Last Measure of Devotion (TCOTU, Book 5) (This Corner of the Universe)

by Britt Ringel

  “We’ll be risking unnecessary damage to Ajax, ma’am.”

  “I don’t care,” Vernay dismissed coldly. “We’re making every, single pass count. The admiral is counting on us to do our jobs and ours is to knock a ship out of combat on every pass we make.” She paused for a moment to calculate the final math of the looming pass. “Damn,” she cursed. “Nguyen should’ve brought us in at a sharper angle. We won’t be able to use our KDTs against them.” She clenched her jaw.

  Ricot exchanged skeptical glances with Ajax’s weapons officer. “Captain, we’d have to close the range to one light-second! Can KDTs even be used against ships? They’re purposed for missile defense.”

  Vernay snorted. “I’ve seen kinetic defense turrets sweep hundreds of sloop-sized vessels from space. We need to work on adding that potential to our second pass.”

  “Hundreds?” Ricot echoed incredulously. “What battle was that?”

  “Breaching ten light-seconds,” the weapons officer announced.

  The news brought Vernay to the edge of her seat. Her chair arm console showed that the twin barrels of the Maclex turret were firmly locked onto the Saden brig. She had again succumbed to her desire to replicate the WEPS console onto her own but had, so far, resisted providing assistance. I’m the captain, she told herself. I have to trust my officers. Garrett never stepped on my toes. Instead of stewing over having her hands tied, she tracked both her ship’s course and its target. “WEPS, after we’re done with Renown, you should be able to fire a heavy laser burst at the ship behind it—,” she paused to squint at the tactical plot then added, “—Superb. I want center mass hits on that brig as well.” She shot Ricot a ferocious look and announced, “We’re adding to Ajax’s legend today, people.”

  The weapons officer nodded acknowledgment but remained focused on his panel. Vernay rode the next fifty-eight seconds in silence. During that period, she divided her attention between her replicated weapons panel and the ship’s system status display. The opposing vessels roared past each other at a combined speed of .26c. After the pass was completed, Vernay quickly tallied the results. By her count, Ajax scored six of her eight heavy laser shots and an astounding thirty-three of forty light laser bursts.

  In return, Ajax had endured her own thrashing during the run. Renown, a Greywolf-class brig armed with two quad GP laser turrets and a side-mounted dual turret, had foolishly not attempted to avoid such decisive contact and unleashed her own bombardment against her enemy. Ajax’s shield generator, in conjunction with her AIPS screen, deflected the first eleven seconds of directed energy fire but eventually yielded to the hostility pounding her. The Seshafian warhorse now looked like a striped tiger, sporting multiple, savage laser wounds along her side. Her port drive flickered for six seconds before spitting out plasma and growing cold.

  Renown, defended by only an AIPS screen, had fared far worse. During the time it took for her gunners to batter down Ajax’s defenses, their aft quad GP turret and side-mounted dual lasers were annihilated by incoming fire. Renown’s beam was torn open brutally by multiple strikes of Maclex lasers and the flames jutting from the brig swirled like infernal tornados as the brig hemorrhaged nearly half of her atmosphere.

  The limited debris trail left by Ajax compared to the flaming Saden vessel spilling wreckage from her gut bore strong testament to why brigs rarely matched against ships of the line.

  * * *

  As a full forty-six percent of Renown decompressed, the rearguard sections of the two fleets hurled toward each other at one-quarter the speed of light. Denise Gables sat calmly inside the tight cockpit of her modified Dunnings racing shuttle and observed her fighter formations. “Tighten it up, Sparrows,” she ordered over the fighter wing comm channel.

  “Any tighter,” Ensign May quipped, “and Sparrow Seven will have to marry me.”

  The flight of fifteen fighters was less than a light-second from Truesworth’s corvette. After their scramble from Nest’s flight deck, they had immediately set off to join the lead ship to augment the corvette’s pitiful defenses against the expected missile attack.

  “Vampires,” Ensign Olson announced in a composed voice. “Just three,” he added with relief.

  “Roger, Sparrow Ten,” Gables acknowledged, “that’s all she can salvo. Increase speed to point one-seven-C. Let’s clear the road for Dash.”

  Gables felt the slight G-increase as she pushed her shuttle forward of Dash. Not too far ahead, she reminded herself and settled into fitful silence as she grappled with the shuttle’s targeting computer. The monitor had been crudely fixed to her control panel, replacing the craft’s diagnostics suite. As the fighter development program had fallen further and further behind, it became evident that the experimental group’s venture into combat could easily be a one-way trip. The final months had been an exercise in compromise and futility. The initiative had been conceived with the notion of launching, fighting and recovering the flight using conventional carrier operations, a fact that now seemed as farcical as it was ambitious. When problems arose with launching fifteen separate shuttles within a reasonable timeframe, the dream of recovering the shuttles like fighters was completely abandoned. Persistent and complex issues in engineering ranging from power consumption to arming the fighters had combined to frustrate the program at every step. The resultant concessions ensured the program would ultimately be considered a failure.

  These sensors can barely lock onto a stationary target, let alone something moving four-tenths the speed of light. She coaxed her target cursor over her assigned missile and heard the high-pitched warble of success briefly before the computer lost its lock. Grinding her teeth, she wobbled the cursor back over the inverted “v” on her screen. Come on, you piece of crap; it’s right there.

  Thankfully, Gables knew she had back-up. Each of the three incoming missiles had other shuttles attempting to shoot it down and even if some leaked through, those surviving missiles would have to squeeze through the corvette’s own missile defenses.

  “Nothing so far,” Gables’ wingman spat.

  “Stick with it,” she urged. Her cursor danced over her target again without effect. Gables shook her head in disgust. “Sparrows, if you haven’t achieved a lock by now, recycle power.”

  The reboot routine took twenty-two seconds. In that time, the first wave of Saden missiles entered the five light-second shell of the fighters. A meager three fighters fired their single GP laser. A lonely flash on Gables’ Tactical Awareness Display informed her of a successful intercept. Better than nothing, she thought as she directed her efforts toward the next, rapidly approaching missile wave. Six light-seconds behind the fighter group, Dash flailed desperately at the dual missiles streaking toward her.

  Gables achieved a hard lock against a second-wave vampire. Her short burst from the forward-mounted Lyle laser traveled 3ls before splashing over the first third of the Saden missile, obliterating it. To her surprise, the remaining two missiles in the wave also fell to combined fighter fire. During the lull before the third wave, she preemptively cycled her targeting computer, hoping the system would be ready before the next missiles were past her.

  The computer was not, and two missiles from the third wave shot past the tiny defenders on their way to the rearguard’s little corvette. Gables cursed at her fighter wing’s inability to help her friends on Dash. She anxiously scanned her TAD but was unable to decipher any meaningful information from the blue square representing Truesworth’s ship. Surely, Jack can defeat a paltry, two missiles coming at him. She reflected briefly on Anelace’s desperate defense against the same number of missiles and shook her head sadly. Corvettes just aren’t cut out for combat, she decided.

  “One more wave,” May encouraged from Sparrow-6. “Let’s do this, guys.”

  Gables glided her cursor lightly over the next volley. Nothing, she thought as her stomach twisted into knots. Frustration overwhelmed her and she punched the targeting display. This whole weapon system is absolute garbage! If the Re
public could design a targeting system that fits into a fighter, why can’t these corporations do it too? She swept the cursor back over the missile symbol again without success. Staring helplessly at the inverted “v,” she considered the situation. I’d ram the damned thing if I thought my nav computer could manage it.

  The wave flashed by them faster than she could perceive. Only the twinkle on her center console suggested someone had achieved a successful interception. One second later, May’s triumphant whoop over the communications frequency offered evidence as to who had attained the hit.

  Overall, the improvised fighters destroyed half of the twelve missiles inbound for Dash. Although the interception ratio seemed disappointing to Gables, the wing’s efforts had given the corvette a fighting chance against Courageux’s missile barrage.

  “Rotate one-eighty and decrease speed back to point one-two-C,” Gables ordered while stomping on her lateral thrusters with an alloy heel. The maneuver, which would take far too long for a starship to complete, was finished in less than five seconds by the more nimble shuttle. Gables firewalled the drive throttle and was pushed back into her seat. After four seconds of thrust, she reoriented her shuttle back toward the enemy.

  Had Dash’s crew not been busy defending themselves, they may have marveled at the exhibition of precision displayed by the shuttlecraft now residing just 1ls from their ship’s bow. Gables confirmed her distance to Dash and monitored the rapidly closing range with Courageux. The Saden line ship, a behemoth compared to the shuttle she piloted, was still an invisible target. The only clue to the fourth-rate’s position, some three million kilometers away, was the holographic symbol painted over the position on her heads-up display.

  “This is it, Sparrows,” Gables said, heart pounding. The distance between her fourteen-tonne shuttle and the 6,580-tonne line ship dropped precipitously. “We only get one chance so let’s make it count. See you on the other side.” Either literally or figuratively, she thought. She took a final, cleansing breath and ordered, “Sparrows are free to maneuver.”

  Fifteen fighters oriented in fifteen different directions and scattered like a startled flock. What had been an orderly and constricted formation disintegrated into a cloud of gnats flying helter-skelter in a loose ball.

  Inside her cockpit, Gables tore at her flight stick while simultaneously stomping on thruster controls in random fashion. Her Dunnings racing shuttle had, mercifully, not been outfitted with an over-G indicator. Instead, only the whine of her inertial compensator and her own, violent grunts serenaded the desperate actions of the frantic pilot. Gables’ evasive jinks were made more complicated by her conflicting goals to evade laser fire from the Saden monster but also maintain a course toward it. She unloaded the G’s from her craft and forced open her eyes to verify that her Dunnings was still on a vague path toward Courageux. Satisfied, she threw her shuttle into an incredible thirteen-G turn while shoving its throttle forward. The craft twisted into an impossible trajectory as her helmet rattled against the side of her seat. Gables noted that, unlike her old Brevic F-3 “Pup” fighter, there was no female voice warning her of an enemy locking onto her craft. It’s kind of nice, she mused between strenuous grunts, not having “Bitchin’ Betty” screaming at me. Instead of automated warnings forecasting the danger, Gables merely assumed that each spasmodic breath she took would be her last.

  Several seconds after her last turn, she violently pitched her craft into the z-axis and fired its main drive. After two heartbeats, she, again, unloaded the G’s from her shuttle and opened her eyes. Blood rushed back into her head, granting her vision. When she first began maneuvering, Gables estimated that she would be inside Courageux’s weapons range for roughly thirty-five seconds. Her chronometer was now at plus thirty-nine and counting. Not trusting her good fortune, she threw the Dunnings into an additional, teeth-rattling turn to starboard while searching her TAD. Unbelievably, her shuttle appeared to have made it to “the other side.”

  Gables hooted in delight with the realization that she had slipped past Courageux’s laser fire to reach the unprotected beam of the line ship. She quickly oriented her shuttlecraft’s nose to match course and rapidly calculated how much burn from her main drive she would need to maintain her position relative to the mammoth line ship. Courageux had completed her pass against Dash and was opening the distance between itself and the remainder of Seshafi’s rearguard.

  Accelerating hard to match Courageux’s speed, Gables searched the space around her for additional survivors. She counted only three other shuttles. Her stomach dropped at the disheartening total. She had dreamed that, somehow, the outcome would have been different this time. Additional scrutiny of the three beacons identified them as Sparrows Four, Eight and Nine. The horrific losses tore at her soul. Vivian May, Patrick Olson. So many… just gone. She narrowed wet eyes at Courageux’s symbol. The line ship was beginning to roll in a bid to bring her battle face to bear against the four shuttles alongside her. Not a chance in hell, Gables thought mercilessly while bringing her boots down on the Dunnings thruster pedals.

  “Sparrow flight, form up on me,” she ordered while lining up her single laser at the leviathan sailing a scant 2ls from her. “It’s our turn now.”

  Chapter 26

  “This is an outrage!” Wallace bellowed so loudly that every bridge officer cringed. “There!” he shouted while violently pointing at the quartet of shuttles pouring laser fire into Courageux’s vulnerable flank. “What gives them the right?” he sputtered. “Those insignificant shuttlecraft,” he spit the words out as if a curse, “dare to fire upon a line ship?”

  “They’re ravaging her, Viscount,” Ladd pointed out meekly at his side.

  “I know that, you dolt! I can see what’s happening!” Wallace screamed. “This is a clear violation of corporate war! It violates the very fiber of our principles.”

  A third voice entered the conversation. “How, Viscount?”

  Wallace spun to face the questioner, eyes burning like supernovas. The Red Admiral opened his mouth to castigate the simpleton but came face-to-face with Archduke Dunmore. Discretion immediately reined in his temper. Wallace inhaled deeply and held it for several seconds. Only after an equally deep, purging exhalation did he explain. “My Lord, they are abusing the designs of our line ships. First, with their stunt at the tunnel point and now, with their armed shuttles. All corporations build their line ships as we do. Imagine the chaos that would ensue if we were to exploit the optimization of our capital ships.”

  “I don’t need to imagine it. I can see it presently,” Dunmore answered through clenched teeth. “Cite the exact rule that they have violated, Viscount. The Courts will insist upon it.”

  Wallace looked belligerently at Dunmore and opened his mouth to retort. He hesitated. “I… I can’t.” The left side of the admiral’s face brightened briefly, bathed in the light of a large explosion near the stern of Courageux’s hologram. “Archduke,” he pleaded, “look at that!” Secondary explosions inside the line ship’s drives flared up in violent sequence. “Where is the honor of combat if just a handful of shuttles are allowed to change the dignity of war?”

  “Admiral,” Ladd interjected, “Commodore Harrow is requesting permission to strike. He says they cannot maneuver fast enough to unmask their batteries at the shuttles. He reports heavy casualties and loss of most of his propulsion, including the tunnel drive.”

  “No!” Wallace spat in defiance. “Courageux can’t strike to a mob of shuttles.”

  Dunmore examined the holo-tank. The ships sailing behind Courageux were virtually untouched. Ahead of the rearguard though, other ships were in crisis. Inside the main, Formidable had taken moderate damage while brutalizing Seshafi’s second-rate but Renown had been nearly destroyed. The brig had failed to turn with the rest of the formation and trailed so much flame the CEO wondered if the ship was a write-off. The remaining brig and snows in the main had each taken their share of damage from their counterparts but looked able to continu
e the fight. Forward of the main, the ships in Sade’s vanguard had experienced their own Seshafian treachery.

  It was abundantly clear to everyone inside Sade’s command ship exactly why the enemy had placed the battle’s location so close to the Ugrit tunnel point. What Wallace had assumed was just another personal jab against him, Dunmore now recognized as a brilliant maneuver to bring his vanguard under fire from opposing directions. Even the poor showing of the Seshafian fleet during the practice runs had been a ruse to not only lull Wallace into a false sense of security but to position his fleet where the vanguard would be susceptible to a squadron diving in from the tunnel point. The incredible timing required to execute such a move brought a grudging respect from Dunmore. The scheme resulted in two disabled Saden ships that had endured the worst of a gauntlet of fire along each of their beams. With the privateer brig, Gallant, and the snow following it now out of the fight, Sade’s vanguard was down to a heavily damaged third-rate and three privateer snows.

  The outcomes were not completely one-sided though. Seshafi’s pitiful rearguard had been demolished. Neither of the pressed freighters had survived the pass and the third freighter, some kind of converted shuttle transport ship, had been blistered as well. The rearguard’s only real warship, a corvette named Dash, had suffered not only a near miss from a Courageux missile but been partially raked by the line ship herself.

  The Sadens had won the clash between the rearguards. The mains had traded blows in near equal measure. Only the vanguard bout had been decidedly lopsided in favor of the defenders.

  “Admiral,” the archduke said, “you are not responsible for the disastrous state of our vanguard. No fleet admiral has ever before pulled off such an incredible display of tactics, timing and position as that. However, you are accountable for how you respond to this.” He gestured curtly toward the holo-tank. Courageux’s image glowed fiercely as she continued to sustain sporadic laser fire from the hornets twirling around her. Each word spoken by the CEO now grew louder than the last. “Every flash of light on Courageux represents hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of credits I must spend in repair.” The man was red-faced now. “You will allow her to retire while there is something left of her! Order it now!”