At the end, he added, “Willi, you make sure Guns concentrates his salvos. Go for four hits on the same spot. Two hits almost burned through Engle’s ships off Brunswick. Let’s see what four can do.”
“You bet, Admiral. You can count on the Retro.”
“I do,” Ališ said softly as he rung off.
CHAPTER 63
OF the twenty-seven battleships in the three squadrons closing on Vicky’s Task Force 2, seven were 18-inch battleships, none as big as the Retribution. The nine facing Admiral von Mittleburg had only two. Not only were the odds, seven to nine, the best Vicky would face today, but the distribution of the two forces was a bad mismatch.
However, Vicky’s ships had something the Empress’s ships didn’t have.
Battle experience.
The gunnery officer on Retribution had let his assistant handle the cruiser shoot while he studied the battleships. The Empress’s Rage had trouble getting up to battle RPMs and its jinking was pretty pathetic. The gunnery officer didn’t need a computer to figure what that one would do next.
When the captain asked Guns to pick a target, he chose Rage and advised the other battleships to leave her be. Retribution had eight guns forward in four turrets and the same battery aft. The aft battery could be swung out just enough to engage Rage. As he’d been ordered, Guns targeted two turrets, four 18-inch lasers, at one spot on Rage’s aft end. He had a total of eight turrets; he targeted them for tight salvos against four spots where he expected burnthrough on the Empress’s Rage. He was not disappointed.
On his command, all sixteen lasers fired: twelve immediately, four more as the ship’s rotation brought them to bear. It was difficult at one hundred thousand klicks, but optics seemed to show steam boiling off Rage’s ice hide in four spots. Then there was a flash aft, a reactor lost containment, and, a blink later, there was nothing more than a ball of gas to look at.
Vicky and Admiral Bolesław stared at the screen as Empress’s Rage was eaten by her own plasma. “God help those poor beggars,” Bolesław prayed.
“Amen,” was all Vicky could add.
Ravager and Trouncer had fired at the next two larger battleships. BatRon 22’s two ships concentrated on the two opposite them. They hit them, but nothing as spectacular as Retribution’s blasting Rage to gas.
All seven 18-inch battleships across from Retribution concentrated on Vicky’s flagship. It danced out of the space it had been headed for and suffered only one hit that singed the meteorite catcher.
The remaining eight largest battleships in the Empress’s fleet reloaded their lasers, as did Vicky’s seven.
“Task Force 2, prepare to go to Evasion Plan 4,” Admiral Bolesław ordered. Vicky had known the man long enough to taste the tension behind his words.
“Ravager and Trouncer, concentrate your fire on three places on your target battleships. That’s what your new gun cradles are meant for.”
“I thought we were,” said the skipper of the Ravager. “They may not be jumping around like us, but they’re a bitch to predict.”
“Check with Guns on Retribution. Find out which target he’s chosen, then pick ones you think are jumping around the least.”
“Understood.”
The tracking clock at the top of the screen counted down to when the battleships should be reloaded. It was based on when the Retribution last fired and how long it would take to reload. All the other battleships in Vicky’s fleet took more time to recharge their lasers. Now they would discover if the Empress’s battleships could meet the standard thirty-second reload.
Then Grand Admiral Kuznetsov made a smart move.
CHAPTER 64
THE opposing battle lines cut their deceleration and shot down. In one bold move, they came even with Vicky’s ships, put their vulnerable sterns out of reach, and cut the range.
“Execute Evasion Plan 4,” Admiral Bolesław snapped. “Scourge, Sachsen, Baden, Krasnoyarsk, and Karelia fire!” The last two of the 16-inch ships that now joined the fight were making their shakedown cruise right into a fight.
Among Admiral von Mittleburg’s ships, Vigilant and Relentless joined in.
Now, only two of Vicky’s ships, the battlecruisers Stalker and Slinger, with their 15-inch lasers, were still out of the fight.
Against Vicky’s fourteen engaged ships, the Empress had fifteen: eight surviving 18-inch ships and seven 16-inchers. Her twenty remaining battleships were old boats hauled out of the reserve fleet to pad the Empress’s numbers. She would soon find out how worthless they were.
The rolling salvos from both fleets were a bit ragged. There was a good ten-second interval between Empress’s Fury firing its 18-inchers at Retribution and the last of the 18-inch battleships across from Vicky, Empress’s Ravager, getting off its broadside. Possibly the sudden cut in deceleration tumbled their firing solution.
Maybe they just took too much time to reload.
The next salvo would tell more.
Retribution again jinked out of the space it had been headed to, seeded that direction with chaff, and went somewhere unexpected. The 168 shots filled a lot of space: one nailed a 4-inch turret while five just burned ice.
“Thank God for the extra meter of ice,” Admiral Bolesław prayed.
Five seconds after the last of the 18-inch lasers fell silent, Empress’s Punisher got off the first 16-inch salvo. Six more added their fire but only managed to fill the space where the Retribution had been.
“Every battleship is firing at me,” Vicky muttered.
“So it would seem. But look on the bright side. We got Fury.”
Vicky sardonically raised an eyebrow. Empress’s Fury had been so intent on getting a solid firing solution that it had held its course a few seconds too long. Retribution’s guns made it pay the price for its intense focus on killing Vicky.
Now the Empress had only seven 18-inch battleships.
“I wish I could aim something at the Empress,” Vicky half muttered to herself.
“We still have twenty-two armed merchant cruisers,” Admiral Bolesław pointed out.
Together, the two of them looked at where the merchant cruisers were in line, half behind Vicky’s battle squadron, the others behind von Mittleburg. There were a lot of enemy merchant cruisers and attack transports between them and the bloated passenger liner where the Empress was, no doubt, buffing her nails.
“If the Empress turns and runs?” Admiral Bolesław started but did not finish.
“If she’s aiming for me, why shouldn’t we aim for her?” Vicky said. “Admiral von Mittleburg, I wish to detach the armed merchant cruisers and have them attack the liner with the Empress aboard.”
“You do, do you?” came back pensively.
“We’ve got twenty-two merchant cruisers. They’ve got sixteen,” Admiral Bolesław pointed out.
“How many of those attack transports have some kind of popgun on them?” came back.
“I don’t know,” Admiral Bolesław admitted.
“Do we want to kill a lot of those troops?” was the next question.
“I would prefer to keep the slaughter to a minimum,” Vicky said. “Still, if our merchant cruisers could keep their distance as they go around the invasion fleet . . .” Vicky left unfinished.
“Captain Kyrillos of Rostock,” Admiral von Mittleburg snapped, “you will detach yourself from the present cruiser gun line. You will take command of all the armed merchant cruisers not yet engaged and do your best to destroy the command ship with the Empress aboard. In doing this, you will attempt to avoid excessive destruction of the attack transports.”
“Understood. I have a hunting license for one Golden Empress, but don’t let myself get up to my neck in the blood of those dumb schmucks trailing after her for a paycheck.”
“I would have expected you to put it no other way, Drugi,” Admiral von Mittleburg said.
Quickly, one light cruiser put on extra power, boosting its way up and away from the present cruiser battle. Putting Vicky’s b
attleships between it and the Empress’s battle lines, it headed for the armed merchant cruisers, which had already gone to two and a quarter gees, aiming for the side of the invasion fleet away from the Empress’s battle line. Eight armed merchant cruisers shielded that side of the transport fleet. No doubt, they would soon be hard-pressed all around.
The battle fell silent as the big ships reloaded their lasers. Vicky had time to notice that Admiral von Mittleburg’s ships had concentrated their fire against the ships across from her. Both side’s cruisers had cut their deceleration a bit more and were having their own little battle farther along toward St. Petersburg, staying clear of the behemoths trailing them.
The Empress’s four battle squadrons had stopped trying to swing around Vicky’s two. Apparently, someone had noticed that if the Empress’s ships got too far out trying to surround Vicky, they risked being defeated in detail.
Grand Admiral Kuznetsov seemed content to fight it out here. The Empress seemed content to let the Grand Admiral call the shots so long as almost all her battleships sent salvo after salvo ranging against Vicky’s flagship.
Sooner or later, they would have to get lucky, Retribution would run into a few shots, and once damage began to accumulate, things would go downhill in a hurry.
“How do we change this?” Vicky asked no one in particular.
“All ships,” Admiral von Mittleburg announced, “prepare to cut deceleration for thirty seconds to point-five gee on my mark.”
Admiral Bolesław got a happy grin on his face. “We change things by playing their game better than they do.”
As the clock counted down to the next broadside, Vicky found herself holding her breath.
“Announce to Second Battle Squadron that we go to Evasion Plan 5 on Admiral von Mittleburg’s mark.”
“Order transmitted,” Comm reported.
“Will this get messy?” Vicky asked.
“I hope it does,” the admiral said through a jolly laugh. “We stay alive if they mess up.”
“You think it will joggle Guns’s elbow?”
“Not Ulryk’s elbow, it won’t.”
Vicky tightened her five-point harness on her station chair. The high-gee station stayed empty.
“Mark,” Admiral von Mittleburg announced.
The bottom fell out of Vicky’s stomach as Retribution cut power. Still, it kept up its bounce to the right or left, a bit slower in the fall or faster. Retribution reached out for the Empress’s Punisher, a 16-inch battleship. Hammered hard, it fell out of the line and lost all deceleration. It began to spew survival pods. Four turrets did manage to fire, but their shots were ragged and went wild.
Several of the Empress’s ships were either showing the effects of hits or poor maintenance. Two big battleships in the low squadron were hammered by four of von Mittleburg’s ships. Their course grew erratic and their fire less effective.
Again, the Empress’s ships aimed for Retribution. They didn’t seem prepared for the sudden drop in deceleration. Even those who did failed to allow for the dodging and weaving.
Still, three shots caught Vicky’s flag. Two were just glancing blows. One however, got burnthrough forward.
“Hull breach. Hull breach,” rang throughout the ship.
“Damage control parties responding,” reported the flag comm.
“We surprised them that time,” Bolesław still crowed. “They didn’t see that one coming.”
For their part, they didn’t see the trick Grand Admiral Kuznetsov now pulled out of his sleeve. As they reloaded, his entire fleet changed the direction of their deceleration, pointing their nose over forty-five degrees toward Vicky’s ships and blasting their way to close the range.
“He wants to get those 14-inch battleships in range before he runs out of bigger ones.”
Vicky eyed what the grand admiral had done. She studied what showed on her board and made her decision. “Admiral, it’s time to order the destroyers forward.”
“I think you’re right. You want to pull the rocket boats up?”
“No, not yet. I’m none too sure those truncated merchies can stand in line with the battlewagons. At least not for too long. We aren’t ready to launch our antimatter missiles. Hold the boats back, but advise Admiral von Mittleburg that it would be nice if his destroyers could join with mine.”
A few quick words were exchanged, and three of the destroyer divisions were aimed nearly bow on to the Empress’s battleships, accelerating in their direction as they still decelerated toward St. Petersburg.
“Permission to join the attack,” came from the commodore of the Fourth’s destroyer division with the hard-hit and crippled little boys.
“You don’t belong out there, Cibor,” Admiral Bolesław said.
“We sure as hell don’t belong back here, Admiral.”
“Be it on your head, my old boy. You have my permission to go.”
The Fourth Division edged over, aiming itself gingerly at the approaching battle line. As they passed below the battle line, Vicky could hear a cheer rise in Retribution and likely in all the battleships.
“It’s a death’s ride,” Bolesław said softly.
Back at the battle lines, another ragged volley rolled up and down the battleships’ lines. The salvos from many of the Empress’s big-gunned ships were weak. Lasers were out of action or masked as they closed in on Vicky’s ships.
The Empress lost two ships: One, a 16-incher across from Vicky’s squadron, exploded, Retribution’s fourth. One of the 18-inchers engaging Admiral von Mittleburg fell out of line, lost power, and began to drift.
Retribution took two hits: one knocked out a 6-inch secondary turret. The other made a deep gash in her armor, but the extra ice kept it from burning through.
“We may be able to get one more broadside in before the old battlewagons come in range,” Admiral Bolesław said.
“Should we wear away from them to keep the range where we want it?” Vicky asked.
“That would be the smart thing to do,” Admiral Bolesław said.
“I do hate to run away from a fight. I don’t want to be like my stepmom, using everyone else as a shield for my body.”
“You do need to be alive to win this little rebellion we’re involved in.”
Vicky sighed. “Wear away, but make sure we can bring all guns to bear.”
In a moment, Admiral Bolesław had given the order, and the entire battle squadron did a smart turn away.
A moment later, Commander Blue said. “I have the Empress on a clear channel, screaming at Grand Admiral Kuznetsov.”
“Put it on screen.”
The Empress was up, her face livid with rage and large in the camera. “Chase that bitch! Don’t let her get away! Tell your Sailors they can have her warm body when I’m done with her. That ought to get them off their duffs.”
Grand Admiral Kuznetsov stood ramrod tall and looked pained. Almost disdainful. “As you wish,” and right there on an open channel, he ordered all of his battleships to aim themselves for Vicky’s battle line and go to two gees.
On Vicky’s screen, the Empress’s battleships were now chasing her as fast as she was running away. All their aft main batteries were masked—and they were closing on Vicky’s destroyers as fast as the destroyers were closing on them.
Worst, half their secondary guns were masked as well.
“Is he doing this intentionally?” Vicky asked Admiral Bolesław.
“He’s doing exactly what she demanded, and damning her badly.
“That bitch is attacking me!” the Empress suddenly shouted. She’d paced away from the camera, but she had her nose in it again. “She’s trying to kill me! Do something, Admiral.”
On the screen, the Imperial barge had gone to two gees deceleration and was pulling away from the braking fleet.
“Yes, Your Imperial Highness,” the grand admiral said blandly. “But what?”
“Order some battleships back here to protect me.”
“Which would you h
ave me send? Our newer battleships with larger guns have accumulated a lot of battle damage. While we’ve concentrated on Retribution, they’ve hammered all our firing ships very hard. The old battleships you had hauled out of mothballs are hardly in any condition to attempt more than one gee. One and a half at the most. I see you are now running away at two gees. Can your liner maintain that deceleration?”
As if to answer the grand admiral, the liner’s deceleration began to fall off—1.98, 1.95, 1.92.
“Admirals,” Commander Blue announced in a loud, clear voice, “I have a message coming in from His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Henry I.”
“The Emperor?” Vicky echoed, and managed not to add. What the hell is he doing here?
“Put it on screen,” Admiral Bolesław ordered.
CHAPTER 65
THE screen showed the bridge of a light cruiser. The skipper sat in a high-gee station. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week.
“I am Commander Bonaventura of the cruiser Smolensk, and I bear a message to all parties from His Imperial Majesty Henry I.” In a moment, the commander disappeared, and the Emperor himself stood before them stiffly, in full regalia.
“You are all hereby ordered to cease immediately this distaff strife,” he said, “and stand aside from each other under the pain of my severest displeasure.”
“Distaff?” Admiral Bolesław asked.
“Womanly,” Commander Blue said.
“Dad’s been reading Shakespeare again,” Vicky said with a sigh.
“It pleases me to have your discord submitted to mediation, so that I may have harmony in my palace once again.”
“Mediation? Who?” Vicky said. And was shocked to hear her stepmother ask the same thing on her net.
“Who could mediate this?” Admiral Bolesław asked. “Really mediate this, I mean.”
Vicky shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“It pleases me to request from another noble monarch the services of Princess Kristine Longknife of Wardhaven. She saved my life, and I would willingly place my trust in her now. She brought you, Grand Duchess Victoria, home from much risk and travail. This pleases me, and I hope it will satisfy you, Victoria.”
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