Courageous tlf-3

by Jack Campbell

  “No. We’d have to go through them twice again, and they’d blow us to hell on the fourth pass. We’re less than an hour from the jump point. We head for it.”

  The Syndic wall formation, distorted and bent from its maneuvers and the two times the Alliance fleet had passed through it, was reversing its ships’ headings again and accelerating once more in the wake of the Alliance fleet.

  Should he try to hit the Syndics again anyway? Try to throw the Syndics off once more? Geary tallied up the status of his ships’ shields, the few specters and small amount of grapeshot remaining, and the damage his ships had already suffered and knew his quick assessment for Desjani had been accurate; another pair of passes through the Syndics would be suicidal. He didn’t have the speed advantage or the distance needed to try to hit a flank of the Syndic formation, which was thicker now, not as tall or wide, but still covered space behind the Alliance fleet.

  Forty-five minutes out from the jump point, and the Alliance fleet would have to brake its velocity to get around the minefield in front of the jump point.

  The Syndics were too close, coming on too fast. It wasn’t going to be enough. Everything he had tried wasn’t going to be enough.

  Geary watched the maneuvering systems predict the outcome of current velocity and directions vectors, and he could see the Syndics overtaking the rear of the Alliance fleet. He’d have an ugly choice, then, to either abandon the ships in the rear or else slow the rest of the fleet to join them and doom every ship in the fleet in the process. Lose a third, at least, of his fleet, or the whole thing? Knowing that even if he ran and left so many ships to their fate it still wouldn’t mean safety when the survivors reached Ixion, because the Syndics would be coming after them.

  “Captain Geary.” A small window had popped into existence, showing Captain Mosko looking calm in a numb sort of way. “My division is the farthest back in the formation, closest to the Syndics.”

  “Yes.” The Seventh Battleship Division had taken the brunt of Syndic missiles and grapeshot on the first pass through the Syndic formation, avoided that on the second pass when warships on the front of the Alliance cylinder led the way through the Syndics, but now they’d catch hell again as the Syndics overtook the Alliance fleet. There wasn’t a damn thing Geary could do about that, though.

  “We need to stop the Syndics from overtaking the rest of the fleet before it reaches the jump point,” Mosko continued. “Uh, that is, we, my division. I’d like to commit only Defiant, but she can’t do it alone. With Audacious and Indefatigable alongside, we’ll be able to hold them off.”

  He suddenly realized what Mosko was saying. “I can’t order you to do that.”

  “Yes, you could,” Mosko replied. “But I know how hard that would be, and it’s not as if you haven’t done the same yourself. We all grew up hearing about Grendel and vowing to do the same if we ever had to. This is one of the things battleships are supposed to do, Captain Geary.” He sounded almost apologetic now. “When needed, we use our firepower and shields and armor to protect other ships. You understand. A forlorn hope. We’re volunteering, my ships and my crews, because that’s one of the missions we’re supposed to carry out. When we have to. You don’t have to order it, sir. We volunteer, in the spirit and example of Black Jack Geary.”

  Geary only knew the term forlorn hope because he’d read it being used to describe his own desperate defense at Grendel a century ago. A rear guard, one not expected to survive, one that knows it will be sacrificed to save the rest of the force. And doing it now in the name of his example.

  The damnable things were that he had done that once, had made the same decision that Mosko was making now, and he couldn’t tell Mosko not to do it. He needed those three battleships to keep the Syndics from overhauling the rest of the Alliance fleet and destroying it here at Lakota.

  Words came to him, old words, ones he’d heard before but rarely. “Captain Mosko, to you and your ships and their crews, may the living stars welcome you and shine on your valor, may your ancestors look upon you and stand ready to embrace you, may the memories of your names and your deeds shine in the minds of all who come after. You are not lost and not forgotten but forever remembered among the ranks of honor and courage.”

  Mosko sat straighter as Geary recited the ancient blessing before an apparently hopeless battle. “May our deeds be worthy of our ancestors,” he replied. “Captain Geary, when you’ve beaten the last Syndic, and by the living stars I now believe you will, make sure any survivors of these ships are liberated and taken care of as they deserve. I’ll see you on the other side someday. Any messages?”

  “Yes. If you see the spirit of Captain Michael Geary, let him know I’m doing my best.” His grandnephew, almost certainly dead with his ship Repulse back in the Syndic home system.

  “Of course. And please let my family know about me when you get the fleet home.” Mosko saluted. “To the honor of our ancestors.”

  The window vanished, taking Mosko’s image with it.

  “Captain?” Desjani was gazing at him, not knowing what had happened.

  Geary shook his head, took a deep breath, then pointed at the display, where Audacious, Defiant, and Indefatigable were pivoting around to use their main drives to slow their velocity. “The Seventh Battleship Division will be moving back to serve as a rear guard,” he managed to say. “They volunteered.”

  She nodded, her face set. “Of course.” And in that moment Geary knew that were Dauntless required to do such a thing, then Desjani would do it. Not gladly, not embracing death as some key to heroic salvation, but because she knew others would be counting on her. In the end, that was what it was all about. Do what was needed for those counting on you, or let them down. “I expect,” Desjani continued, “that Captain Mosko will have his ships drop back to about three light-minutes behind the rest of the fleet and then maintain position there.”

  “Three light-minutes,” Geary repeated.

  Rione had come to stand beside him, bending down to speak very quietly. “Must this be?”

  “Yes.”

  She gazed at him, and for once apparently had no trouble seeing how much he regretted having to make the decision. “Will it make a difference?”

  “If anything saves this fleet now, it’ll be their sacrifice.”

  Taken alone, a single battleship carried an awesome amount of firepower, matched by heavy shields and heavy armor. Three battleships operating close together were a force to be reckoned with even by the numbers of Syndic warships hurling themselves toward the Alliance fleet.

  Captain Mosko brought Indefatigable, Audacious, and Defiant back toward the onrushing Syndics, the three battleships arranged in a vertical triangle with Defiant at the top, close enough to one another to provide mutual protection and combine their firepower. After he’d fallen back far enough, he accelerated again, trying to match the speed of the Syndics so they’d have to go past at a slow relative speed and be much easier targets.

  There was no way to avoid the fact that it made the three Alliance battleships much easier targets for the Syndics, too.

  The remaining specter missiles and grapeshot blasted out from the three battleships as the leading wave of Syndic light cruisers and HuKs entered their engagement envelopes. A lot of the light enemy ships evaded away, swinging far out to either side or up or down to avoid the fire of the Alliance battleships and thereby losing so much ground that they wouldn’t be able to catch the Alliance fleet now.

  About twenty HuKs and a half dozen light cruisers tried to charge past and through the Seventh Battleship Division. As the HuKs entered the engagement envelopes, the battleships’ hell-lance batteries filled space with charged particle spears that tore into the light HuKs from multiple angles.

  Space lit with impacts as shields flared and failed, then more hits tore holes in ships and their crews. HuKs and light cruisers exploded in balls of fragments and gas, broke into pieces that tumbled wildly through space, or simply went silent as their system
s were knocked out, the dead hulks twisting away under the force of impacts.

  None of the Syndic light units made it through, but right behind them were heavy cruisers and battle cruisers, none of those ships individually a match for a battleship, but in overwhelming numbers.

  Clenching his fists, Geary gazed helplessly at the main body of the Syndic flotilla charging down on Mosko’s battleships.

  “Specters,” Desjani stated in a clear voice.

  She was right. There was one thing he could do. Combat systems confirmed that the rear guard was within extreme range for the specters remaining in the Alliance fleet. “All ships, fire all remaining specters targeted at the Syndic warships around Audacious, Defiant, and Indefatigable. I repeat, all remaining specters.”

  The missiles began launching, flinging into space, choosing targets, then accelerating toward the embattled Alliance battleships and the Syndics flaying them. Not nearly enough specters, just enough to distract the Syndic pursuers somewhat and draw some fire away from the battleships, but something. They scored enough hits on one Syndic heavy cruiser to knock it out and managed some blows against battle cruisers whose screens had been knocked low by the hell-lance fire of Audacious, Indefatigable, and Defiant. But there were so many more Syndic heavy cruisers and battle cruisers, with the Syndic battleships coming into range now as well.

  Defiant was catching the worst of it, glowing with the force of repeated enemy hits. Audacious took out another heavy cruiser, then turned its hell lances on a Syndic battle cruiser. Indefatigable reeled under the fire of a full division of enemy battle cruisers but punched back, getting in a solid hit with its null field when one battle cruiser tried to pass by too close.

  It physically hurt to watch the three battleships being pounded by increasingly overwhelming numbers of Syndic warships, but they were accomplishing their mission. The leading elements of the Syndic flotilla were slowed, hurt, or evading, and the Alliance fleet was within reach of the jump point. They’d bought the time they needed at the price of three battleships and their crews.

  The Alliance fleet came at the jump point from slightly above and to one side, about to clear the Syndic minefield. “All units, reduce speed to point four light and follow Dauntless’s movements,” Geary ordered. With every second critical, he didn’t want to order exact courses now or worry about every unit maintaining its precise location in the formation.

  Dauntless had pivoted around, her bow to the enemy now, and her main propulsion units kicking in again to force her velocity down. All around her, the other ships in the fleet were doing the same with varying degrees of quickness depending on the state of their propulsion units.

  And the displays updated as the Syndics kept coming, getting past the reeling ships of the Seventh Battleship Division, closing faster now that the Alliance warships had been forced to slow down.

  Desjani was watching the display intently as Dauntless crested the estimated top of the Syndic minefield to one side of the jump point. “Alter course down one eight zero degrees, port zero five degrees, now,” she ordered.

  Dauntless swung over and down, as if diving toward the jump point, the rest of the Alliance warships following suit in a wave.

  The Syndic force that they had last seen at Ixion, built around four battleships and four battle cruisers, chose that exact moment to flash into existence and make an automated turn up, the arriving Syndics and the fleeing Alliance forces right on top of each other in an instant’s time.

  The only thing that prevented last-minute disaster was that the Syndics hadn’t been expecting to encounter an enemy force literally the moment they arrived at Lakota. In the few seconds required for the Syndic crews to recognize what was happening, then activate and give firing approval to their weapons, the frantic Alliance warships surrounding them unleashed a firestorm of hell lances that wiped out the lighter units and ripped open three of the four battle cruisers.

  But the four battleships blundered onward, shields shredding under the Alliance fire but now shooting back desperately as the heavy enemy warships headed straight for the four auxiliaries. With only seconds before contact, Titan, Witch, Jinn, and Goblin didn’t have time to evade.

  But Warrior, Orion, and Majestic were still there, still hanging as close to the auxiliaries as they could. Orion seemed to shy away in the moments before contact, and Majestic was slightly to one side, but Warrior was right between the auxiliaries and the Syndic battleships. She held her ground, pouring hell-lance fire from her working batteries into the enemy warships while the four Syndic battleships pounded back at the single Alliance battleship.

  If the fight had lasted for more than seconds, Warrior would have been doomed, but the Syndic battleships veered away in panicked flight, two of them riddled by Alliance fire and barely operational. Warrior, torn up anew by Syndic fire, doggedly kept up as the auxiliaries fled toward the jump point with the rest of the fleet.

  In a matter of moments the Alliance fleet had met the arriving Syndic force, decimated it, then passed onward, taking more damage itself and leaving the shocked Syndic survivors in their wake.

  There wasn’t much left of the Seventh Battleship Division. The Syndic battleships had caught up with it and were now methodically smashing Audacious, Defiant, and Indefatigable. Indefatigable only had a single hell-lance battery still firing. Audacious was silent, a ball of wreckage falling off to one side. Defiant took several broadsides almost simultaneously and blew apart as two massive explosions erupted amidships and near the stern.

  “Captain Geary? Captain Geary! The fleet is at the jump point!”

  He tore his eyes from the final moments of Defiant, trying not to notice the debris of battle that seemed to fill the universe, the Syndic missiles reaching for the trailing ships in the Alliance fleet, the crippled Alliance warships straining to keep up with their fellows, the broken wrecks of the Syndic warships that had run head-on into the Alliance fleet at the jump point tumbling away. “All units. Jump now.”

  The stars vanished. The blackness between the stars disappeared. The last gasps of Defiant, Indefatigable, and Audacious were gone. So were the distant, abandoned wreck of Paladin and the equally far-off constellation of debris which was all that remained of Renown. The hypernet gate had vanished, the Syndic flotillas gone with it. Where an instant before desperate battle had raged and the wreckage of battles littered space, now there was only the endless gray nothingness, the silence and the wandering lights of jump space.

  He’d never jumped straight out of battle, never imagined fighting literally on a jump point’s doorstep. Geary felt his heart pounding, his breath sounding loud in the sudden hush that filled Dauntless’s bridge as everyone sat stunned by the abrupt transition from combat to stillness. He closed his eyes, trying to deal with the reality of what had happened. Three more battleships gone. Four battleships and one battle cruiser lost all told. Two heavy cruisers. Light cruisers and destroyers. Dozens more warships in the fleet with significant damage. Most of the remaining Syndic fleet in hot pursuit and still far outnumbering the Alliance fleet’s survivors. The Syndics would take a little while to get organized, to finish off Defiant, Indefatigable, and Audacious; then they’d come through that jump point. They couldn’t touch the Alliance fleet in jump space. They couldn’t even see the Alliance ships here, where every group of ships seemed to occupy its own drab reality.

  But the Alliance fleet would come out of jump at Ixion, and the Syndics would come out behind them.

  Geary stood up, feeling as if he had spent several days straight in the command seat. He looked toward Captain Desjani, who gazed somberly back at him. He should say something. “Thank you, Captain. Dauntless did well. Please see to your ship’s damage and your crew.”

  Looking up, Geary saw the watch-standers gazing back at him as if they were about to drown and he were a lifeline. What to say to them? “Well done.”

  He started to leave, but a young lieutenant spoke desperately. “What’ll we do, sir? At Ixion?”<
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  Damned if he knew. “I’ll consider my options.” He forced a look of reassurance. “We’re not beaten.” Technically, at least, that was correct.

  They nodded and looked comforted as Geary left the bridge, Rione going along silently beside him.

  The grayness of jump space seemed to have invaded his soul. Geary sat in his stateroom, slumped in a seat, his mind running in endless circles while ships died over and over again in his memory.

  “It’s been a full day,” Rione said in a hard voice. She was sitting nearby, her face looking like she’d aged a decade or maybe two in that day. “Get over it. We have to prepare for Ixion.”

  “Ixion?” Geary didn’t bother laughing scornfully. “Just what am I supposed to do at Ixion?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not the commander of this fleet. And if you don’t do something, you won’t be the commander much longer either.”

  “If that’s an oblique reference to the fact that this fleet’s destruction at Ixion seems inevitable—”

  “No!” Rione made a choking motion with her hands. “It’s not. That’s a major problem and one I can’t help you with, because I don’t know how to command a fleet. But it’s not just the Syndics you have worry about,” Rione stated. “Your fate, your standing, is bound up in the fate and condition of this fleet. Right now this fleet is wounded, and that means you are, too. What happens to a wounded stag, John Geary?”

  The vision that brought up wasn’t comfortable, but he recognized the truth of her words. “It becomes an attractive target for wolves, who gather, attack, and pull it down.”

  “You know some of the wolves in this fleet but not all of them. They’ve been testing you since you took command, looking for weaknesses, trying to trip you up. But you kept winning, kept guessing right, so they couldn’t attract enough support. Now there’s blood in the water, and at the next opportunity, they’ll go after you.”

  “You’re mixing your prey and predator metaphors,” Geary noted sourly.