Wyman’s dive took him straight down…and right past the shield layer.

  He pulled up and flew a few feet over the hull on his way to the slip drive.

  “I can’t tell if you’re a damn fool or a friggin’ genius, Freak,” Ivor said as she joined his wing.

  “Make up your mind after this works…or doesn’t.” Wyman put a hand on his manual thruster controls.

  The Red Arrows kept up their attack high above, holding the defense turrets’ attention as the two survivors from Albion closed on the target.

  “Going tail up,” Wyman said, “in three…two…mark!” He pressed two fingers against thruster controls and pressed them up. His tail kicked up, angling his nose down toward the hull. His Typhoon flew perpendicular to the hull and over a point defense turret. A mound rose off the hull as light swirled beneath the semi-opaque glass.

  Wyman fired, blasting gouts of crystal into the air, but the slip drive kept swirling. He flipped an override on his missile system and set the Shrikes to point detonations, turning the exquisitely engineered hunter-seeker missiles into very dumb rockets. He launched the missiles and watched as they closed on a section of the slip drive being pummeled by Ivor’s guns.

  A missile exploded on the surface. The second broke through the glass. A flash broke along the slip drive, then the light faded away.

  “Genius!” Ivor shouted. “I take back every bad thing I ever said about you.”

  The defense turrets exploded. Great gouts of flame billowed out of the holes and died in the void.

  “All craft, this is Edgy. Orion says the nexus is clear. Disengage and get back to the ship or be left behind.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice,” Wyman said as he steered toward the Orion’s beacon and rocketed away.

  Chapter 21

  The Orion shook beneath Gage’s feet as Daegon fighters cut across her bow, pounding her shields as they sped by.

  “Torpedoes incoming!” Clark called out.

  “Redirect fire to intercept.” Gage looked out the windows and saw a trio of torpedoes heading straight for his bridge. Shields melded around the missiles as they pushed through the barrier. A flak turret on the Orion’s forward edge lifted and sent up a curtain of fire that clipped a missile. It tumbled end over end and broke into pieces. The remaining torpedoes’ thrusters ignited…and angled down, right where the command superstructure met the main hull.

  As the two missiles struck the hull, Gage flinched, expecting a life-ending explosion. The weapons were embedded in the hull, and gas escaped around the tipped armor until emergency force fields squeezed around the breach. Debris from the destroyed torpedo crashed against the bridge’s windows, skittering across the glass and around the side. A bit of wreckage hit and left a red streak as momentum carried it along the glass.

  Gage jumped off the command dais and ran to the port window, catching a good look at the object—a severed arm.

  “Those were boarding torpedoes,” Gage said. “Why didn’t they strike at the engines or…Price, send men-at-arms to deck three. They’re going for Prince Aidan.”

  He pointed at Thorvald, who’d stood near the lift doors in silence like a sentinel throughout the battle.

  “Go. Protect the Crown Prince.”

  “I cannot leave your side.” Thorvald shook his head slowly.

  “I do not matter. Aidan is the last of the royal family and you are sworn to him. Now go!”

  Thorvald leaned to the side to step away, but his feet remained locked to the floor.

  “Why are you fighting this?” Thorvald asked aloud. “Our duty is clear.” He raised one foot with difficulty, like a powerful magnet was pulling it down. He broke loose of whatever was holding him and went into the elevator.

  His armor rose up his neck and set into a helmet as the doors closed.

  “Who was he talking to?” the communications lieutenant asked.

  “Helm! Time to slip space?” Gage grabbed the railing on the command dais and vaulted back to the holo tank.

  “Four minutes…if we’re lucky.”

  ****

  Bertram gripped his rifle as the sound of weapons fire echoed through the walls of the Admiral’s quarters. He looked down at Prince Aidan, in a bespoke armored vacuum suit made from the Orion’s foundries, one hand held by Salis.

  The Genevan had her pistol in hand, watching the barred doors intently.

  “Nanny Salis, what’s that noise?” Aidan asked, clutching his plush dinosaur against his chest.

  “Never you mind, young master,” Bertram said. “Just…pipes. Yes, pipes that the lay-a-bout crew haven’t got around to fixing.”

  “Do not lie to the child.” Salis cocked her head to the side. “Is there another access way to this room?”

  “The bulkheads are armored, reinforced, and we have a separate life-support system. The only way in is through those doors,” Bertram said. “And the young master has been through more than enough in the last few days to—”

  “No fighting!” Aidan stomped his foot.

  “It’s not fighting when Mr. Bertram explains to Nanny Salis—who’s been on an Albion warship for all of a few hours and thinks she knows how everything works—that everything is going to be OK.” He looked at Salis and practically growled, “Won’t. It?”

  Rounds hit the outer wall, hammering out dents that sent the painting the Thames crashing to the floor. Aidan clutched Salis’ leg.

  “Do not lie to the child.” Salis’ armor formed a helm over her head. “They’re coming.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t hear any more…pipes. The men-at-arms must have—”

  A yellow circle of hot metal appeared on the wall, wide enough for two men to climb through at a time.

  “Down.” Salis pushed Aidan to the ground, then grabbed Bertram by the throat and used him as a human shield for the Prince.

  “Don’t. Move.” She hooked a heel against Sartorius’ battered wooden desk and kicked it toward Bertram. An intricately carved drawer face stopped an inch from his face.

  The bulkhead within the metal circle jiggled forward as something hit it from behind. After the second blow, it slid loose and a pair of Daegon warriors pushed it forward, slamming it to the deck with the clang of a church bell. Salis shot both the warriors, who collapsed beneath the breach.

  A metal ball flew through the breach and bounced off the metal circle.

  Salis jumped into the air, spun, and landed a kick on the ball, sending it back the way it came.

  The grenade exploded in a wave of light and a thunderclap of sound that fluttered Bertram’s ears. Salis staggered back, shaking off the effects a moment later.

  Blue-armored talons grabbed the edge of the breach, and a Daegon swung into the room. He landed flat on the floor and sprang straight up, faster than Salis could adjust her aim. The Daegon hit the roof and gripped it with claws on both hands and feet. It sprang from the ceiling toward Salis, its arms extended at her throat.

  She fired a round that sparked off the Daegon’s chest. Her free hand shot up, grabbed him by the wrist, and ducked, swinging the enemy down like a sack of potatoes against the deck. She stomped a boot onto his neck and shot him twice in the head.

  A shot from behind hit her in the lower back, leaving a gouge along her armor. She cried out in pain and swung around, firing wildly. A bullet struck the desk and cracked the wood into splinters.

  More of the taloned Daegon crawled into the room, gripping the walls and ceiling like spiders. Salis leaped to the side as a regular warrior leaned around the breach and fired on her. She aimed at the warrior when a Daegon jumped on her, its limbs wrapped around hers, bending at im
possible angles with metallic snaps. The two fell to the ground, Salis struggling mightily but unable to move more than an inch at a time. A taloned warrior snatched her pistol away and squeezed it until the weapon shattered.

  One let off a hiss of Daegon language.

  Claws slammed onto the desk and tossed it against the bulkhead, revealing Bertram, who had Aidan pinned to the wall, the steward’s bulk blocking the Prince from view.

  “You’ll-you’ll not have him!” Bertram stammered. Four of the taloned Daegon formed a semicircle around the steward. One laughed and clicked the tips of his talons together in anticipation.

  “Bastards will have to go through me first!” Bertram tried to bring his rifle to bear, but it was yanked from his hands in an instant. A Daegon snapped the weapon in half.

  “Close your eyes, young master. I’ll keep mine open for the both of us.”

  A Daegon reached for Bertram. Cyborg eyes glinted beneath the faceplate as it came closer. There was a snap, and the warrior’s head exploded, sending a messy smear of blood and blue armor burst across Bertram’s face.

  Thorvald charged into the room and shoulder-checked a taloned warrior off its feet, then swung a fist back into another and cracked its helmet open.

  Salis roared and broke an arm free. She cocked a thumb up and drove it into the faceplate of the Daegon restraining her. Her digit broke through and speared the warrior’s eye. The Daegon let her go and scrambled away from her.

  Thorvald swayed back as claws swiped at his face and shot the attacker in the chest twice. One round shot out the Daegon’s back, sending a spray of black fluid against the wall. The Daegon hissed and jumped onto Thorvald, its talons catching the Genevan by the wrist and pulling his arms apart. The clawed feet clamped onto his chest and ripped downward, renting Thorvald’s armor. He jerked to the side and his pistol went flying.

  Salis snatched the pistol from the air and turned it on the Daegon holding her fellow bodyguard. She shot it through the temple, then shot the warrior with a thumb-sized hole in its mask through the same hole.