by David Weber
“We’re barely within range, TO,” Marcello pointed out. “We’d do better to wait another few minutes.”
“No, Sir, we need to fire now,” Lisa said. “Aries is running a bluff. Rather, she’s running a double bluff. We’re both in missile range of the bandits, and they can’t block both of us. That’s why Hardasty called out her threat. She wants to make them open their kilt to her.”
“Why would they do that?” Shiflett objected. “Aries is closer to them than we are.”
“Right,” Lisa said, punching up a quick missile tracking vector. “But the destroyers know now that Aries and Taurus are MPARS ships.
“And they know MPARS ships aren’t armed.”
For a long second the speaker went silent. Lisa held her breath, running the logic through her mind again. If that wasn’t what Townsend was going for…
“Cute,” Marcello murmured. “Let’s see if it works. Give me a launch vector.”
“Plotted and to you,” Lisa said, keying the transfer.
“Got it,” Marcello said. “Forward missiles, here are your vectors: one missile per target. Launch on my mark.”
Lisa ran an eye over the status board. Everything looked normal.
But there was something lurking in the back of her mind. Something important.
Then, in a sudden rush, there it was. The last maintenance report on the dorsal launcher— “Wait—”
“Fire!”
With a thundering blast of sound, the whole ship bucked like a terrified horse, throwing Lisa against her restraints. There was a second roiling explosion, like the hull above her was being shattered.
And the universe went black.
* * *
“Damocles has launched,” Hardasty announced. “Targets…”
Chomps held his breath. Now if the invaders would just be clever enough to see through a poor, stupid Manticoran bluff…
“Targets are rolling wedge,” Hardasty said. “Rolling to block Damocles…damn and a half. They’re doing it. They’re actually turning their kilts straight toward us.”
Chomps smiled tightly. And if those were indeed Luna-class destroyers, they had no aft defenses. Which meant that if Hardasty was ready to put it all on the line—
“Signal Taurus to launch missiles,” she ordered. “All three, targeted on the lower bandit—control as best they can, just get them moving. We’ll take the upper one. Kyell?”
“We’re ready, Ma’am,” Kyell called toward the intercom, his voice trembling with excitement or fear or both. “Vectors set; missiles primed and charged.”
“On my mark,” Hardasty said. “Ready…fire.”
* * *
“I can’t tell a thing from this,” Ensign Locatelli complained, his voice drifting back from the depths of the crawlspace that ran alongside the laser emitter. “Are you sure we’ve got the target?”
“Pretty sure, Sir, yes,” Osterman said, peering at the uni-link she’d wired into the firing system.
Though in truth she wasn’t nearly as certain as she would like to be. While Phoenix’s laser firing equipment was still functional, the software had been seriously corrupted in the destroyer’s death throes.
Fortunately, she’d found an intact memory module in one of CIC’s systems that had enough space for what they needed. Invincible had downloaded replacement software, and then Osterman had removed the module, brought it back to the fire-control system, and wired it in. The system display had been cooked along with the software, but she’d managed to solve that problem by wiring in a uni-link to act as a repeater and let her keep track of what she was doing.
She couldn’t use her own uni-link, of course. She already knew it was damaged, and she wasn’t about to risk using it for something this vital. She’d used Commander Sladek’s instead, taking it off the XO’s body.
Some people might have considered that ghoulish, Osterman reflected, stripping equipment from a dead officer’s body. She preferred to think of it as Commander Sladek being a part of this last-ditch effort to strike a blow for King and kingdom. As if the XO’s ghostly finger would now be alongside hers and Locatelli’s on the firing switch.
The XO, a junior officer, and a senior petty officer. A nice yin/yang balance, really. If this story was ever told, Osterman suspected with a touch of grim humor, people would probably say that part was made up.
“Well, if they’re going to take the bait, I wish they’d get to it,” Locatelli muttered. “These things are getting hot.”
Osterman frowned. “What things?”
“These relays,” Locatelli said. “Yeah, I know they’re supposed to be wired to the heat sinks. But the couplings were shot, and most of the brackets were too warped to work. It’s okay—I’ve got them.”
“Except—” Osterman clamped down hard on the protest. Except that the whole system was about to surge with an incredible burst of energy, and if there were any gaps in the containment sheath there was a good chance Locatelli would be vaporized.
A fact that was, at this point, completely irrelevant. The instant that laser fired, something was going to fail in this jury-rigged system she and the ensign had thrown together. Whether it was the current couplings, the plasma conduits or the damn reactor itself, they were both dead.
But that was okay. That was the risk she and Locatelli had both agreed to when they signed up.
Most of the rest of their shipmates had already paid that price. Time for them to do likewise.
Only please, God, she prayed silently, first let us get off this one, last shot.
“Chief, I’ve got movement,” Locatelli snapped into her thoughts. “Can you confirm?”
Osterman focused on the uni-link’s display. It was hard to see, but—
Yes. There was movement, all right. The second group of enemy ships had halted their acceleration and were coasting.
And as she clenched the uni-link tightly, she saw that the battlecruiser was doing a combined yaw/pitch, swiveling her bow toward the distant Swiftsure as the RMN ship chased after Tamerlane and the other battlecruiser.
Presenting her kilt to Group Two as the biggest, fattest bait around.
There was a distant hiss of attitude jets as the data from Locatelli’s tracking system and Invincible’s downloaded programming combined to line up Phoenix’s dying hulk with the distant battlecruiser. “Almost there,” she called to Locatelli.
“Fire as soon as we’re on target,” Locatelli ordered. “I don’t want to trust this kluge any longer than we have to.” He hesitated. “And let me say, Chief, that it’s been an honor to serve with you. I hope I wasn’t too much of a pain in the butt.”
Osterman smiled. “No, Sir, not at all. No more than any other ensign.”
“Thanks, Chief. See you on the other side.”
The uni-link signaled target acquisition. Bracing herself, Osterman pressed the firing key.
She had just enough time to see the distant battlecruiser begin to disintegrate when Phoenix’s last remaining plasma line ruptured.
* * *
“No!” someone screamed. “No!”
A full, rich, scream, Gensonne thought distantly as he stared at the tactical. The kind of scream that a woman would make, or a terrified child, or a coward.
It took him a full two seconds to realize that the scream had come from his own lips.
Someone on Odin’s bridge was swearing, long complicated, vicious curses. It might be Gensonne himself—he couldn’t spare the mental energy to track it down. Every fiber of his being, every fraction of his brain was focused on the tactical display.
It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible.
But it had happened.
Thor was gone.
Disintegrated in the fury of laser fire.
But that was impossible. None of the Manticoran ships was even close to beam range. How in God’s name could they have done it?
“There,” a voice intruded into Gensonne’s spinning mind. A dark voice, trembling with rage and hatred
and accusation. Imbar’s voice. “That cloud of debris—right there. That’s where the shot came from.”
With a supreme effort, Gensonne turned to follow the captain’s pointing finger. The debris cloud, his numbed brain registered, was what was left of the Manticoran destroyer he’d already killed.
Only apparently he hadn’t killed it. He’d only wounded it.
And in his casual arrogance he hadn’t thought it worth wasting a missile to finish it off.
“Damn it!” Clymes snarled suddenly. “Admiral—they got Umbriel.”
Gensonne swiveled around, his heart thudding, a second wave of disbelief flowing through the growing detachment. This was happening too fast. Way too fast. There shouldn’t be this many shocks happening one right after the other. Modern warfare was slow, deliberate, with time to think—
“Admiral—”
“Shut up!” Gensonne snarled, twisting around to see who the damn fool was who had dared to interrupt his thoughts this time.
But no one was looking at him. Their eyes were on their consoles and displays, their faces studiously turned away from their admiral’s wrath.
“Admiral!” the voice came again.
And this time, Gensonne belatedly recognized it: the ATO calling from CIC. “Yes, I know,” he thundered. “Thor’s gone—Umbriel’s gone—”
“The hell with that,” the ATO snarled back. “We’ve got two more battlecruisers coming up from Manticore orbit.”
Gensonne felt his eyes widen. “Say again?”
“There are two damn battlecruisers coming from Manticore,” the other said tensely. “God’s sake, Admiral—what the hell do we do?”
With an effort, Gensonne found the right display. Two more wedges had indeed appeared, coming around the edge of Manticore’s moon, heading out to join the battle.
“Admiral?” That was Imbar, his earlier fury replaced with apprehension.
It was a trick, of course. It had to be. There was no way the Manticorans had two more major warships to throw at him.
But it didn’t matter. Even without them, the enemy now held the high ground. Gensonne was outmatched, and without a great deal of luck he couldn’t expect to win.
And if those incoming battlecruisers weren’t a trick…
“Signal all ships,” he said quietly. Quietly, because there was no longer anything to be gained by shouting. “Break off and retreat. I say again, break off and retreat.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral,” Imbar said, and Gensonne thought he could hear a hint of relief in the captain’s voice.
Small wonder. No matter how much armament and training a military force might have, without a modicum of luck there could be no expectation of victory.
And today, the Lady had been firmly on the Manticorans’ side.
But if there was one thing Gensonne knew, it was that the Lady was notoriously fickle. She was with Manticore today, yes.
But she wouldn’t be with them forever.
Someday, when she had deserted this place, he would be back.
“All ships acknowledging,” Imbar reported. “Breaking off now.”
“Set course for the hyper limit,” Gensonne ordered. “As fast as we can get there without coming into enemy attack range.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Gensonne turned back to the tactical and inclined his head in mocking salute. “Don’t worry, Captain,” he added. “This defeat isn’t permanent. We’ll be back.”
He glowered at the display. “We will absolutely be back.”
* * *
“My God,” Kyell breathed, his eyes wide as he stared at the display. “Did you see that, Townsend? Did you see that?”
“I saw it,” Chomps assured him. And what a lovely sight it had been.
And still was, for that matter. The expanding cloud of dust and debris wasn’t visible to the naked eye, or at this distance even the enhanced eye. But Aries’s lidar and radar systems were on the job, and the picture they painted was a very satisfying one indeed.
One enemy destroyer: gone. The other enemy destroyer…
Not gone. Not completely, anyway. Its wedge was still up, which meant its impellers and reactor were still intact.
But at least one of Taurus’s missiles had made it inside the protective blanket of stress bands and sidewalls. Surely it had caused some damage when it went bang.
“Wait a second,” Kyell said, floating a little closer to the monitor. “Are we still moving toward them?”
“Looks like it,” Chomps said. “Why?”
“Why? We’re out of missiles, man. We’ve already thrown everything we’ve got.”
“So?” Chomps countered. “They don’t know that. It’s still all about giving them a choice between us and Damocles. They jumped the wrong way the last time. Let’s see if we can make them do it again.”
“I don’t think she’s going to jump at all,” Kyell said. “Not sure, but I think she’s leaving.”
Chomps frowned, studying the shifting vector projection on the display as the destroyer went into a combination pitch and roll. It definitely seemed to have given up on rendezvousing with Group One.
And then the vector darkened as the destroyer cranked up its acceleration. The trace shifted again as its new vector was added to its original speed and direction…
Kyell was right. The destroyer was making a run for the hyper limit. And she was running about as fast as a destroyer of that class could reasonably be expected to travel.
“Sure is,” he said. He pointed to another part of the display. “So are the others. All of them.”
“I’ll be damned,” Kyell murmured. “So it’s over. Right? It’s over?”
Chomps swallowed. “It’s over,” he confirmed.
Only it wasn’t.
The Star Kingdom had repulsed this attack, certainly. But someone had put a lot of time, money, and effort into this invasion. That someone wasn’t likely to give up after just one try.
The Battle of Manticore—he assumed the history books would call it that—was over. But whatever else was going on was still going on. Whoever their attacker was, he was still out there.
The Star Kingdom had better figure out who he was, and where he was, and why he was. And they’d better do it fast.
* * *
And with that, suddenly it was over.
Winterfall stared at the big display in the Lords’ chamber, a prickly feeling on the back of his neck. The surviving invaders were running, driving toward the hyper limit as fast as their ships could go.
It was strangely surreal, those vectors now pointing away from Manticore instead of toward it. Like something out of an old saga, or the random scribblings of a minimalist artist.
But there was nothing surreal or imaginary about the bellow of victory that erupted spontaneously from the floor, or the roar of applause that suddenly filled the chamber.
The invasion had been repulsed.
The Star Kingdom was safe.
For now.
A hand plucked at his sleeve. “Come on,” Breakwater said, standing up and all but pulling Winterfall up beside him. “Come on,” he added, striding toward the nearest exit.
“What’s the matter?” Winterfall asked as he hurried to catch up. Breakwater pushed through the door and into the deserted corridor beyond, Winterfall right behind him. “My Lord, what’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem, Gavin,” Breakwater said as he picked up his pace. “Merely an opportunity.” He glanced back over his shoulder at Winterfall. “One that I have no intention of squandering.”
Winterfall frowned. An opportunity? “My Lord—”
“Hush,” Breakwater said. He’d pulled out his tablet and was punching commands into it. “Casey, Casey—hmm. No official word, but she was apparently still alive and functioning as of an hour ago. Hopefully, she’s still with us.”
“Casey?” Winterfall echoed, completely lost now. “What does Casey have to do with this?”
“Because that’s the sh
ip your brother is on,” Breakwater said. “Preliminary reports said Casey acquitted herself well in the early part of the battle. Though on second thought, even if she was destroyed we can probably still use your brother’s presence—”
“Wait a moment,” Winterfall said. “What does my brother have to do with this?”
“Casey acquitted herself well, and you’re the brother of one of her officers,” Breakwater said impatiently. “Surely you can connect the political dots.”
“Yes,” Winterfall murmured, a belated shock wave of memory hitting him. Travis was on Casey…only before that he’d been aboard Phoenix.
A ship which he and the rest of the Lords had just watched being destroyed.
A shiver ran straight through him. His brother had nearly been killed.
Might still have been killed, in fact. As Breakwater said, there was no official final word on most of the ships that had been in the battle.
People died in wars. On a distant, intellectual level Winterfall had always known that.
But suddenly it seemed a whole lot closer and more personal.
Never mind that he’d lost contact with Travis over the years. Never mind that they’d never been remotely close to begin with. Travis was still his brother.
“Ah,” Breakwater said with clear satisfaction. “Excellent. The reports are starting to come in and it looks like MPARS’s two newly-armed corvettes played a major part. If we can put those two together, we’ll be looking to gain some serious points in the Lords and the general populace.”
“Yes,” Winterfall murmured again. The visceral shock was fading, his brain already shifting from his brother to the political realities and possibilities.
Travis was alive, or he was dead. Either way, there was nothing Winterfall could do to affect things. What was important right now was that he and Breakwater make sure they rode atop the wave of this thing.
Because if the past few hours had proven anything, it was that the doomsayers had been right. There were deadly dangers and threats out there, and the Star Kingdom was not immune from those threats. Before the dust had even settled, Dapplelake and Cazenestro would be demanding more money and manpower for their Navy, and unless Winterfall and Breakwater did something quickly the King and Parliament would fall all over themselves granting those demands.