“Right,” said Guano, just as a pair of fighters darted in front of her. “Looks like they’ll have to share!”
She squeezed the trigger, but her burst went between the two enemies, the rounds flying off into the black.
Damn. That would have been so cool if I’d hit both of them. Typical.
Flatline fired behind her. Three of the hostile ships split away in a multi-pronged star, their engine exhausts shimmering in the refracted light of his weapons fire. One round clipped one of the enemies, a flash on its port side, but it continued to fly, turning back to them.
Eight hundred rounds left. Really only a few bursts. They needed to put more ammo in these things. In order to “get some,” you gotta “bring some.”
Guano dove her ship as the hostile fighters screamed overhead, their red exhaust creating a striped curtain over her cockpit. She rolled her ship, pulling the stick back into her gut and opening the throttle.
G-forces crushed her into her seat, and for a second, spots swam in front of her eyes. She kept turning, silver exhaust spraying out as she desperately tried to avoid being killed.
The ship appeared in front of her, right as Roadie flew up from below, blasting it into a thousand pieces with a heat seeker. “Fox two!”
Debris sprayed over their cockpit, tiny shards of spaceship smashing against the hardened transparent cockpit. It cracked, blossoming into a spiderweb, her HUD flickering weakly.
Guano nearly choked. “You’re supposed to say that before you fire, you goddamn idiot!”
“Too many G’s,” said Roadie. “Sorry.”
Sorry? Right. She took a deep breath, eyes cautiously examining the cracks. They seemed intact, but... “Hey Flatline,” she asked, “you have your ejection suit on right?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s sealed?” she asked.
“Of course it is, why?”
“… No reason.” She whacked the side of her HUD display, and the flickering stopped. It was difficult to see out through the cracked glass, but she couldn’t fix it.
Then a searing white flash lit up space, turning the hostile fighters half white, half black. Flatline shouted incoherently behind her.
“What? What?” she asked, twisting around in her seat to look.
Friendship Station had broken in half, the white flash her reactors going up. From it, a massive shockwave was heading their way.
“Oh shit.”
Roadie barked in her ear. “We gotta outrun that blast wave,” he said. “The capital ships can survive it, but we can’t. You wanted to race, Corrick, now’s your chance!”
She didn’t need to be told twice. Guano opened the throttle, angling her exhaust toward the ruins of Friendship Station. Her ship leapt forward, crushing her into her seat. The hostile fighters pulled ahead of her, outrunning the blast too. Faster and faster she went. Two kilometers a second. Three. Four.
It wasn’t going to be enough. The shockwave was gaining on them. They needed cover, something to shield them from it. Something to hide behind.
Out of the corner of her eye, a reflection in the shattered cockpit glass. A glint. Something she couldn’t possibly have seen if the glass was intact.
A capital ship. A small one. Destroyer class, probably a little bigger. But they were going too fast; she’d overshoot if she didn’t…
“Follow me!” she shouted, pulling back the throttle, feeling the forces push her toward the glass. “Come on, Roadie, there’s a ship we can hide behind!”
“Are you fucking crazy?” said Flatline, practically screeching. “We have to get out of here! Faster, faster, not slower, slower!”
No time to argue. “Roadie, form up on me, this way.” She swung her craft around, sliding into the shadow of the ship, braking and coming to a dead stop.
“Hope you’re right about this,” said Roadie.
Three, two, one… Roadie slid in just behind her, and then the shockwave passed overhead. The force shook her ship, tumbling it over and over like a rodeo ride, and she eyed the glass with a skeptical eye.
It held. Amazingly. She waggled the stick, aligning herself to galactic central point.
“Okay,” she said, taking in a deep breath through her oxygen mask. “We’re good back here. Roadie?”
“Yeah,” he said, “I’m good. Where are those fighters?”
She craned her neck, looking for them, but her radar had no signals. Only debris. Despite being ahead of her, they hadn’t outrun the blast.
No time to feel smug and superior. The hostile cap ship was moving away from them, toward the cloud of debris that, only moments ago, had been Friendship Station.
“What are they doing?” she asked. “They’re moving in to attack?”
Her computer plotted the course. She saw where they were going and immediately understood.
They were heading to the Midway. To finish off their mothership.
“Come on,” she said. “We have to follow them!”
“Hey?” said Flatline, his voice a little…vague. Distant.
“What?” she asked.
He didn’t answer straight away. Guano took off after the ship, weaving from side to side, just in case they decided to shoot. She pitched the nose downward, and little red droplets floated up, splattering on the broken cockpit glass.
She could hear his breathing behind her, growing a little more labored. “Flatline?”
“Corrick, I…I think I’m bleeding.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bridge
USS Midway
Cannons spoke silently in the depths of space, torpedoes flew out from the ship in waves, and her point defense cannons fired a seemingly endless stream of shells out toward the attacking ships.
Mattis hadn’t felt so alive in years. “Bring the number four gun up,” he said. “Get it firing with the others. We have to hit them in a barrage. Transfer all the heat to one section of the hull, soften it, so the next barrage can punch through.”
“The gunnery crew know how to shoot,” said Commander Pitt, glaring at him. At that moment, he seemed his father’s son, the spitting image of a jackass.
“Doesn’t hurt to be reminded every now and then.” Mattis looked over to Lynch. The guy was getting worse, sweaty and pale, but right now—especially since the corpsman hadn’t arrived—everyone was needed. Commander Lynch was doing good work. “We need every advantage we can get.”
“No question,” said Commander Pitt. To his credit, he didn’t argue the point any further. “Number four gun is up again. Adding it to the barrage.”
All that was good, but they needed engines. “How are those damage control teams faring? Any chance we can move sometime soon?”
“The docking ring debris messed the engines up pretty good,” said Commander Pitt. “Teams are in place, but work is slow. There are just too many sections that are holed, too many casualties. Preliminary reports suggest we won’t be able to get away for some time. ”
Some time was a euphemism for never for the duration of this battle, which, given their present situation, might as well be forever. “We’ll just have to make do,” said Mattis. A sinking feeling in his gut almost squashed his next question flat but, after a quick glance to Ramirez and then back to Pitt, he forced it out. “ETA on the Z-drive recharge?”
“Oh, so now we wanna get out of here?” The anger in his voice was understandable. “Eleven minutes, Admiral. Assuming our Z-drive doesn’t take any damage from now until then, which is a bit of a definite maybe. Regardless, we won’t be able to get out of here for some time yet.”
More of the some time same-same. “Noted,” said Mattis. “Pitt, do me a favor. Keep me posted on that—we might have to get out of here real quick.”
“How could I refuse,” said Commander Pitt, “after all you’ve done to try and kill me with spontaneous, poorly thought through attempts to secure the cooperation of the Chinese flagship?”
A fair barb, and one he didn’t answer. Eleven minutes. He could do this
. “Status on our strike craft?”
“They’re heavily engaged, but we lost some when the station went up. The remainder are damaged or non-combat effective. We’re trying to rally them now, but…they’re heavily engaged.”
“Captain,” said Lynch, the urgency in his voice seeming to cut through the haze of his injuries, “the lead ship. I’m detecting a massive power signature coming from it. They’re loading another mass—something smaller, but still big enough to crush even a cap ship.”
Either they were going to fire on the Chinese ship or on them. No prizes for guessing which one. The attackers would have realized that their engines were out.
“Lynch,” said Mattis, “how many shots of that thing do they have?”
“No more masses,” said Lynch. “This is their last one. I think it’s their emergency reserve. One for the station, one to mop up.”
Made sense. Probably too damn heavy to carry more than that. “Okay,” said Mattis. “They got one shot to hit us, and we can’t move. Analysis: When they fired last time, when did the energy reading reach its peak? How long did it take?”
“Uhh, uncertain, Admiral. About two minutes. But this mass is smaller. It might not be the same.”
“Can you speculate?”
Lynch considered. “It’s possible. I’d have to talk to Modi in Engineering. There isn’t a reading that man can’t find a pattern to.”
“Do it,” said Mattis. “We need to be able to pinpoint, to a couple of seconds, the moment they’re about to fire.”
“Why?” asked Commander Pitt, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Want to know the exact moment we’re going to die?”
“Just find out,” said Mattis to Lynch, then he turned to fully regard Commander Pitt. “So. The Z-drive is getting close to charged.”
“That’s right,” said Commander Pitt, quickly checking his instruments and then looking back up. “The lead skunk’s still loading. No way we’ll be ready in time.”
“That’s fine,” said Mattis.
The confusion on his face was profound. “What’s the play here, Admiral?”
“Plan is,” said Mattis, “to cancel the Z-drive jump again.”
Slowly, carefully, Pitt reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “In God’s name, why?”
“Because,” said Mattis, “this time, instead of shutting down safely, I’m going to blow the energy out the emergency vents.”
Commander Pitt’s eyes widened. “That’ll tear the aft section apart.”
“Yes, it will,” said Mattis. “The aft section that’s already heavily damaged and almost completely evacuated.”
A warning light flashed on Lynch’s console. “They’re nearly finished loading,” said Lynch. “Modi reports the energy signature suggests an imminent firing.”
“Got a better idea?” asked Mattis, his hand hovering over the emergency Z-drive vent button.
Commander Pitt’s eyes told him everything he needed to know. He pressed down on the button, holding it as he readied to shutdown their Z-drive yet again.
“Loading complete,” said Lynch, a slight tremor in his voice. “They’ll be firing any second now.”
“They’ll wait to aim.” Steady. Steady. He had to time it perfectly. Three, two, one… “All hands, brace for impact. Brace, brace, brace!” They couldn’t wait any longer.
Mattis slammed his fist down right as the white flash of the firing filled every screen. The Midway lurched violently to port, forced into a spin, and all around him was the straining of metal. Fortunately, this time, he held his footing, but debris—including the bodies of the living and the dead, and broken computer equipment—flew through the air like shrapnel. Once again, the Midway was thrown around, but she was a tough girl. She bent, cracked, warped, but she didn’t break. At least not in any way that would kill them all.
Their maneuvering thrusters pulled the ship out of its spin. His stomach kept up the gyrations, but through some strange mix of stubbornness and pride, Mattis managed to keep down his breakfast. A quick glance at his commander’s console told him the damage was extensive, but ragged, as one might expect from an emergency blow.
“They missed,” he said, scarcely believing it himself. “Hah.”
“Great,” said Commander Pitt, his eyes fixed on the radar screen, and the huge array of hostile ships still out there. “But now what?”
Chapter Twenty
Bridge
USS Midway
What now, indeed. Mattis had blown his load, twice, and didn’t have any more tricks up his sleeve. The alien ships—he assumed they were alien—kept pounding at them, and they kept firing back, but there were just so many. The stench of acrid burning filtered through the bridge, smothering all other smells.
The bridge was the Midway’s armored heart. If it was that bad here, elsewhere would be hellish. But he had other concerns as well.
“Mister Pitt,” he asked, “how’s the Fuqing holding up?”
“According to sensors, they have sustained heavy damage, Admiral, especially on their forward superstructure, but they’re still in this fight. Their heavy railguns are firing at about two rounds a minute, to good effect.”
That was good. Maybe there was something they could do. “Any chance we can use our maneuvering thrusters to get…” The defeated look on Commander Pitt’s face showed him there was no point in finishing that sentence. “Okay, what about Friendship Station? Can we use what’s left of it as cover?”
“Not enough of it is left to even provide a distraction,” said Commander Pitt. “Our options are very limited.” Yeah. No shit.
“Son?” a voice cut through the chatter. Senator Pitt. “Jeremy, what’s going on?”
This was not the time. “You. Out.” Mattis jabbed a finger at him. “Back to your quarters. This is a ship’s bridge and—” The vibration of a significant weapons impact shook the room, accenting his point. “We’re a little busy.”
“The rear of the ship’s on fire,” protested Senator Pitt, turning his attention to Commander Pitt. “You’ve got to do something. Where’s Malmsteen?”
“I’m in charge here,” said Mattis, jabbing his finger, now, at the far wall, smeared with blood, where Malmsteen still lay. “Like I said. Busy.”
“But son, aren’t you the XO here? Isn’t this your command?”
Another external explosion rocked the ship. Was he serious? Was this really happening? Mattis affixed the stink-eye on the senator. “Senator Pitt, under the US Space Navy Regulations, Chapter 10, article 1081, if a commanding officer is killed in battle, the next ranking officer takes command. Guess who? You may be the cat’s ass back home, but out here, you don’t mean shit. We are on a war footing, Senator, and you are in my goddamn way. I am in command of this vessel at this time. Now get off my bridge, or I’ll have you thrown in the brig.”
Commander Pitt didn’t look happy, his face a sour mask, and the surviving bridge crew looked nervous and bewildered.
“I believe, Senator,” said Lynch, his speech still slurred but his intention quite clear, “you were given a direct order.”
Senator Pitt turned on his heel and, like an angry badger, stormed out of the bridge. Pitt Junior looked pissed, but another wave of incoming enemy fire seemed to snap him out of that.
“Right,” said Mattis. “With that little idiotic distraction out of the way…options. How do we get ourselves out of here?”
“I’m not sure we can,” said Lynch, his tone light but filled with honesty. “We just lost gun four. The crew say it’s jammed. Well, I told ‘em to get in there and fix it, but we’ve lost hull integrity in several sections, and our damage control teams are swamped.”
One gun down. Severe hull damage, surrounded by enemies on all sides and at a significant tactical disadvantage. The Midway was a mighty beast, but even she had her limits.
Well, then, I guess we go down fighting was the only thought that popped into his head as he slid into the captain’s chair.
And f
inally felt at home.
“Get me Shao,” he said, clipping the earpiece back on. “I wanna have a chat with her.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Lt. Patricia “Guano” Corrick’s Warbird
33km from the wreckage of Friendship Station
They were gaining on the cruiser. Guano kept the throttle open and her nose pointed toward it, locking up the massive ship.
“Come on,” said Roadie. “Ready to roll in?”
“Damn straight,” she said. And then the engine spluttered, coughed, and died. All her electronics went out, everything except emergency power, and the ship began to drift.
The damage had caught up to them.
“Dammit.” She initiated the emergency restart, jamming her thumb on the big red button. Working through the process. The ship coughed, spluttered, but didn’t start. “C’mon, baby, don’t leave Momma here all alone in the dark…”
“Contact!” shouted Flatline, some energy coming back into his voice. “I see flashes. Glints reflected off metal, two o’clock high. Three contacts. They’re fighters!”
Without power, without weapons, they had no real hope. “Get ready to eject,” she said, grasping hold of the yellow and black striped handle.
“No!” said Flatline. “Dammit, Corrick, I’m shot, remember? My suit’s holed. There’s no way I’ll survive ejection into vacuum!”
Crap. That was true. She gingerly let go of the handle. Dammit… Dammit. “Maybe they won’t see us.”
“They see us,” said Flatline. “They’re coming around, they’re coming around…”
Guano almost didn’t want to look at the machines that would kill her, but she forced herself, twisting around in her seat. The ship’s drift made it easier, putting her nose toward the fighters, their silver jet exhaust three dots in the distance, closing fast.
The Last War: Book 1 of The Last War Series Page 8