“Injuries reported on decks five, seven, and eleven,” Stott added.
“Deploy damage control and medical teams,” William ordered. Roach needed to concentrate on his tactical duties. “Continue firing.”
He braced himself as Glory of God unleashed another spread of missiles. This time, he noted, the gunners had had time to program the warheads properly. None of the missiles would be decoyed away . . .
“Enemy ship engaging Lightning,” Roach reported. “She’s coming about to bring her missile tubes to bear.”
William sucked in his breath. The enemy ship’s ECM was good, better than he’d expected, but she was clearly taking damage. Glory had definitely lost at least five or six of her shield generators, judging from the way her shields were shifting and flexing to cover the most vulnerable spots. But she was still firing, still capable of engaging both cruisers at once . . .
Uncanny rocked again. “Fusion Two just failed, Captain,” Goodrich reported. “I have teams on the way, but I doubt it can be patched up in time to matter.”
After we disabled it ourselves, William thought coldly. We clearly didn’t do a good job of fixing the damage.
“Do what you can,” he ordered.
On the display, Glory of God shuddered under his fire. He would have seriously considered pulling back and abandoning the fight if he’d been in command of the enemy ship, but the Theocrats rarely ran, even when the odds were badly stacked against them. It wasn’t something to mourn, normally, but it was a problem now. The fight could still go either way.
“Enemy ship’s shields are tilting back towards us,” Roach reported. “Adjusting firing patterns to compensate.”
He paused. “The enemy missiles are no longer fooled by the decoys,” he added. “They’re targeting us.”
“Keep deploying them anyway,” William ordered. Another shudder ran through the ship as three more enemy missiles struck home. “Every little bit helps.”
“Aye, Captain,” Roach said.
Captain Samuel knew, without false modesty, that he’d been given command of Glory of God because he was more thoughtful than the average commanding officer. A diplomatic mission could not run the risk of an officer deciding to avenge an insult to his crew or his faith by planetary bombardment, no matter how much the victims deserved a pasting. He was cold and calculating, cold enough to pull back and concede when he was clearly losing.
He glanced venomously at the dead Inquisitor as another wave of enemy missiles slammed into his shields. Perhaps killing the lunatic had been a mistake. Glory of God had walked right into a trap and nothing, not even Bin Zaid’s body, would be enough to cool the anger of his superiors when they found out what had happened. Someone would have to answer for the debacle and Samuel knew that a dead man couldn’t be held accountable for anything. The only way to remain alive was to make the enemy pay for luring his ship into a trap.
It was too good to be true, Samuel thought. He’d said as much, but Bin Zaid had dismissed his concerns. And now we’re fighting for our lives.
The infidels had baited the trap well, he admitted grudgingly. Neither of their ships was a match for Glory in a straight fight, but together they might best him. Their first blows had weakened his ship’s shields significantly and successive attacks had damaged his power cores. Plus, their ECM was hellishly good. He’d had to have his gunners control the missiles directly just to keep them from going after the decoys and spending themselves uselessly.
“Shield generator nine just failed,” one of his officers reported. He sounded nervous, as if he expected to be shot for daring to be the bearer of bad news. “Shield generator ten is on the verge of failing too.”
“Adjust the remaining generators to compensate,” Samuel ordered. His ship had plenty of redundancies built in, but there were limits. A gap in his shields wasn’t a serious problem against one opponent. Against two? It was a disaster waiting to happen. “And then swing us around to target Lightning.”
“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.
Samuel ignored the Lord Cleric’s babbling as he thought, fast. Destroying Lighting would be a suitable prize, compensation for the staggering damage his ship had already taken. His superiors would accept Kat Falcone’s death, he was sure. They’d understand him retreating after smashing Lightning and battering Uncanny into uselessness. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was an opportunity to fulfill one of the other mission aims.
“Contact the planetary government,” he ordered harshly. “Tell them to send out their ships to assist us.”
“They won’t engage the Commonwealth,” the Lord Cleric stammered. He was staring down the barrels of ritual torture and execution, and he knew it. His subordinate had led the entire mission to certain failure. “Captain . . .”
“I don’t care,” Samuel said. “Get the bastards out here.”
A sharp fury enveloped Samuel. His ship was taking damage, and even comparatively minor damage was serious, when he didn’t have access to a shipyard. Vangelis had the only halfway decent shipyard in the sector, and he doubted he could convince the planetary government to assist him. They’d know his ship was badly weakened, her missiles spent on her previous engagement . . .
. . . While the Commonwealth would see the planet’s assistance as an act of war.
“Missiles locked, sir,” the tactical officer said. “Enemy ship is taking evasive action.”
“Fire.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“Incoming missiles,” Weiberg said. “The enemy ship is targeting us specifically.”
Kat nodded. The timing had gone a little awry, and they were now locked in a death match with an enemy juggernaut. She would have been happy to pull back and withdraw if Glory of God had lost her gateway generator—she’d be stranded until the Theocracy could get a repair ship to the sector—but there was no way to know just how badly they’d damaged the enemy ship. Her ECM was too good for Kat’s analysts to come up with any useful information.
“Evasive action,” she ordered. Lightning had already taken damage, but Uncanny had borne the brunt of the enemy’s fury. It looked as though that was about to change. “Reinforce shields and return fire . . .”
Kat braced herself as the enemy missiles struck her shields. A low rumble echoed through Lightning, followed by a series of alarms. She glanced at the status display and swore. Five shield generators had failed in quick succession, weakening her shields to the point that energy was leaking through them and touching her hull. The damage wasn’t as bad as she had feared, but a dozen point defense weapons had been wiped out . . .
“Damage control teams are on the way,” Crenshaw stated. “Captain, we have a number of injuries reported from . . .”
“Get medical teams out there,” Kat ordered. She would mourn later, if there was a later. Glory of God, scenting Lightning’s weakness, was already launching a second barrage of missiles. “Reroute emergency power to shields, then swing us about.”
“Aye, Captain,” Wheeler said.
Kat braced herself as another wave of missiles slammed into her shields. Lightning shuddered then rocked violently as one of her shields collapsed completely. Wheeler pushed the starship through a series of evasive maneuvers, trying to avoid exposing the gash in her shields to enemy fire, but he couldn’t keep the enemy from scoring two more hits . . .
“Hull breach, decks fifteen through seventeen,” Crenshaw snapped.
“Evacuate that sector,” Kat barked. Lightning had taken a beating before, but this was different. “Get everyone out!”
Another shudder ran through the ship. “The enemy ship is closing to sprint-mode range,” Weiberg reported. “She’s preparing to fire.”
“Continue firing,” Kat ordered. She had very little respect for Theocratic design teams—she’d seen some of their missteps—but she had to admit they’d done a good job on Glory of God. The enemy ship might win the engagement after all. “Helm, put some distance between us and them!”
“Ay
e, Captain,” Wheeler said. “They’re picking up speed.”
Kat considered the possible vectors. A battlecruiser could outrun anything it couldn’t outfight, or at least that had been the rationale put forward by the Naval Design Board back when Tyre had started the massive prewar buildup. But no battlecruiser ever designed could hope to keep up with Lightning when she was in good health. Now, though, it looked as if Glory of God could match Lightning’s reduced speed. That meant that her ship and crew were unable to escape . . .
“Deploy mines,” she ordered, hoping to win a few additional seconds. “Then push the engines as hard as you can.”
More red icons popped up on the display. Two of her drive nodes had failed—a third had been smashed when the hull had been breached—reducing her ship’s speed even further. She was sure she could have outrun Glory if her drives had been in good condition, but as it was . . .
Kat had a nasty feeling they might need to slip into hyperspace to escape. Yet, opening a gateway in the middle of a battle was dangerous. Too many antimatter missiles were in flight.
If we dared close to energy range, she thought, we might take out their ship at the cost of one of our own.
Lightning shook, again. “Plasma leak, deck nine,” Crenshaw reported. “Two more drive nodes are on the verge of failing.”
“Keep pushing them,” Kat ordered. The Navy designed its components to take a great deal of abuse. She hoped the designers were correct when they boasted their components could handle more stress than claimed in specifications. “Tactical, report!”
“Enemy ship’s shields are fluctuating, but she’s still coming,” Weiberg said. “She’s launching another barrage of missiles now!”
At least she’ll shoot herself dry, Kat thought. If nothing else, the local sector navies will have a chance against her.
Samuel had never truly believed that the devil took an active interest in human affairs. In his experience, humans didn’t need help to stumble into sin, but watching Lightning evade his killing blows was frustrating. Kat Falcone—and he wouldn’t underestimate her just because she was a woman—had definitely earned her command. Her ship was bleeding, leaking plasma from at least two hull breaches, but she was still fighting. Glory of God was taking a pounding even though she was winning the fight.
And Uncanny was on their tail, hammering away at her shields.
“Keep on Lightning,” he ordered. He’d already expended half of his missile stocks and there were no reserves. One way or the other, the mission had failed. Nothing he could do could change that. “Don’t give her a chance to get away!”
A missile slammed into his shields, and he cursed. “Another shield generator has just failed,” his XO reported. “Captain, our shields are starting to weaken.”
Samuel hung his head in dismay. Glory of God was designed to be a hybrid between a battleship and a battlecruiser, but she lacked the heavy armor protecting superdreadnoughts. If she lost her shields and the enemy slammed an antimatter warhead into her hull . . . the entire crew would be answering to God before they knew what had hit them. He was tempted to retreat, but he couldn’t retreat without something to show for the disaster. The mission had failed . . .
“Hold our course,” he said. The enemy wouldn’t give him any time to lick his wounds, any more than he would give them the chance to break contact and escape. Lightning had to be badly damaged or she would have outrun him by now. “Order the damage control teams to do what they can.”
Another shockwave ran through his ship. “Captain, the gateway generator is offline,” the XO reported. “It will take days to repair it . . .”
If we can, Samuel thought. Suddenly retreat was no longer an option. His engineers were among the best in the Theocracy, but that wasn’t saying much. We might win one battle but lose the war.
“Keep us on Lightning,” he ordered. They had to kill one or both of the enemy cruisers. “Do not stop firing.”
“Aye, Captain,” the tactical officer said.
William was drenched in sweat as he watched Glory of God close in on Lightning. Kat’s ship was too badly damaged to outrun her enemy. Uncanny was closing in on the rear of the enemy ship, but the Theocrats seemed to be largely ignoring her. Instead, they were concentrating most of their fire on Lightning.
Smart of them, William conceded. Playing piggy-in-the-middle just plays to our strengths and their weaknesses.
Another enemy missile slammed into his shields, flickers of energy breaking through and washing against his hull. Uncanny wasn’t as badly wrecked as Lightning, but she had taken damage. Yet he needed to keep pounding away at Glory of God. She couldn’t be allowed to overwhelm Lightning and blow her into dust.
“They’re constantly rotating their shields,” Roach reported. “They must have taken a beating.”
William wouldn’t have cared to put that sort of stress on Commonwealth-designed shield generators, let alone the crap the Theocracy produced. The Theocrats must be desperate . . . He hoped grimly, that it meant that they’d lost too many of their original shield generators. Still, such a state was enough to give them a fair chance to survive long enough to take out Lightning, if not Uncanny.
“Continue hammering their weak spots,” he ordered. If they could take out just one or two more shield generators, part of the enemy shield network would collapse. If he could slip a missile through a gap in their shields, the battle would end. “They can’t stand up to this sort of battering indefinitely.”
“Neither can we,” Stott muttered.
William ignored the remark. He knew Stott was right.
“The enemy will be within sprint-mode range in two minutes,” Weiberg reported. The hammering on the shields had become a constant pounding. “Our shields are already weakening.”
Kat remained focused. There had to be an alternative. There had to be a way to get out of the trap. But she couldn’t see one. Her remaining drive nodes were already overstressed, her gateway generator was offline . . . and the enemy’s shields were holding against her fire. She could inflict horrendous damage if she could get into energy range, she knew, but she doubted Lightning would survive the enemy onslaught long enough to get there. The enemy would blow her apart long before she could make it.
At least that ship won’t be causing any more trouble, she thought. Even going by the worst-case estimates, Glory of God had fired off two-thirds of her missiles. The Theocracy won’t be able to intimidate Jorlem any longer.
She closed her eyes in pain. She’d finally pushed her luck too far. Lightning was doomed; her crew doomed with her. The escape pods weren’t even a possibility. Even if the Theocracy didn’t start shooting at the pods deliberately, there were just too many antimatter explosions going on for her crew to be safe. She needed a third option and she couldn’t see one.
Unless . . .
“Communications, raise Uncanny,” she said. It was a crazy thought. A completely crazy thought. But she was desperate. “I have a plan.”
“Aye, Captain,” Linda said.
Samuel allowed himself a moment of chilly satisfaction as Lightning writhed under his fire, her shields steadily collapsing into nothingness. The ship’s demise wasn’t much—he knew, even if the Lord Cleric didn’t, just how badly the Commonwealth was outproducing the Theocracy—but it would satisfy his superiors. It wasn’t what they’d wanted to do to Kat Falcone, yet it would suffice. They’d see it as a fatal blow to the infidels, even though common sense would tell them it was nothing of the sort.
If they’d had any common sense, Samuel thought bitterly, they wouldn’t have started the damned war.
Such a thought would have gotten him executed if he’d dared express his doubts openly. Watching eyes and listening ears abounded in the Theocracy. A crewman who wanted to advance in the ranks could do so easily, by accusing his superiors of heresy and blasphemy. But even the most restrictive societies couldn’t clamp down on everything, could they? Samuel couldn’t help noticing that the reported battles were
all concentrated in the same region of space, instead of a steady advance towards Tyre. The grand offensive had bogged down completely.
Perhaps I should be glad I’m stuck here, he thought. Damaged as she was, Glory of God could still overwhelm Jorlem’s puny navy. I might survive the end of the war.
“Captain,” the tactical officer said. “Lightning is reversing course. She’s pushing everything she has into her drives!”
Samuel stared.
She’s going to ram . . .
“All power to forward shields,” he barked as Lighting picked up speed. A heavy cruiser slamming into his ship would take out both vessels. He wouldn’t have thought the enemy commander had the nerve for a suicide run, but Lightning was doomed anyway. Why not try to take out Glory of God in her last moments? “Fire all weapons!”
“Incoming missiles,” Weiberg snapped.
“Deploy missiles to counteract,” Kat snapped. The enemy had been caught by surprise, but they’d clearly already been switching their missiles to sprint mode. Intercepting them was going to be a nightmare as the range closed. “Their shields?”
“They’re forcing them forward,” Weiberg reported. “Captain . . .”
Lightning shuddered, shaking so badly that Kat honestly thought the end had come. The lighting failed a second later, followed by the gravity. Half the consoles went dim as emergency power came online, the datanet prioritizing weapons and shields. Kat had a nasty feeling they’d just lost everything . . .
“Major damage, all sections,” Crenshaw reported. His voice sounded bleak. “Captain . . .”
Kat keyed her console. She had no way to know yet if her plan had succeeded. But Lightning was now naked and helpless. Perhaps, just perhaps, some of her crew would survive long enough to be picked up.
“All hands, abandon ship,” she ordered. “I say again, abandon ship.”
Cursed Command (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 3) Page 37