Strike Battleship Argent (The Ithis Campaign Book 1)

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Strike Battleship Argent (The Ithis Campaign Book 1) Page 23

by Shane Black


  It’s escort fired its heaviest beam weapons indiscriminately at the Dunkerque’s aft section. Each shot lit up space in all directions, but none of the weapons were able to make contact. With her drive field down, the Dunkerque had a considerably smaller EM profile, which made things very hard on enemy battle computers. Picking out something as relatively small as a spacecraft in a quarter million mile diameter sphere was a challenge under the best of conditions.

  Small chunks of rock began to streak past the destroyers.

  “Bridge! Keep that plot continuously updated! Report!” DeMay was busy helping the technician move missile two into the airlock.

  “Barker’s Asteroid now at 800,000 miles and closing, sir! We have a proximity mine at point six!”

  “Maintain operational transponder signals! Stand by to launch a second weapon!” DeMay knew if he didn’t get his ship’s drive field re-established, the whole trip could end rather abruptly with an asteroid impact. They had to launch their second weapon.

  The destroyer escorts began to dodge and spiral through a roller-coaster-like course. Their battle screens smashed into the smaller debris while their pilots and navigators tried to avoid the larger objects. One mistake would pulverize their ship, even with its screens up and at full power.

  “Missile two away!” The commander returned to his console and monitored the second missile’s location. He had made certain the warhead wouldn’t respond to any spectrometric signature other than a vessel hull. They only needed a few more seconds. A close detonation shook the weapons bay, but the captain held on to his console and didn’t take his eyes off the plot.

  “Now! Arm weapon!”

  This time the missile caught the escort ship’s location after it performed a desperate swerve to avoid an oncoming five-hundred-foot slab of ferrous iron and smooth rock. The missile changed course and hurtled towards the vessel’s port side. Its pilot performed a flawless starboard evasive maneuver, but was too close to the other destroyer to avoid its drive field. The two magnetic spheres briefly crackled against each other, draining away most of their power for just an instant.

  Then the warhead detonated. Destroyer two rolled out of control directly into the path of destroyer one. Hulls clipped each other at nearly 4000 miles per second. The resulting spins nearly instantly tore the vessels to pieces. When their fusion bottles ruptured and reacted with what remained of their unstable drive fields, a superhot energy burst appeared momentarily, then faded. The metal remains of the two ships tumbled away into space and became permanent features of the asteroid field.

  “We got ‘em sir!” Austin shouted. The sparse crew of the DSS Dunkerque cheered over the intraship.

  Sixty-Nine

  “I have a heavy energy reading bearing zero six zero range seventy yards. It’s right below us.” Yili spoke evenly and quietly into the commlink pickup. Zony nodded. The two officers kept themselves pinned against the cool metal surface of the subterranean bulkhead. They were on the third sub-level of what they both guessed was the station’s easternmost wing.

  So far they hadn’t seen any other personnel, which was disturbing on a number of levels. Why was the location they had just visited guarded by two people while the rest of the station seemed to be deserted?

  Zony was listening intently for any unusual noises, but even her rather sensitive hearing wasn’t able to detect anything except a pleasant hum that seemed to emanate from the very structure itself. Yili suspected this was coming from the station’s power source. She also suspected the reason nobody had come to greet them so far was because they were waiting until the optimal moment to take them prisoner instead of risking one or both of them. Having the Argent’s chief engineer and signals officer in custody would make things that much more difficult for Captain Hunter and his battle group. It’s the kind of thing Yili would have encouraged Hunter to do if the tables were turned.

  Just then Zony heard the unmistakable sound of a human voice. By now, they had reached sub-level five and were able to move laterally far enough out to the edge of the gantry to see clearly down into the underground chamber. The cold stark glow of electrical lighting washed out all the colors, but Yili’s guess as to the purpose of the facility was confirmed when she saw the upper edge of a capacitor shell. A shadow moved past one of the lights.

  “Set your weapons on stun. If possible I want one of these guys conscious so I can get some information about this system.” Yili said quietly.

  A moment later, a man dressed in service overalls and wearing a hard cover emerged from a doorway just across from where Yili and Zony were concealed. He looked up and froze just long enough for Yili to finish making the modifications to her weapon. His shout was cut off by an ozone-scented flash of light. His handheld clattered to the metal deck and his relatively heavy body followed. Lieutenant Curtiss moved forward and rolled him over. The burnt rip in his technician’s clothes was still sizzling. Finding nothing of value, Yili retrieved his handheld and moved across the level five platform towards the next flight of steps down. Before descending, she stopped to examine the unit.

  “This guy was taking ambient energy readings,” she said quietly. “Looking for stray anti-matter particles. They’ve got a conversion reactor down here somewhere.”

  “That’s more advanced than our ships!” Zony whispered urgently.

  “Yup, and it makes a neat little power source for that gun. That capacitor housing seals the deal. This thing should be fully operational unless they broke something or aren’t done activating the power systems yet.”

  “We need to find out how many people are manning this station,” Zony said. “If there’s only a skeleton crew, maybe we can do exactly what you said and get the skipper his trump card.”

  “Agreed. If this station is built the way I suspect, the control mechanisms are going to be relatively high up in the structure. That way they always have the option to seal off the entire reactor mechanism from above and do it with minimum power requirements. Always better to let gravity do your work for you.”

  “The natural gravity rating here is only zero point two one.”

  “Must have built this place the old fashioned way then.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Weld five doors together instead of using one.” Yili grinned and Zony almost laughed. “You know, that gives me an idea. If we can find the control systems to seal off the lower sub-levels, we might be able to trap most of their manpower below and save ourselves the trouble of shooting them all.”

  “Can’t they just turn off our power?”

  “Not unless they want to suffocate and freeze to death down there. If I can get twenty minutes with their main junction lines, I can cut off their ability to override the security systems and put us in control of the gun without firing a shot.”

  “Are you trying to be silly?” Zony asked.

  Yili raised an eyebrow. “Never, why?”

  “Just how many sub-levels does this place have?” Zony asked as she peered over the edge of the gantry platform. A moment later, all the lights shifted red and a high-energy alert klaxon began to sound.

  The two Argent officers looked at each other for a soundless moment and then they bolted back to where they had stunned the unfortunate technician. From below, they heard shouts and footsteps banging on the metal stairs.

  “Did we set off an alarm or something?” Zony shouted. Nobody was going to hear her beyond a range of about ten yards over the klaxon, so she figured it was past the time to try and be sneaky.

  “Whatever is going on, it wasn’t us!” Yili shouted back. She grabbed the unconscious man’s heels and lifted them up. Zony snagged the shoulder straps of his overalls. Together they dragged him into the small heat exchange terminal he had originally emerged from. Yili barred the hatch and locked it from the inside. She produced a universal leverage tool from one of the pockets on her own electrician’s vest and rapidly disabled the outer indicator console.

  Everything went dark except the b
acklight for the environmental controls next to the hatch. The stunned technician started to wake up. Yili cocked one of her blasters and pointed it at his face. By the time his eyes opened, footsteps were clattering by outside. He saw the business end of the Argent engineer’s pistol and his eyes went wide.

  Yili put her finger to her lips and winked. The clattering outside faded.

  “Who the hell are you people?” he whispered angrily. “This is a Skywatch military operation!”

  “Oh?” Yili replied sarcastically. “What’s Skywatch?”

  The man hesitated, his eyes bulging. It seemed like he had a lot to say initially but had suddenly decided he might have already said too much.

  “Is Skywatch in the habit of building planet-sized gun installations out in the middle of nowhere these days?” Zony asked.

  “We had to protect–”

  “Protect what?”

  “Humanity!” The man looked back and forth between the two officers. “Just whose side are you two on?”

  Seventy

  “New contact, zero point zero! Evasive!” The atavistic reflex to duck seized the entire bridge crew as an unidentified corsair warship filled the forward observation bays of DSS Dunkerque momentarily and then vanished, leaving only a brief memory of the enormous stylized golden condor painted on its ventral hull.

  DeMay’s pilot engaged the vessel’s quiescent drive field and threw the engines over into a hasty counterthrust. The resulting backpressure sheared against the strike cruiser’s stabilizing magnetic field and caused the hull to shudder.

  Powerful electromagnetic waves pulsed in all directions from the ship’s battle-caliber deflector systems, and bolts of high energy plasma spidered into space, scorching the surfaces of at least a half-dozen passing asteroids. The navigational equivalent of a screeching halt ended with Dunkerque stopped just inside the leading edge of the debris field less than twelve miles from a class three ferrite monster asteroid tumbling towards them at an alarming rate.

  A moment later, something hit the hull hard enough to make the entire ship ring. The intraship beeped.

  “What the hell was that?” The voice of Commander DeMay sounded modulated. Static began to pop and crackle over the channel.

  “Give me outer hull views!” Lieutenant Austin snapped. “Starboard edge! All cameras on screen!” The acting tactical officer complied, routing the views from all of Dunkerque’s starboard hull cameras to the MC and then displaying them in a grid that filled the bridge main viewer.

  “That’s it! Switch to camera sixteen!”

  The view of Dunkerque’s starboard quarter filled the screen. The ship’s hull filled the lower corner. Along the opposite edge of the view the sharp hard point of an unidentified vessel could be seen stopped in space only a few yards from the camera. On the surface of the strike cruiser’s hull, an old-style combat drone worked furiously, cutting an elevator-door-sized hole in the thick metal composite.

  The intrusion detection alarm sounded for just over two seconds, then was abruptly silenced. A moment later, the bridge lights went out.

  “Emergency lights!”

  “Bridge, report!”

  “Commander, we have an unidentified contact near our starboard quarter.” Austin tried to bring up the life support control console, but everything on the bridge was dark. “We have lost all power on the bridge. Pilot does not have positive control at the conn. I believe we have been boarded!”

  In the huge ship’s weapons bay, the acting Commander stared at the two technicians with whom he had only minutes ago celebrated the defeat of the pursuing destroyers. The momentary hesitation gave way to the sudden and urgent realization he was likely outnumbered and about to lose control of the only hope Argent’s battle group had to survive another day. He bolted for the access corridor.

  As the Commander ran down metal passage after metal passage, Lieutenant Austin’s voice reverberated throughout the ship, repeatedly requesting DeMay’s response to the intraship signal. By now the intruder protocols should have activated and they hadn’t. DeMay’s only hope was to reach the alpha junction and cut off all the control mechanisms below ‘B’ deck. The problem was even if he managed to restore some level of control, the bridge circuits had either been shorted, cut or burned to ash by now. It would take hours to get Dunkerque underway again, and even that would likely require a full damage control party, which would outnumber the standing crew two to one.

  In their rush, the Argent and Dunkerque command details had overlooked one very important thing out of necessity. It wasn’t because they were careless. It was because it would have simply taken too long to configure. Toby DeMay didn’t have a command computer. Had there been time to replace the components and spin up a new system, defeating a boarding party would have been child’s play. Now instead, it was a life-or-death race to ‘G’ deck and the all-important alpha junction. But first he had to kill the control circuits.

  His footsteps echoed and vacuum locks expired and resealed on hatch after hatch. He passed at least two jagged wounds along the bulkheads dividing auxiliary life support from the alpha circuitry conduits that fed power from the lower levels to the nearby control systems. Both were covered in worn-out-looking extra machinery of some kind. Debris was scattered all over the floor.

  Finally DeMay rounded a corner and caught just a glimpse of brightly colored feathers. He lunged back and slammed against the bulkhead. The blade of a polished sword put pressure just under his jaw and forced him to his toes. He kept catching his breath, but the exertion pushed him to exhale. Sweat trickled.

  The slender gloved hand around the weapon’s hilt tightened. Her face was momentarily hidden underneath her wide-brimmed hat. Then she locked gazes with DeMay. She wore all black, except for a pair of devilishly attractive maroon boots and a white frill around her collar. On her hip was a dangerous-looking black graphite-coated slug-thrower. She wore no recognizable rank or unit insignia, even though there were numerous alien-looking badges and crests. Nevertheless she was unmistakably a human female with the curves to prove it. Behind her, a not-terribly-legitimate-looking technician was cutting through another bulkhead with a portable LASER torch.

  “Honored, Commander.” Her cat-like eyes twinkled with playful menace. DeMay took a breath to speak.

  “Don’t bother warning me about the security detail,” she quipped. “There are eight unfortunate souls on this ship. None are marines, and I have their Captain.”

  She nimbly disarmed the Commander with her free hand and gave the sidearm to a man standing nearby casual observers might have described as a cross between a hairless gorilla and an attack dog. He wore a bandoleer filled with formidable knives and an inelegant metal collar apparently meant to compensate for his lack of hair. On his back was a highly illegal Talon-Z rifle. A moment later, another man arrived. This one was shorter and a bit more stylishly dressed.

  “Engineering, alpha junction and life support secured. We have all major systems keyed to our control. We’ve taken her a prize!”

  “Very well. Order Small Bird to picket course two,” the young woman replied. Then she turned her attention back to her prisoner. “If I recall, the proper Skywatch protocol is ‘you’re relieved, Captain.’”

  Seventy-One

  The fleetwide alert tone sounded on nine Perseus command nets at once. A moment later, Argent’s second watch Signals officer keyed the voice channels.

  “Attention all stations. Attention all stations. This is Argent Force Command on priority frequency. Engage battle conference on this channel and stand by for a message from the Flag.”

  Hundreds of viewscreens on nine ships snapped to life with a high resolution and high contrast version of DSS Argent’s crest. Once all stations had acknowledged, the images of the skippers of the other ships in Jason Hunter’s strike force were arranged in a grid and displayed on all the secondary screens.

  The tenth ship did not respond. Hunter turned in his chair and motioned to the Signals board operato
r. “Raise the Dunkerque as soon as possible. They may be getting interference from the asteroid field.”

  After waiting the customary few seconds for the conference net to synchronize, the Signals operator nodded.

  “Good morning, boys and girls. It’s time for us to put our plan into action, such as it is. King Two is twenty minutes behind us, and although they are still running with drive fields up, I expect it won’t be long before they start trying to close the distance. They know what happened the last time they fired on my ship without provocation, so I expect they’ll be loaded for bear and ready for anything.”

  Commander Hunter spoke up. “I presume we’ll be running for the same waypoints to come around on the high side of the Steel Wheel?”

  The tactical plot replaced the video grid momentarily. “Correct. We will run at standard configurations to point Uniform Tango, then launch skirmishers, drop our fields and make a continuous acceleration run for Victory Tango. If we time it right and keep a tight formation, we should reach point Whiskey Tango in about fourteen hours. By then I expect one or more of our landing parties will have secured the battle station, and we’ll have it out on the east beach about one megaclick from the gun. Commander Flynn?”

  “Sir?” Raymond Flynn responded from the bridge of the Constellation.

  “Commander Hunter tells me you and Commander Harcourt are our long-range combat specialists. What are your recommendations for dealing with our opponents?”

  “Our advantages offset whether we stay at range or close, sir,” Harcourt replied from DSS Ajax’s weapons bay. Behind him crews worked frantically, preparing his tough little ship’s sophisticated anti-missile hardware. “King Two has the advantage in long-range firepower and strike capabilities. We’re better suited for a bar fight.”

  “Explain.”

  “I’m vaguely familiar with Task Force Poseidon. The Kingsblade anchors a team of three specialized capital missile platforms. Their screening vessels are there to keep those bigger ships alive so they can do what they do best. Orca and Task Force Hades do roughly the same thing, except they send fighters instead of missiles. If they get both formations close enough, they’ll eventually wear us down with numbers. One at a time, they’re manageable.”

 

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