“Anything else?”
“Yeah,” said Chuck, “on the second page. Hang on, I’ll scan it and text it to you. One sec.”
Mattis waited, and then the text appeared on his screen. The more he read, the more confidence came back to him. This was perfect. Exactly what they needed.
“It was signed,” said Chuck, “by someone called Spectre.”
Spectre. That was a strange name. A codename, obviously, and written in the British spelling rather than the American. But the information they’d given was very useful. “Thanks, son,” he said, and closed the connection.
Mattis walked back onto the bridge of the Midway, his shoulders held high and his confidence restored.
Jack Javier Mattis. Has a ring to it, I guess.
Every eye fell upon him as he entered, and he knew he hadn’t exactly inspired them with walking out, but hopefully what he had when he came back would help bring their morale right back up again.
“Retrieve our strike craft,” he said, trying to bring with it the air of command and a confidence that was only just starting to return. “Patch up our frigates as best we can, and lay in a pursuit course for the alien fleet.”
“Aye, sir,” said Lynch. Although the man’s tone was flat. Hollow. He thought they’d lost.
He thought wrong. “Get us to Earth. Don’t spend time trying to track them—we all know that’s where they’re going next.”
“Sir?” asked Commander Pitt, obviously confused. “What’s happened?”
Mattis took a deep breath, jaw strong and back straight. “I know how to stop that weapon.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Lt. Patricia “Guano” Corrick’s Warbird
16 kilometers from the USS Midway
Guano slumped back in her chair, watching the explosion on Ganymede, followed by the flashes as the ships jumped away.
“What happened?” asked Flatline, squirming in his seat, trying to look past her headrest.
“We weren’t quick enough,” she said simply, and took a steadying breath. “Okay. We gotta get back to the Midway.” She thumbed her radio. “Hey Roadie, we have to RTB. The fleet’s gone. No reason to stick with them.”
“Damn straight,” said Joker in her ear. “Guano, I’ll form up on your wing. My port gun was giving me some trouble when I warmed it up. I’d appreciate a hand.”
“No worries,” said Guano. “I’ll walk you in.” The two of them formed up, and turned toward their mothership.
“Why are you so calm all of a sudden?” asked Flatline, his voice tinged with a little apprehension. “You don’t have to do it for me, you know. I’m okay. I’m cleared for duty.”
“I know,” said Guano, trying to get a handle on herself. Even her gunner noticed something was odd. “It’s just, well…” She almost said something but shook away the feelings. “No, it’s fine.”
“You sure?” asked Flatline. “Because if you’re acting weird, and we get into the shit, I don’t want to have to shovel it, you know? I gotta rely on you.”
“You can rely on me,” said Guano, glancing over her shoulder. “I promise.”
“Okay,” said Flatline, rolling his eyes. “If we die, though, this is your fault. Remember the Dead Man’s Hand?”
That was okay with her. “We won’t die,” she said. “It’ll definitely be Frost.”
“Hey,” said Frost over the line, “screw you guys!”
“Sorry, Roadie,” said Guano, grinning to herself. “You can have my gunner if she bites it.”
Everyone started shouting at once, which made her smile even more.
But nothing could hide the faint glow in her rearview mirror. Ganymede, where so many lives had just been snuffed out. While they were joking around and being dicks.
Suddenly it didn’t feel very funny at all.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Bridge
USS Midway
He could have heard a pin drop. Nobody said anything—they all looked at each other, exchanging skeptical glances. Mattis knew it must have been difficult for them, after seeing Ganymede burn, to accept what he was telling them, but he needed his crew to believe him if he was going to pull this off.
“Bring Senator Pitt back up here,” said Mattis. “We’re going to need him.” He added, almost as an afterthought, “And Modi, too. I don’t care what else he’s doing.”
“But sir,” said Lynch, eyes flicking to the door, “we just had the marines drag the senator kicking and screaming out of here.”
“Great,” said Mattis, “so have the marines drag him kicking and screaming right back here. I’ve received new information that might tip the balance in our favor. And that information requires the senator if it’s going to be put to good use.”
Lynch made the call, talking in hushed tones into his earpiece, and a few moments later, a shouting, swearing Senator Pitt was brought back to the bridge.
“What do you want?” roared the senator, throwing off the marines attached to his arms. “Want to show me your latest failure, Admiral?”
Far from it. Mattis glared at Senator Pitt, slowly reached into his breast pocket, withdrawing the half-finished cigar he’d been storing there, took the lighter out of his pocket, and lit the cigar, puffing smoke across the bridge.
“You were right,” said Mattis coolly. That surprised Senator Pitt. Mattis saw his rage momentarily abate. “If your son had been in command, or if I’d made a different decision, things might have turned out for the better. But we’re not in that universe, Senator Pitt. We’re in this one, and in this one, we have to make do with what we have.”
“And what is it we have?” asked Pitt. “A bunch of bloodied ships, a crew that’s three-quarters in the grave with exhaustion and running on adrenaline, and—”
“And,” said Mattis, letting the words hang in the air, “access to a little toy the Chinese have cooked up.” His lips curled up in a wide smile. If only Shao was here to see this. “It turns out that the Chinese aren’t the only ones who engage in nation-state sponsored espionage.”
That drew a lot of attention. “What kind of weapon, sir?” asked Commander Pitt, pointedly refusing to look at his father.
“It’s called a gravity pulse weapon,” said Mattis. “It’s similar to the artificial gravity on our ships in terms of operation, and actually quite similar to the mass driver, but rather than magnetically accelerating masses to high velocities, it emits gravity waves and uses them to push things around. It’s much less powerful and still in the prototype phases—the Chinese built it to attack strike craft, to basically disorientate them and make them an easy kill for flak guns and other things—but, given the nature of the threat we’re facing, I reckon it can be used to deflect the masses we’re seeing.”
Commander Pitt’s skepticism was clear. “How exactly is it supposed to do that?”
“That’s what I need Modi for.”
“And what,” asked Senator Pitt, “do you need me for?”
Now that was the question. Mattis turned to face him squarely, cigar in his teeth. “I need you to talk to the Chinese. We have the access code. We just need the reds to be on our side with this, and okay with us using their weapon.”
“Can’t they fire it?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” said Mattis, inhaling bitter smoke. “Are you in, or not?”
Senator Pitt’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t suppose I have much choice.”
Less choice than he realized.
Modi appeared on the bridge. For the first time since Mattis had met him, he’d started to look tired, little bags around his eyes. “Sir,” he asked, “reporting as ordered.”
Mattis tossed Modi his communicator, open to the plans of the gravity pulse weapon. “Let me know if this will deflect the masses we’re getting shot at us.”
He seemed to like that style, simple, direct commands with no wishy-washyness about them. “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
With that, Mattis turned back to the b
ridge crew. “So. This plan requires a lot of cooperation with the Chinese—and a lot of trust. We’re going to be working with people who are our enemies. When we had the Fuqing, it was one thing, because we were fighting alongside them, our guns aimed at the same things.” The memory of the Fuqing firing her batteries to clear the Midway from the scaffolding jumped back into his head. “More or less. But this time, they’re going to be behind us. They’re going to have all the cards, and if they don’t like the deal we’re about to offer them, we are screwed. For all they know, we’re the ones who iced Friendship Station, just like lots of our folks back home suspect they did.” He took a deep breath. “It’s also against Navy regs. Big time. If we make it through this, we’re probably going to end up in courts martial facing disciplinary action. Anyone uncomfortable with this, speak up now, and I’ll make sure your objections are noted in my log.”
Nobody said anything for a moment. That was okay. Mattis let them have time to digest what he was saying. Throwing away one’s career was an action not taken lightly.
“With respect,” said Commander Pitt, “Admiral, humanity is a brotherhood. Like family. I can talk all the shit I want about my brother, but if someone else does? That’s not ok. The Chinese know this.”
Mattis nodded firmly. Nothing like a common enemy to bring everyone together. “You okay with this?”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned his gaze to Commander Lynch. “How about you, Commander?”
“Those aliens are threatening Earth,” said Commander Lynch, his accent slipping out once again. “Them’s fighting words. Earth is where Texas is. Ain’t nobody mess with Texas.”
“Very good, Commander.” He looked to Modi, hunched over in the corner, writing on a notepad, Mattis’s communicator balanced precariously on his arm. “Mister Modi?”
“Mmm.” He didn’t even look up.
“That’s…a yes?” asked Mattis.
“I concur with everything you, and Mister Lynch, have said.” He scribbled frantically. “However, my thoughts on Texas are neutral.”
“Hey now,” protested Commander Pitt, but Mattis just shook his head.
Mattis turned his attention toward Pitt Senior, who still looked annoyed. “This is a battle only you can fight, Senator. You know these people. You work with them.”
Senator Pitt started to protest, but Mattis silenced him with a raised hand. “I don’t care about the details, at the moment. But we’re going to need their help to properly deploy this deterrent.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Senator Pitt dipped his head. “This is outside my area of speciality,” he said, “but I’ll do my best.”
That was all he could ask for. “There’s the communications system,” he said, gesturing to Lynch’s console. “Go for it.”
Senator Pitt stepped up to the console. “Contact Chinese High Command. Tell them: Lower. Inconvenience. Nominal. One. Update. Accounting. Pale. Over.”
“What’s that?” asked Mattis. “Some kind of code?” Lower being a ship, inconvenience being…a fight?
“Randomly generated words. Don’t worry about it. It’s a signal to them that we need to talk to them urgently.”
Trust was the name of the game at that moment, so Mattis let it slide.
There was a tense silence that smothered everything. Seconds ticked away as they waited.
Lynch glanced at Mattis. “The Chinese are responding.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Bridge
USS Midway
Everyone worked in silence. The fleet gathered around the Midway and, with their engines spun up, quickly jumped. Z-space was nonlinear and unpredictable, but trends could be observed. The trip to Earth from Jupiter’s moon would be short. Bright energy enveloped the ship as the fleet jumped.
Mattis, with little else to do as the ship travelled, walked over to Modi. “How’s it going?” he asked.
Modi held up his finger to silence him. Normally a rude breach of protocol, Mattis let it go. This was important.
“No, eight,” said Modi, clearly talking to someone on the other end of his earpiece. “We require no less than eight ships.” Pause. “I am aware of that.” Another pause. “And I am also aware of that. I have the readouts from the alien ship in front of me; we will require no fewer than eight gravity-equipped ships to effect the kind of deflection we require.” Pause. “I concur. However, I’m telling you, you will need to pipe the weapons directly into the main reactors of your ship. They can handle the strain, I assure you. The calculations support it.” Pause. “That is not necessary. The calculations support it.”
Mattis waited patiently until Modi terminated the call. “How did it go?”
“Well,” said Modi, “the theoretical problems are sorted. That leaves only the political ones.”
Which meant his next port of call was the good senator. With a thankful nod to Modi, Mattis marched to the other side of the bridge.
“Right,” said Senator Pitt, and then he looked up as Mattis walked over. “They want to know who’ll be in command of the operation.”
Mattis’s pride wanted him to offer himself, but he knew he would need to play this card eventually. A show of face for the Chinese, to get them to agree to let him use their weapons. “Whoever the highest ranking flag officer is,” he said. “Treat the Chinese fleet as though they were Americans, and put the Midway under the command of whoever they want. Their highest ranking officer, presumably.”
“Actually,” said Senator Pitt, his tone confused, “they’re specifically asking for you. Apparently the Chinese High Command received some kind of transmission from Captain Shao right before her ship exploded, vouching for you. Apparently her recommendation comes with a lot of weight.”
Well. Mattis was genuinely surprised. “I see.” Problems one and two sorted.
“Sir,” said Lynch. “We’re about to complete our Z-space translation. Our frigate escorts report they are ready to translate on your command.”
It made sense that almost as soon as they entered Z-space, they were translating out of it. “Execute,” said Mattis.
Lynch touched his console. The gossamer splashes faded away to reveal Earth, the blue and green ball of life. They had appeared over Africa, the continent lit up at night, a patchwork of light and shadow on a planet floating helplessly in space.
Surrounded by ships, debris, and weapons fire.
Chapter Sixty
Bridge
USS Midway
High orbit of Earth
“Patch our ships into Goalkeeper,” said Mattis. “And give me a status update.”
Lynch went straight to work. “It will take some time to integrate our fire control computers into the system,” he said. “But based on the amount of debris in the upper orbit path, it doesn’t look like Goalkeeper is faring well.”
A quick glance at the tactical radar made it hard to disagree with that assessment. A sizable portion of Goalkeeper’s network of floating turret platforms had been blown to bits. The aliens were making mincemeat of their automated systems, as Mattis had suspected they would. As usual, the hard lifting would have to be done by the humans.
“How’s the Earth Defense Fleet?”
“They’re a long way out,” said Lynch. “They definitely won’t make it. But, some good news… it looks like they didn’t commit everything. There are some ships left in Earth orbit.”
They’d split their fleet. Kept some in reserve. Paranoid bastards… but, fortunately, it had worked to their advantage. “What do we have?”
“Not a lot,” said Lynch, looking over the readouts. “Four battleships, two cruisers, ten frigates…a mix of Chinese, Indian, Russian, and American vessels. Some of them are undergoing repairs or overhauls, or have suffered mechanical failures. That’s why they’re here. And there’s us.”
The Able, Alexander Hamilton and Paul Revere dropped out of Z-space in perfect formation. All ships began pumping out wings of strike craft, including the Midway. Their pilots must be
getting fatigued, tired, stressed, but they launched regardless.
Everyone was tired. Yet everyone was working. Even the thought of it made him tired. The human body could only produce so much adrenaline. Could only last for so long without rest. There were limits, and he was rapidly approaching them. Or had exceeded them completely.
“Strike craft way,” said Lynch. “Engaging targets of opportunity.”
“Good,” said Mattis. “Spin up our gun batteries. Target the enemy cap ship. Order all ships to engage that vessel. Target their mass driver. Try to overwhelm the shields in that area so we can punch through.” He gripped the armrests on his captain’s chair. “This time we’re making sure they aren’t getting their shot in.”
Streams of gunfire leapt away from the Midway, all their shells converging at the bent and damaged rails. Blue discs of energy blocked the shells and none slipped through. Damn. This one’s shields were stronger, as one might expect for a much larger ship. Mattis zoomed in on his command console. He could see thousands of automated drones working away at the rails. Bending them back into shape. Welding and cutting and fixing.
“Keep firing,” said Mattis. “Bring the frigates and the Earth Defense Fleet into this. Hell, get whatever’s left of Goalkeeper firing, too—those damn robots are too stupid to consider focus firing on a fixed point. We’ll have to guide them. Slave their targeting systems to ours.”
“Aye aye,” said Lynch. “Firing.”
Another barrage flew out, this time joined by similar shots from a dozen ships. Nearly a hundred shells slammed into the cap ship’s ventral racks. The light of the shield flashes was like a miniature blue sun, forcing Mattis to squint, washing the monitor out.
When he opened his eyes fully and the view returned to normal, the rails were gone. All that was left was their mountings and a few meters of twisted, broken metal.
The Last War: Book 1 of The Last War Series Page 21