Hands reached at her, and she turned to see Scott attempting to drag her away, pulling her from Armstrong. Harper fought with her, struggling to stay on the bridge, the two of them bouncing around the wrecked deck, scattering debris as they went, the whine of escaping air growing louder by the second.
“She's dead, Kris, and we've got terminal impact in thirty seconds. We've got to go.”
“No, no,” Harper protested.
“Come on, damn it! She's dead, but you don't have to die with her. I'm not giving your stupid message to Pavel. You can hand-deliver the cursed crystal. Now come on! We've got about thirty seconds!”
Scott dragged Harper from the shattered bridge, tugging her down the corridor. The docking port had been lodged open with a spacesuit, the hatch unable to close, another succession of red lights warning of the dire consequences should they stay. As soon as Harper passed into the passenger cabin, Scott tugged the suit clear, and the airlock slammed shut, the shuttle's engine firing on automatic to take them away from the ship.
“Armstrong,” Harper said, turning to the hatch.
“She's gone,” Scott replied, dragging her to the cockpit. She slid down into the pilot's seat, pushing Harper into the other couch, and fired the thrusters to throw them away from the doomed ship, carefully guiding them clear of the debris field. “Dirty trick trying to get rid of me like that.”
“Didn't want you to die with me,” Harper mumbled. Both pieces of Daedalus were clearly visible on the screen, the monitor flashing streams of data as it attempted to calculate their courses. Escaping atmosphere was tossing the two fragments around, and the Xandari commander was struggling to compensate, trying to evade the incoming vessel, but finally, he ran out of time.
It was the forward section that did the worst of the damage, crashing amidships into the heart of the enemy ship, rending a gaping hole in the hull that tossed it to the side, the armor seeming to curl away as the vessel split along the seams, bodies thrown clear by the escaping atmosphere along with a cloud of debris.
For a second, she thought the engineering section would miss, but at the last instant, an unexpected blast of oxygen dragged it into line, hurling it into the rear of the craft. The Xandari ship tumbled, end over end, out of control and diving towards one of its fellows, and shuttles started to spill out, crewmen seeking sanctuary on their fellow ships. With a blinding flash, they ran out of time, something detonating in the enemy ship, and a wave of shrapnel raced through space, catching the few escaping crewmen in a series of supplemental explosions that only added to the carnage.
Shaking her head, Harper said, “Damn, Daedalus died well.”
“She was a good ship,” Scott added. “Thirty years those bastards had her. I'd say she had her payback.” Turning to Harper, she added, “Armstrong knew what she was doing, Kris. And she volunteered, hell, demanded to stay.”
Nodding, Harper replied, “One more to add to the death count.”
“I think the rest of the crew got away,” Scott said.
“I hope so,” she sighed. “Never again, Kat. I'm never doing this again.”
Placing her hand on Harper's shoulder, Scott replied, “You did good, Captain. You did damned good. No one else could have got us here.” Pointing at the scanner, she added, “That missiles salvo is going to hit home. Eight impacts on each of the surviving ships. And we're going to have a front-row seat.” Reaching into her pockets, she pulled out the data-crystals, passing them back to Harper. “I'm not going to need these damn things any more, either.”
Nodding, Harper slid them into her pockets, sitting back in her chair as Scott altered their course, bringing them high over the enemy ships to keep them clear of the battle. The tangled remains of Daedalus drifted past the Xandari formation, now tangled with the remnants of the ship it had destroyed.
Six months. For six months she'd commanded her own ship, a ship that had taken her to safety when the Xandari attacked, one that had done everything she had asked of it and more than she had any right to expect. And she'd repaid that service by deliberately slamming her into an enemy battlecruiser.
Turning to her, as though able to read her mind, Scott said, “There wasn't any other choice, Kris. You only did what any good combat commander would have done. I'd have done exactly the same in your place.” With a smile, she added, “Except that I wouldn't have had the guts to come out here at all.”
“Smart,” Harper muttered.
“Come on,” Scott replied, punching a control. “First missile strike in five seconds. We don't want to miss the show.”
“No,” Harper said, images of Armstrong's twisted corpse drifting into her mind. “The tickets were too damned expensive.”
Chapter 25
Salazar rose from the command chair, taking an involuntary step forward as he watched Daedalus slamming into the Xandari battlecruiser, fragments scattering across space. His eyes widened as the scene of devastation unfurled before him, Foster looking across at him from the tactical station.
“Eight escape pods got away, and a shuttle at the last minute,” she said. “I'd bet my last credit that Harper was on it.” After a second, she added, “Damn it, Pavel, get your head back in the game! We've still got two ships heading right for us!”
He nodded, then turned to Lombardo, and asked, “Art, how's the ship?”
“I've already found about half a dozen little surprises for us, Captain,” he smiled as he said the rank, then continued, “but we know our ship a hell of a lot better than they did.”
“Some traps in the software as well,” Hooke added, “but I've wiped them clear of the system. As far as I can tell, we've got control.”
Tapping a control on his chair, Salazar said, “Bridge to Ryan. Any sign of enemy activity?”
“Just a lot of dead bodies, Pavel. Looks like they all decided to kill themselves at the end. You think we might convince those bastards on the battlecruisers to follow their example?”
“It might take a little more than that. Let me know when you get to Engineering.”
“Roger. Out.”
Turning from his console, Spinelli reported, “First missile impacts on enemy ships in fifteen seconds, sir. Combat range in ninety-five.” Looking up at a readout, he added, “All birds running true, clear to the target.”
Nodding, Salazar watched the tactical display, taking a step back to sit down on the chair. Twenty-one missiles remained, heading for the battlecruiser formation, though nine of them were moving into the inferno of the wrecked ship at its heart, the computers unable to alter their course in time to make a difference.
He looked around the emergency bridge, still astonished to be back on Alamo. Before the last refit, this had been the main control center, and he was sitting where Captain Marshall had sat during the rediscovery of Ragnarok, the first battles with the Cabal, then later with the Xandari. A sense of history weighed down upon him. In ten years, he wondered, would some young commander be thinking of this battle, in a system half-way across the galaxy?
Daedalus' shuttle dived clear of the wreckage just as the missiles hit. Two of them were taken out by flying debris before impact, one last gift from their dead comrade, but ten missiles still found their targets, seven of them crashing into the battlecruiser on the left, leaving a series of gaping holes running down the side of the hull. Escaping air tossed the ship to the side, the Xandari pilot struggling to bring his ship back under control, fighting a battle he couldn't win. The other fared better, three impacts at the rear, all close enough together to limit the damage to the rest of the ship.
“Report,” he said, turning to Foster.
“Target Alpha is crippled,” she replied. “Damage to weapons, thruster control, sensors. She's a dead bird, Captain, and I don't think she's going to contribute much to the fight. Target Beta has lost hendecaspace drive and primary life support, as well as serious damage to the rear
section.” Shaking her head, she added, “We've got to assume she's fully combat-capable.”
“Status of our weapons systems?”
“Laser charging now, six missiles in the tubes, ready to fire.”
Salazar nodded, then said, “Go for the laser at extreme range, then follow up with the missiles. To hell with defensive fire. We're going to finish them.” Looking at the scattering debris fields, surging ahead of the enemy ship, he added, “Maqua, take us into that cloud.”
“Into the wreckage, sir?”
Lombardo turned from his station, and said, “That'll play merry hell with the outer hull.”
“Better some shrapnel damage than a missile impact, Art.”
“Altering course,” Maqua said, clicking his hands over the controls. “Correcting attitude.”
Salazar watched as Target Alpha drifted away, falling back, an easy target for a later strike. Target Beta homed in on them, and he knew that the enemy commander had murder in his mind, knew that he would be seeking to mitigate the defeat any way he could.
In the background, he could hear an oddly familiar hum, and realized it was the noise of the laser cannon charging up. One more thing he'd missed. After months in a Neander-friendly environment, everything was so bright, the air tasting different, the subtle flavors missing. Even the doors slid open, rather than dilating.
It was good to be home. Even under these circumstances.
“Ten seconds to contact,” Spinelli said.
“Any signal from any station?” Salazar asked.
“Too much jamming at the moment,” Weitzman replied. “Give it a few minutes, when we're clear of the enemy ship.” He paused, then added, “Or when we've sent the bastards to Hell.”
“Helm, I'm going to need a firing pass in eight seconds,” Foster said, reaching up to the laser controls. “Right across the front. If we can take out some of his launch tubes, so much the better.”
“Roger,” Maqua said. “Altering course.”
The ship swung around, pivoting on its thrusters to line up with the enemy ship, preparing to fire. At the critical second, Foster fired, a thin beam of light lancing towards the Xandari vessel for an instant, long enough to send a line of death running down the side of the hull, melting and tearing as it went, sending clouds of atmosphere seeping out into space.
“Burn, you bastard,” Foster said. “Burn!” She looked up at Salazar, and added, “Launching missiles, sir.”
Alamo rocked as six missiles soared into the void, and after a second, Foster belatedly began to engage the combat fabricators, the second salvo taking shape in the launch tubes as the systems hurriedly sprung back into life. Up on the screen, four lines moved into view, the enemy firing a retaliatory salvo to intercept their missiles. Two were going to get through, and in thirty seconds, Foster would have a second laser pulse to rake them with.
It almost felt as though the ship was coming back to life, seeking revenge on the enemies who had enslaved her, attempted to bend her to their will. She danced on her thrusters, homing on her target with a strange eagerness, Maqua playing the controls with a smile on his face as they closed on the enemy.
“Wow,” Spinelli said. “Explosion on Target Alpha. I think they tried to launch a missile.” Shaking his head, he added, “They've ripped the front of their ship to pieces. I don't think we're going to have to worry about them, skipper.”
“We should have more enemies like that, Spaceman.”
“Maqua, now!” Foster yelled, and Alamo swung into position as she took her second shot, this time catching the enemy vessel in the rear, sending it into a slow spin. The trajectory plot grew chaotic as the ship struggled to calculate the course of the enemy, engines firing in spasmodic pulses in a vain attempt to buy time. A pair of missiles slammed into the ship, brief explosions tearing new holes in the hull, compartments exposed to space as their occupants were blown out into the vacuum, ragdolls tossed clear of the enemy vessel.
“Second salvo, sir?” Foster said.
“Finish it, Val,” he said. “Bring that bastard down.”
There was no response to the second wave of missiles diving towards the enemy spacecraft, and Salazar watched as the seconds trickled away, his warheads moving for their targets, carefully chosen to cause maximum damage. The Xandari pilot struggled to the end, firing thrusters in a desperate attempt to gain distance, to protect his ship, but Foster guided her missiles into position with the precision of a master, and with a white flash, the battlecruiser exploded, a sphere of debris cascading through space. Almost on cue, Target Alpha detonated, her captain choosing suicide rather than being taken alive.
“The strong shall survive,” Maqua said. “The weak shall perish.”
Weitzman looked across at his board, and said, “Communications are clearing, sir.”
“Put me on, all channels,” Salazar replied.
After a second, the communications technician, back at his familiar controls, said, “You're on, sir. Everyone in the system can hear you.”
“This is Acting Captain Pavel Salazar, commanding the Triplanetary Battlecruiser Alamo. The Xandari forces in orbit have been annihilated. Copernicus is free once more. All remaining forces are ordered to stand down and surrender at once, or face the consequences.” With a deep sigh, he said, “The war's over, everyone. We won.”
That triggered a burst of cheers around the bridge, a dozen crewmen loudly demonstrating their relief. Salazar sat back in the command chair, exhausted, as Foster jumped from her station, clapping him on the back, Maqua setting the controls for a stable orbit with a dazed smile.
“Great work, everyone. Great work.”
Weitzman, shouting over the clamor, said, “Signal from Colonels Kilquan and Skeuros, sir. They both send their complements on an excellent kill.”
“Tell them both that we couldn't have done it without them, and that I expect to see them at the party.” He looked up at the sensors, shaking his head, and said, “Val, if I can drag you away for a moment, we'd better see what condition the SAR shuttle is in. We've got a lot of escape pods out there, and some of them are likely Xandari.”
“Sir,” Spinelli said, “Daedalus shuttle on final approach. They should be coming into the hangar deck in a minute.”
“Foster,” Salazar replied, already racing to the door, “take the conn.”
“With pleasure, sir,” she said, as he sprinted down the corridor, leaping over the body of a Xandari, almost crashing into the elevator doors as they slid open. He tapped the control for the hangar deck, trying to dampen his hopes, knowing that any survivor from the wrecked ship would naturally make for Alamo as its first port of call.
He tugged down his uniform jacket, cursing as the elevator stalled for a second, anxiously tapping the control panel as it sped towards his destination. He'd spent the last six months on small ships, one after another, no more than fifty meters long. Alamo was half a mile long, all the way down the long laser cannon at its heart, and the elevator seemed to be taking forever to traverse it.
Finally, the doors slid open, and he raced through onto the open deck, a shuttle rising through the elevator airlock, the hull battered from the impact of shrapnel, the communications antenna a tangled ruin, shedding pieces of scrap metal onto the floor as the craft settled into position.
Without quite realizing it, he found himself running across the bay, the shuttle hatch popping open. Scott stepped out first, looking around the deck in a daze, and he felt his heart sink as his eyes widened, before Harper followed, streaks on her face, her uniform battered and burned. He raced for her, throwing his arms around her, unable to speak for a long moment as Scott watched on, an amused smile on her face.
He looked down at her, the two of them locking eyes, each of them unable to speak. There didn't seem to be any need for words. They'd cheated death, escaped the fate that was waiting for them. Reaching u
p with his hand, he brushed some hair from her face, then reached down to kiss her, not caring that they had an audience as more of the crew walked onto the deck.
Over the loudspeaker, a voice barked, “Signal from the surface. President Wulf has issued a formal surrender of all Copernican forces, as of 0623 local time.” A second chorus of cheers rose in the background, and the voice added, “Captain Orlova's shuttle will be on board in fifteen minutes.”
With a deep breath, Salazar looked up, red-faced as he saw the gathering crowd, and added, “What are you waiting for? The Captain's coming back. Let's get this bay ready to receive. Scott, take SAR Two and start picking up the escape pods.”
“Sure,” Scott replied, moving to the shuttle.
“What now?” Harper asked.
“Now we go for that walk on the beach. The rest of this can wait a while. There's no hurry. Not any more.”
Chapter 26
“Cease fire!” the voice yelled, out beyond the barricade. One last burst of machine gun fire raced through the air, some soldier a little to eager on the trigger, and the sounds of battle faded away, leaving only the cries of the dead or the dying echoing across the plain. Cooper staggered out of the compound, Bradley holding him by the good arm, the effects of the stimulants beginning to wear off.
“Sir,” Corporal Walpis said. “We've just had a signal from Council House. The President's dead, but her last act was to order a cessation of hostilities.”
Cantrell jogged over, and added, “Signal from Alamo. The enemy fleet has been destroyed.”
A wave of cheering broke the silence, rifles fired into the air as the army celebrated the victory. Out beyond the walls, Cooper saw the dejected look on the faces of the defeated army, their war ended on the threshold of success. One more attack would have taken the walls, reduced them to hand-to-hand combat, a battle they could never have won.
The wounded lay by the far wall. Donegan and the few local medics moved from man to man, fighting desperately to save the lives regardless of the uniform they were wearing. Cooper saw one of the enemy soldiers leaning over McBride, medical kit in hand, trying to stop the flow of blood from a leg wound.
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