He shook his head, eyes still forward. “I reviewed the logs this morning. At the depth both stealths were at, nothing would hide from our sensors.”
“What does depth have to do with it?”
“The farther into the Bulk you go, the stronger gravity becomes and the more massive everything gets. Asp was destroyed at fourteen peets, and the singularity was strong enough to bend radio signals between our ships. The enemy stealth went even farther in after the attack—if we’d got her we’d have known.”
“How far in can a Centauri stealth go? Can our torpedoes even get her?”
“I think their newest boats can reach fifteen peets, and our torpedoes are rated for sixteen. Beyond that we start getting into some weird physics. But that’s all polysyllabic stuff.”
Thomas thought that was a strange thing to say, but Katja seemed amused by it. She made to respond, but cut herself off as a new symbol flashed into existence on the display. Moments later a report came across the AVW circuit from the cruiser Admiral Nelson, in the sector several dozen thousand kilometers aft and above Rapier.
Unknown contact inbound.
As they watched, another contact appeared. Then a third. In formation, no EM emissions.
“Captain, OpsO,” Katja said, “three suspects bearing one-one-five mark one-five-zero, closing. Assess possible Centauri warships.”
“Concur,” Thomas said. “Battle stations.”
The alarm sounded, muffled in his ears as Thomas locked down his faceplate. Throughout Rapier, the skeleton crew were bringing the weapons to ready and flashing up all backup systems.
“Rapier, this is Echo-Victor.” It was the voice of Miami’s former CO, now sitting in Thomas’s former seat at Normandy’s command console. “Investigate suspects five-eight through six-zero, weapons free, over.”
“This is Rapier, roger,” he said. “Request star fighter cover, over.”
“This is Echo-Victor, confirmed, out.”
He switched to the internal circuit. “Pilot, come hard right to one-one-five mark one-five-zero, attack speed.”
Rapier swung hard to the right and accelerated to her maximum cruising speed. On the 3-D, two blue symbols began to close his position—star fighters. The three suspects accelerated noticeably. Judging from their radar return, they looked like big ships.
“AA weapons free,” he said. “OpsO, get the strike camera locked on.”
Katja moved quickly to activate the camera. She magnified. Several shiny objects became clear on the console.
“Looks like Centauri. But I can’t tell what kind.”
Thomas stared at the monitor, thinking hard. Three big targets. There was no way that many battle cruisers could have snuck up on them—besides, battle cruisers would already have launched missiles at this range. Space Guard cutters? Three of them would be no match for the EF, even in its weakened state. And cutters wouldn’t paint so big on the radar.
The star fighters streaked past, easily overtaking the fast-attack craft. The image in the monitor was growing, but not quickly enough. Thomas hated this uncertainty.
“Pilot, flank speed!”
Rapier pushed forward to one tenth the speed of light. Thomas gripped his chair as the entire vessel began to vibrate. The image in the monitor quickly filled the screen and kept growing. Katja zoomed out. Thomas stared at the image. There weren’t three big ships—there were many smaller ones, packed in close formation.
Alarms sounded. The ship couldn’t sustain this emergency speed for long.
“Pilot, attack speed!”
Jack pulled back. Thomas continued to stare at the image in his monitor, counting up the enemy ships. He opened the AVW circuit.
“Echo-Victor, Rapier, suspects now desig hostile. Centauri cutters, ten of them. I say again, one-zero hostiles!”
Echo-Victor’s response was lost in the alarms as fast-moving contacts broke away from the cutters. Leading the charge, the star fighters jinked and dodged. One evaded. The other didn’t. A visible flash of light through Rapier’s bridge windows revealed the kill.
“Hostiles inbound!” Breeze shouted.
“Evasive. AA weapons free!”
Jack pulled hard to port. Then back to starboard. Thomas groaned against the g-forces and vaguely heard the bang-bang-bang as decoys launched. The ship heaved over again. Top and bottom turrets thundered to life. Tracers flashed out. Missiles exploded.
Rapier dove hard and dropped below the plane of the battle. Missiles chased. Tail turret joined the fray. All three weapons sprayed a wake of rounds behind the ship. The remaining missiles flew into the maelstrom and were destroyed.
The Centauri cutters spread out in a line abreast, closing the EF at high speed. Thomas saw the second star fighter wink out of existence on his display. More were inbound from the main force, and Admiral Nelson was charging forward to engage. The EF main body—the two invasion ships and two supply ships—were moving to distance themselves from the attack, with Jutland acting as blocker. The other cruiser, Admiral Halsey, was racing from her station on the far side of the Terran ships to join the battle.
Thomas realized that the enemy ships were passing Rapier at distance, their attention clearly focused on the EF. A wave of missiles was unleashed en masse, headed for the rapidly approaching Nelson. The cruiser returned fire, a stream of missiles launching in rapid succession. From his distance, Thomas couldn’t tell which weapons got through on either side.
He and his little ship were now outside the battle, overlooked as the enemy closed to point-blank range with Nelson. Thomas felt his teeth grind together. Those cutters were designed for fast interdiction against pirates—they were deadly at close range. Halsey was still on the far side of the EF, closing at top speed.
One of the destroyers, Cape Town, broke from ASW picket and was moving to help Nelson.
Rapier wasn’t designed for space battles. Yet she had four morningstar missiles and three self-defense turrets. And now, two torpedoes strapped where the strike pods had once been. He steeled himself for death.
Thomas Kane was not going to be accused of cowardice again.
57
Thomas quickly surveyed the battle. Where could Rapier do the most damage?
“Intercept hostile six-seven. Target with morningstars, salvo size four.”
Jack swung the ship in the z-axis and pointed toward the Centauri cutter at one end of the battle line. Katja locked on with all of her missiles.
“Target locked, in range,” she said.
“Fire!”
Dazzling orbs of yellow light blasted forth in sequence from Rapier’s wings. They accelerated clear, long tails stretching behind them as they closed on their target. The Centauri cutter, focused on Nelson, never had a chance. The missiles smashed through its small hull, tearing it apart in flames that leapt far with the escaping air.
The display revealed a swarm of robotic sentries holding the star fighters at bay, isolating Nelson from aid. Cape Town tried to charge through the swarm, batteries blazing. Halsey was just approaching the main body. Jutland launched long-range missiles at the cutters. The other three destroyers closed in for main body defense to free the battleship to engage.
The cutters broke their line, swarming over Nelson. The cruiser’s defensive weapons fired non-stop, but far too many hits got through. One cutter exploded under a determined counterstrike. Another reeled from Jutland’s long-range attacks. But it was too little—Nelson was taking too much damage.
“Pilot,” Thomas said, “target hostile six-five with torpedo. Close into range.”
Jack steered with one hand and activated his weapons with the other.
“Our torpedoes are weak here on the brane. I’ll need to fire both to ensure a good singularity.”
“Do it!”
The cutters noticed Rapier again, and one broke off the attack on Nelson to fire. Tracers flashed past the cockpit as Rapier banked hard, continuing to close.
“I’ve got a solution,” Jack said. �
�Coming into range.”
“Fire!”
There was a double bang as the torpedoes were ejected from the hull. They accelerated past the ship, slowly shrinking from view as they phased into the Bulk. The Centauri cutter broke off its attack and tried to run, but it had no ASW defenses. Thomas watched as its port side crumpled. A second later its starboard side twisted and wrenched itself apart.
“Holy shit!” Breeze said.
Rapier’s turrets opened fire as fast, short-range missiles rocketed toward her.
Jack jinked hard and evaded.
The cockpit lurched violently. Thomas’s head slammed back in his helmet against the seat. Alarms screamed.
“Hull breached on upper deck, starboard side,” Katja said. “Main cave.”
Two of the cutters had broken off from Nelson and were closing on Rapier. Thomas felt like screaming—but he would not back down. Nelson was still surrounded. Cape Town was reeling from robot sentry fire. Halsey still wasn’t in range. Rapier was the only distraction.
“Close to point-blank range. Keep them on our beam.”
Jack obeyed without question, flying straight into the hail of rounds. Rapier shuddered under the onslaught but quickly closed to within the range of her own turrets. Jack swung the ship to port to open the firing arcs of all three weapons.
Nothing happened. No shots fired. Centauri rounds continued to rain down. Thomas stared at Breeze, his AAW officer. She was gripping her console, staring in fear up through the windows at the looming cutters.
Thomas used his command console to designate the two hostiles to the turrets, set to permanent engage. Instantly the rapid-fire thudding of the guns echoed through the hull. He tried to reach out to hit Breeze, but his straps kept him restrained.
“Brisebois!” he shouted. “Man your station!”
The Centauri shots were falling astern. Thomas heard a single bang against the hull, and saw Jack wrench the stick to reverse his turn. The three turrets continued to strafe the lumbering cutters with ease. After Jack’s third turn, the enemy retreated from the engagement.
“Damage report!” Thomas said.
“Total depressurization of the main cave,” Katja said. “Sealed and contained. Fuel leaking from starboard wing, one percent per minute. Engine room is transferring between tanks to minimize loss. Stress indications in both wing supports. All missiles expended. All torpedoes expended. Turrets at thirty percent ammunition remaining.”
Rapier swung low beneath the battle. Thomas surveyed visually and checked his display. Cape Town had fought her way through the sentries and had drawn three of the cutters away from Nelson. The beleaguered cruiser still battled with three more, and even as Thomas watched she started to break apart, weapons firing defiantly. Halsey and fresh star fighters were fast approaching the enemy force.
Then a panicked voice came over the command circuit.
“This is Jutland! Torpedo! Torpedo! Torp—”
Static.
Thomas’s eyes snapped up toward the Expeditionary Force’s main body. The ships were too far away to see, but he caught a faint ripple in the stars. On the 3-D display, the blue symbol for the battleship Jutland disappeared.
“Oh my God,” Breeze said.
“Conducting graviton search pulse,” Jack said. His active ASW search gear sent out a strong, omnidirectional blast of gravitons. Thomas brought up the ASW circuit and heard other units doing the same. Within seconds, a datum dropped into the display.
The hostile stealth was halfway between the EF main body and the enemy cutters. Rapid commands ordered Halsey and Cape Town to break off their battle with the cutters and close the datum. Kristiansand and Goa did likewise from the EF main body. Every Hawk in space moved at full speed to prosecute.
The Centauri cutters turned as one and began fleeing the battle.
“Target moving!” Jack said. His hunt controls gave him more info, but even Thomas could see that the Centauri stealth ship was accelerating, trying to clear the Terran forces descending upon it. The net was closing fast, though.
Suddenly, the ASW circuit erupted with calls of torpedo attack. Jack instinctively fired off a pair of bowling balls, but the attack wasn’t against Rapier. Thomas looked out and saw both Halsey and Cape Town maneuvering sharply, flashes of decoys and torpedoes spitting forth from their dark hulls.
Halsey vanished before his eyes.
Seconds later, Cape Town followed.
Multiple flashes ahead revealed a pair of Hawks launching torpedoes. Almost before Thomas could refocus, a section of stars warped under the immense curve of gravity in the Bulk as the Terran weapons found their mark.
Thomas scanned the display. The remaining Centauri cutters were already out of missile range and receding fast. He waited a long moment to see if any other stealth threats emerged. The fourth spatial dimension seemed quiet.
“Pilot,” he said, “anything on your sensors?”
The young pilot shook his head. “Hard to say for sure in that mess, but I think there was only one attacker.”
“OpsO, any threats?”
“Negative. Five hostiles retreating at speed, outside weapons range.”
He paused to review his display again, then paid Breeze the courtesy of asking her opinion.
“NavO, any threats?”
“No,” she said quietly.
He called down to the engine room for a full damage report. The situation was serious, but the ship would hold together long enough to get back.
“Pilot, set course for Normandy. Cruising speed.”
“Sir,” Katja said, “before we head home, I recommend we search near Nelson for survivors.”
“There’s no way anybody survived,” Breeze said, her voice rising with each word. “Let’s get back before someone has to rescue us!”
“The ship broke up slowly,” Katja said. “There was time enough that some might have escaped.”
Thomas glanced at the damage control board again. They were slowly bleeding fuel, and would start to lose air again if the door to the main cafeteria buckled. They had virtually no weapons and their ability to withstand heavy maneuvering was questionable. His instinct said to get back to safety while he still could. But lately his instincts had been questioned.
“Pilot, set course for Admiral Nelson, cruising speed. OpsO, get the camera searching for anything that looks like a spacesuit or an escape pod.”
Jack and Katja set about their tasks. Breeze leaned back in her seat and stared straight ahead.
* * *
It was nearly three hours before Rapier began to lower into Normandy’s hangar, two escape pods clinging magnetically to her hull where the drop ships had once nested. The rescue operation was nearly complete, with several Hawks and other fast-attack craft returning home with more than forty Admiral Nelson survivors. Many were dressed only in emergency escape suits, and wouldn’t have survived more than a few hours.
Thomas was happy to have participated, as it took the sting out of the fact that the EF had just lost its only battleship, both its cruisers, and another destroyer. At this rate, he mused bitterly, Rapier herself might be the EF flagship in another week or so.
At least Chandler had finally seen sense and put off the EF’s attack on Centauri settlements. With no heavy bombardment capability remaining, any attack would have been pretty pathetic. The commodore seemed to grasp that his new vision of leading a band of buccaneer marauders was destined to get every last one of them killed. In a terse message to the EF, he had ordered all ships to hold position while the rescue operation concluded, then set course for deep space.
Rapier was met by a crowd of medics who escorted the Nelson survivors away. Mechanics were standing by to start servicing the ship, and once the escape pods had been lifted clear Thomas saw no need to retain his crew any longer.
It had been an exhausting afternoon.
He floated in his cabin for a while, trying to remember how good it used to feel to be the captain of this vessel. He knew h
e should be pleased with how the mission had gone today, despite the losses they had incurred, because he and his ship had performed well. Two cutters destroyed and two others chased off—not bad for a thirty-meter raider with a skeleton crew.
Maybe it was the pyrrhic nature of the triumph that robbed him of any elation. Or maybe he just didn’t give a damn. If they ever got home—a big if—he was going to find a nice, quiet corner of the solar system to raise a family. Soma had enough money to make things comfortable.
He was surprised by a knock on his door.
“Come in.”
It opened and Breeze entered with a hand-held display. Gone was her earlier, stunned expression. Her eyes were as determined as he had ever seen them. He wasn’t intimidated in the slightest, however, as he felt the anger well up inside him.
“Thomas,” she said, “I want off this ship.”
Her arrogance astounded him. “Nothing would make me happier, but unfortunately you’re here by the orders of Commodore Chandler himself.”
“Yeah, I know. He called me in special to tell me how I was supposed to babysit you.”
He clenched his fists as his pulse pounded in his ears. Chandler had actually said that?
She handed him the display.
“On that is the letter of recommendation you’re going to send the commodore, telling him how I’m too valuable to be risked on patrol in Rapier.”
Thomas read the letter with growing incredulity. It praised Breeze’s tactical abilities, then went on to say how her greater value as an intelligence officer had been proven time and again during the war. It cited various examples—the uncovering of the hostage location in Free Lhasa, the capture of the Centauri agent at the Cerberan farm, the rescue of the troopers from New Tibetan custody, the pinpointing of critical targets of opportunity for the assault on Abeona—and offered glowing commentary on her general contributions to the EF command staff.
He read and re-read the final paragraph:
In conclusion, while I value her contributions to my ship, I feel that for the greater good of Expeditionary Force 15 and the Astral Force, Lieutenant Brisebois must be transferred back to her staff position. It is my strongest possible recommendation that she be permanently assigned as the EF chief of Intelligence, with the appropriate rank and authority befitting the position.
Virtues of War Page 42