“Yes, sir,” Winterton and Fry said in rough unison.
“The other Gok ships should be similarly unprepared to deal with our Hydras, so the broadsides we’ve readied should account for any that decide to show up. If we see another of the warships we faced in Saffron, though, we might have to give it some extra attention.”
“Sir,” Winterton said, “the Ixan destroyer has ceased its reverse thrusting and is now moving toward us under what must be full engine power, or something close to it.”
“Is she within range of our primary?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fire primary at that destroyer, Tactical.”
“Aye, sir.”
“The destroyer is launching another missile salvo,” Winterton said, his hands flying across his console. Moments later, he said, “Sir, the primary laser only made contact for a few seconds. The destroyer just thrusted laterally to maneuver out of the way, the moment it finished launching its barrage.”
“Cease firing the primary, Tactical. Winterton, how many missiles?”
“Eighty, sir.”
Husher swallowed hard. He opened his mouth to give another order, but before he could, the sensor operator spoke up again.
“We’re experiencing superheating along the nose of the Vesta. The destroyer’s hitting us with its particle beam. We’re already seeing major hull warping!”
Winterton seemed about to speak again, but massive explosions cut him off, accompanied by violent rocking that threw Husher against his seat’s restraints again and again.
Chapter 53
Below the Ecliptic
“Answer with our primary!” Husher said. A quick study of the tactical display had told him just how well Teth had boxed him in: to move to port would be to maneuver toward the incoming wave of robots, and a giant asteroid limited movement to starboard.
“We don’t have enough power to fire the primary again,” Tremaine said through gritted teeth.
Husher furrowed his brow. “Why not?”
“The explosions were a main capacitor bank blowing, sir,” Winterton said. “It took our total capacity to around seventy percent, meaning firing the primary once took us below the necessary charge to do so again.”
Husher cursed. That also meant even a full charge wouldn’t let them fire their primary laser twice in succession. “Helm, reverse thrust along an angle that takes us below the ecliptic, now! Tremaine, hit the destroyer with fifteen Banshees and a spray of kinetic impactors along the horizontal axis. Send another spray just below their ship. I want them incentivized to break off.”
“Firing missiles and impactors,” Tremaine said.
“We’re out of the particle beam, Captain,” Winterton said with a sigh of relief. “We took immense damage to the nose of the Vesta. In addition to the capacitors, we lost visual sensors in the area as well as nine crewmembers who were servicing the main gun.”
Damn it. “Let’s turn our attention to the incoming missiles.” Glancing at the tactical display, Husher saw that the Air Group had already managed to cut them down by seventeen, but without the Vesta’s help in dealing with the barrage, most of the speeding robots were still in play. “Tremaine, I trust we have enough charge to put tertiary laser projectors in point defense mode?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Do it, then. Helm, increase reverse thrust by fifteen percent. Keep a close eye on those active scans, Winterton. Now would be the perfect time for Gok to start coming out of the woodworks, especially with the Pythons taken off recon.”
“Will do, sir. The Ixan ship is making no move to refocus its particle beam on the Vesta. It’s resumed backing away toward the inner system.”
Husher nodded. As reluctant as he was to do so, he had to admire the sophisticated game Teth was playing. The Ixan was walking a fine line between luring the Vesta down-system and taking every opportunity to try and neutralize her. If Teth overplayed his hand, he likely figured there was a chance the supercarrier could retreat, or at least maneuver back to a more secure position. But at the same time, if he didn’t take some chances, then he might never get a shot at victory.
Clearly, Teth considered vanquishing Husher a worthy goal, and Husher didn’t consider it immodest to agree, at least inwardly. Other than preventing the enemy from establishing a foothold, Husher’s main reason for attacking Concord was to spur the IGF to action. If he failed, he had every reason to believe the IU would continue equivocating and attempting to bargain. He’d watched them do it for too long to believe they’d do otherwise, unless they were forced to.
“Seventeen enemy missiles left in play, sir,” Winterton said. “We should be able to neutralize the remainder before any—” The sensor operator broke off as something seemed to catch his eye on the main display. Husher watched as the color fled the man’s face.
“A ship identical in profile to the one we fought in Saffron has just appeared from behind the large asteroid on our starboard side, Captain,” he said.
It felt like an invisible fist made of ice had clenched Husher’s stomach. For a moment, he couldn’t speak as he watched the massive vessel belch hundreds of missiles that screamed across the battlespace.
Chapter 54
Peacetime Soldiers
Major Peter Gamble moved in formation along a port-side crew corridor with what he considered one of his weakest squads.
Gamble didn’t like to waste time with his strongest marines, even in a potential combat situation—they’d already ingested the right principles from their training, and they lived and breathed them. They didn’t need him there, holding their hands.
No, the marines Gamble spent time with…they did need a little help. Like most people in the service, these were peacetime soldiers who’d never seen combat outside the sims, which got war wrong more often than not. Of course, even many peacetime soldiers had the right instincts for war, or at least instincts that could easily become the right ones, with enough exposure to battle.
The squad Gamble was with now…it didn’t consist of that type of soldier, exactly.
Either way, with Captain Husher back in the command seat, Gamble wouldn’t be surprised if none of the robots even made it into the Vesta. The man certainly had enough experience, and he had skill oozing out his ears. Plus, Captain Husher seemed pretty reluctant to let any more of those little devils inside his ship to wreak havoc.
Gamble had seen fighting during both the Second Galactic War and the Gok Wars. At thirty-eight, he was old to still be pulling active duty, but he’d do it until his body broke down completely or they crammed a promotion so far down his throat that he had to take some desk job. He knew that would happen eventually, and he dreaded the day it did.
For all its faults, Gamble believed in the Interstellar Union, and he’d spend his dying breath protecting it. Maybe its citizens appreciated that, and maybe they spit on him for it. Probably it was a mix of the two. It made no difference. He’d die to protect them nonetheless.
A blast shook the corridor, then another, then another. The Vesta bucked beneath him, throwing Gamble headfirst into a bulkhead.
His combat helmet absorbed most of the impact, but his neck still felt a bit sore as he picked himself off the deck. Somehow, I think that’ll be the least of my worries.
“Everyone all right?” he called to the others.
A ragged chorus of “Yes, Major,” greeted his ears, and a quick glance around the corridor found nobody down for good.
Good enough for me.
“Major Gamble,” said Captain Husher’s voice through Gamble’s ear piece. “Come in.”
“I read you, Captain.”
“You’re about to have company. We’re getting hit with a surprise barrage of those attack robots, and there’s no way to avoid it. A few dozen at least are going to get through.”
A few dozen… When he spoke, Gamble tried to keep the shock from his voice. “Sir, should I have Yung, Mews, and Zimmerman released from the brig so they can join in the fight?”
“That’s a negative, Major. Under no circumstances are those three to be released. When I take disciplinary action, it means something, and I plan to keep it that way. Wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it ended the moment the next battle started.”
“Yes, sir.” The captain had a point. Those marines would be itching for a fight, and when they realized they were missing out on one, only then would the punishment feel real.
“I want you to personally take a company of marines to Cybele and secure the city,” the captain said. “Deploy the rest of the battalion exactly as I had you distribute them before, patrolling the corridors and guarding vital systems.”
“I will, sir.”
“Husher out.”
Gamble immediately switched to a company-wide channel. “All marines in Hammerhead Company, double-time it to Cybele and meet me in front of the Epicenter.” He cut the transmission, then looked around at the squad he was leading, a few of whom were looking at him like they were going to be sick. “Get yourselves together, now,” he told them. “Let’s move.”
Under normal circumstances, it was universally understood that only the hatch into the fake desert should be used to enter or exit the large compartment that contained Cybele. But these were not normal circumstances, and Gamble and his squad used one of two port-side emergency hatches instead.
The moment they emerged, it became clear what a good decision that had been. A shriek pierced the air, audible even from this distance, and without prompting, the entire squad broke into a run.
So, some of their instincts are good after all. Gamble wasn’t surprised. Even during peacetime, making it through marine training was no joke. If you didn’t have what it took to be a soldier at least on some level, you simply didn’t make it into the battalions.
Gamble unclasped a pouch at his waste, reached inside, and grabbed three microdrones, which he tossed into the air. While the microdrones had a number of settings, their default was to stay just ahead, checking around corners and zooming up to get a glimpse of upper-story windows and rooftops. That was exactly the setting Gamble wanted, right now. His Oculenses overlaid all three drone feeds onto what he was already seeing, and he could turn the opacity up or down with a thought. He could even give them simple commands that way, or change their settings. With any luck, the drones would prevent his squad from getting blindsided by a pack of killer robots.
They passed a man whose overlay made him look a bit like a mime, to Gamble’s eyes. He was lying face-down, a few feet from a residence door that had been left open.
Gamble knelt, placing a hand on the man. “Sir, are you—?” His hand encountered something soft and slick, with too much give to it. When he recoiled, and his hand exited the man’s overlay, it came back wet with scarlet.
“Guy’s shredded,” Gamble said hoarsely. “Something got him with a lot of sharp edges. Let’s keep on moving.”
They found action well before they met the rest of Hammerhead Company at the Epicenter. Gamble’s rightmost drone glimpsed robots rushing down an alley just before they spilled onto the street his squad was on.
“Contact!” he yelled, raising his R-57 assault rifle and putting three rounds into the nearest robot while shuffling back. “Fall back to the other side of the street, use the alleys!”
Gamble glanced back and spotted the tiny space between residences that he planned to retreat down. The robots were coming at them fast, and he heard the horrified scream as one of his marines went down without firing a single shot. There was nothing to be done for him beyond what Gamble already had—given him the orders that, if he’d followed them fast enough, might have saved his life.
It’s do or die time. This is how we get combat experience. Ideally, that happened without loss of life, but loss of life was also an inescapable part of combat.
Gamble’s job was to make it happen mostly on the enemy side. If these robots can be said to have lives.
A couple of them pursued him down the narrow gap between the residences, and Gamble scrambled back, continuing to slam fresh clips into his R-57 and emptying them into the things’ metallic hides.
At last, both his attackers were down, and he leapt over their metal corpses, using the residence walls to propel himself upward to avoid getting cut up on their sharp parts, some of which were jagged, now that he’d finished with them.
Checking down the next alley, he saw one of his marines had almost made it to the next street over, with one of the metal devils in close pursuit. The marine had dropped his gun halfway there, and the robot had simply charged over it, apparently ignoring it.
Gamble raised his gun, took careful aim, and put a round into the thing, center-mass. It went down instantly. Is that where their brains are…? It would be good news, if so, since their thin, curved heads presented such small targets, especially when they were facing you.
“Thanks, Major,” the marine called as he picked up his gun from where he’d dropped it.
“You owe me a beer,” Gamble said, then got on the company-wide channel. “All squads currently in or en route to Cybele, report to me.”
They needed to consolidate their position inside the city, and fast. This was already a disaster, and if any more of those things got inside before Gamble could lock down the area, it would quickly become a catastrophe.
Chapter 55
Ripped to Pieces
Husher watched on the tactical display as his Pythons advanced on the enemy ship’s missile barrage in waves, using kinetic impactors and the latest generation of Sidewinders to neutralize dozens of the robots at a time. The Vesta’s point defense turrets were also working overtime, supplemented by lasers whose energy supplies were rapidly depleting.
Then, his breathing caught as he saw an entire squadron of Pythons go down almost simultaneously.
Seconds later, Commander Ayam’s voice squawked through his ear piece: “Captain, the robots’ are changing their behavior!”
“How? What the hell is going on out there, Commander?”
“A group of them just changed course suddenly and latched onto a formation of my birds,” the Winger said. “They ripped them to pieces in seconds.”
“They’re no longer prioritizing the Vesta as the target,” Husher muttered as he considered the unsettling development, racking his brain for what to do. “Commander, I want you to use looser formations, or even abandon squadron formations altogether. Judging from the fact we just lost sixteen fighters in the space of seconds, our movements are far too regimented and predictable. Have half of your pilots work together in preassigned pairs, and have the other half fly in finger-fours.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Ayam, I also need you to assign some of your pilots to target the enemy ship. That thing doesn’t look to be running out of missiles, and if we can’t do something about her soon, we’re going to have a perforated hull and a ship full of robots.”
“I’m on it, sir. Ayam out.”
Husher turned toward Tremaine. “Tactical, I want you to arm four Hydras and load them with firing solutions similar to those we used against the Gok. I also want you to arm four Gorgons and distribute them randomly throughout the barrage those Hydras will turn into. I’m sending in some Pythons to attack the enemy vessel—between those and the Hydras, not to mention the mess of robots and fighters already clogging up the battlespace, we should get a Gorgon or two through.”
“Understood, sir,” Tremaine said. “I’m on it.”
While he was waiting for his next gambit to take shape, Husher reviewed some of the data coming in from Damage Control. They’d already called their second watch on-duty, and they were about to get third watch out of their bunks, if the turmoil hadn’t already done that.
According to the estimations Husher reviewed, using his Oculenses to flick through updates and absorbing them as fast as he could, thirty-nine of the robots had successfully infiltrated his ship’s hull.
Another transmission request came in, from Major Gamble, a
nd Husher accepted. “Go ahead, Major.”
“We’ve finished securing Cybele, but sir…there have been some civilian casualties.”
Mentally bracing himself, Husher said, “How many?”
“At last count, there are twenty-nine dead and one hundred and forty-three injured. Most of those have been hospitalized. I’m sorry, sir.”
“I’m…I’m sure you did what you could.”
“We weren’t fast enough. It’s as simple as that.”
“There are a lot of people at fault for those deaths, Major Gamble, but you aren’t one of them. You aren’t to try taking that blame for yourself. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep me apprised of any further developments. By text, if you please. Husher out.” He turned toward the Tactical station. “What’s the status of those missiles, Tremaine?”
“Just uploading the finalized telemetry now, Captain. They’re already waiting in the tubes.”
“Fire at will.”
“Firing four Hydras and four Gorgons.”
Husher watched on the display as the rockets crossed the cluttered battlespace that stretched between the two warships. Before the Hydras had a chance to split, one of the robot-missiles changed course to target it, but the advanced weapons were programmed to separate in response to a threat, and the robot only ended up latching itself onto one of the eight smaller missiles. It shredded it, destroying both it and itself, but the other seven continued on.
A flash of inspiration made Husher stare hard at the tactical display, and he realized he had enough time to execute. “Send me the missiles’ targeting data at once, Tremaine.”
“Here it is,” the Tactical officer said with a flicking gesture atop his console.
“Commander Ayam,” Husher said over a two-way channel with his CAG, “instruct the two finger-fours currently keeping pace with our missile barrage to concentrate fire just below the closest pole of the oblong spheroid. I’m sending you the area I mean now over Oculens. That’s where our missiles are headed.”
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