“Tactical systems have failed. Lower priority than life-support and power distribution.”
He turned, frowning, and said, “We’ve got that much damage to the linkages?”
“It was all held together with duct tape after the last battle. All the repair crews focused on the battlecruisers.” She gestured at Thermopylae, still hanging alone at the rear of the formation, and said, “What the hell does Frank think he’s doing back there anyway?”
“Once this battle is over, he’d better have some damn significant problems or he’ll be walking home. He’s leaving the rest of us hanging.”
As he finished speaking, the image that represented Thermopylae began to move, and Caine said, “Maybe he heard you.”
“Thermopylae on course for us, Captain,” the sensor officer said, shaking his head. “Direct intercept trajectory, termination in two minutes, fifteen seconds.”
“Maybe he’s going to give us a hand?”
Turning to the communications station, Marshall asked, “Any signal from him?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Look at Griffon!” the sensor technician said, pointing at his monitor. He’d managed to get a full-magnification shot of the stricken scoutship, and she was tumbling end over end, completely out of control, a cluster of bodies drifting around her hull. “Three hits, a coordinated strike. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Shaking his head, Marshall said, “Get me Thermopylae now, dammit, and I don’t care if you need to use smoke signals. We’ve got to get that second battlecruiser into the fight. And try and contact Dragon, tell them to pull out and see if they can decoy the ship away. If they both concentrate on Gilgamesh, we’ve had it.”
“I can’t raise anyone, sir,” the communications technician said, red-faced with frustration. “The jamming’s getting worse.”
“How the hell are they cutting through us at this range?” Cunningham asked, looking at the viewscreen.
Caine looked over at one of the monitors, then turned, anger flashing on her cheeks, “It’s Thermopylae! Thermopylae is jamming us!”
“What the hell?” Marshall said, pushing over to her, tapping controls on her station. “Not just us, but the whole damn fleet.”
“Dragon under heavy fire, sir. Gilgamesh is trying to turn, but has damage to her starboard thrusters.”
“Which means that left to itself, that remaining battlecruiser is going to sweep around and finish all of us off,” Caine said. “With nothing left to stop them from wiping out everything in the system.”
“Surely Thermopylae will defend itself?” Cunningham said.
“Haven’t you got it yet?” Caine snapped. “Frank’s turned, damn it!”
“I’ve known him since he was a rookie,” Marshall said, but she broke in.
“I don’t care if you’ve known him since he was a fetus, he’s switched sides on us now! Look at the readings. He isn’t closing to assist us, he’s trying to finish what he started.”
“Danny, we should start to think about abandoning ship,” Cunningham added with a sigh. “We might be able to get some of the crew to safety on the asteroid. There’s still a chance that Gilgamesh could win this.”
“I can’t believe that the crew of Thermopylae would go along with this,” Marshall said, shaking his head.
“They don’t all have to,” Caine replied. “Just the bridge crew. The rest could easily be tricked. Most of them won’t know why they aren’t in the battle. He could be telling them anything. That depends, though…”
“On there being no other survivors.”
“Thermopylae is turning, sir,” the sensor technician said. “Making for the hendecaspace point. The interference is beginning to clear.” He looked across at another monitor, and said, “Not that it’ll do us any good. Dragon’s out of the fight, engines disabled. She is launching escape pods, but I think that’s just a precaution.”
“I have Captain Gorski,” the communications technician said, and Marshall snatched up a headset.
“This is Marshall. Thermopylae’s decided to take the better part of valor. Can you get around?”
“Not easily or quickly,” Gorski replied. “We’ve got a lot of damage to our maneuvering thrusters. Our target decided to concentrate his fire on those areas. I think we’ve knocked one battlecruiser out of the battle…”
“Which means one against one. Tell me the truth, Captain, can you handle it?”
“I’m not sure, sir. Even fight at best. We certainly can’t reach Thermopylae before she jumps.”
“What about a shuttle?” Caine said. “Cooper and one of his squads are on board.”
Looking up at the monitor, Marshall replied, “Not much of a chance unless we can slow them down, but better than nothing.”
“One squad against a battlecruiser?” Cunningham said, eyes widening. “Those are pretty heavy odds.”
“One squad against a bridge crew is rather more like it. Get them up in the air.”
“Not a hope in…,” Cunningham said, then looked back at Marshall, “Damn. Dimensional interference at the near hendecaspace point.”
“Great,” Caine said. “What now?”
“Something’s coming through!” the sensor technician said. “Captain, you aren’t going to believe this.”
“Try me,” Marshall replied.
“It’s a Triplanetary Battlecruiser, sir,” he said, a smile growing. “The Alamo.”
Chapter 7
Logan didn’t know what he was expecting to find when Alamo emerged from hendecaspace at Hades Station, but the situation was even more chaotic than he could ever have guessed. Two battlecruisers – one Cabal, one Triplanetary – were slugging it out, while another seemed to be in the process of wiping out a squadron of scoutships scattered across the combat area. Racing towards them was the Thermopylae, which looked undamaged but was nevertheless fleeing the fight.
“Orders, Captain?” Ryder asked.
“We’ve got to help those scoutships. Full speed, and take us into the battle. Try and find out who is in command here and see if they have any other ideas.”
Weitzman turned from his console, and said, “I have Captain Rogers on Thermopylae, sir. Apparently he’s been ordered to pull back, and we should allow him to pass.”
Stabbing a button on the arm of his command chair, he said, “Rogers, this is Captain Winter on Alamo. By Presidential order you are to remain in this system.”
“Presidential order?” Steele said.
“I’m sure he’d give it if he was here. Full acceleration. Let’s see if we can make a mess of that Cabal ship. Ryder, you can fire whenever you want.”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a smile, tapping a series of controls that sent Alamo’s radiators flying out at speed, mile-long wings that would reflect the heat of the laser cannon she was busily charging. Logan concentrated on the battle as a whole, leaving the details to the infinitely more-experienced Ryder. Everything here seemed to have gone to hell; up ahead, Gilgamesh was struggling to turn while still trading salvos with its nearest rival, a battle that looked like it wasn’t going to end any time soon.
It didn’t take much imagination to work out what had happened. Thermopylae should have been in the thick of the fight, but had pulled back, and Logan could guess why. A defeat at the hands of the Cabal would spur the Senate to action even more quickly, lead the general population to call for revenge, inflame passions. Dangerous.
“Ryder, can we get a firing solution on Thermopylae?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.
Silence reigned across the bridge as she replied, “Yes, sir. I can.”
“We’re going to fire on another Triplanetary ship?” Spinelli said, turning white. “Captain, are you sure about this?”
“We must assume that Thermopylae is not acting for the Confederation, and tha
t its crew have decided to leave their comrades to die.” He paused, and said, “I’m not doing this lightly, but I’m not going to allow them to run home either. We need them here. Ryder, I want you to knock out their hendecaspace drive. Do as little damage as possible, and try and avoid causing any casualties.”
“Sir,” she said, horror on her face. “That's one of our ships.”
He looked into her eyes, shook his head, and said, “We don’t have any choice. Make it a quick laser blast.”
She waited for a second, and he thought she was going to refuse his order, but instead she turned to Steele and said, “Sub-Lieutenant, get me a firing solution in twenty seconds. Make sure you don’t telegraph it; if we’re going to do this, let’s get it right. I don’t want to hit their living quarters by mistake.”
“Hit on Gilgamesh, aft!” Spinelli said. “Looks like a last strike from the enemy battlecruiser. The Cabal ship is throwing out escape pods, but Gilgamesh is drifting. Intact, but they don’t have attitude control.”
“Which puts them out of the battle, at least for the moment.”
Ryder turned to Logan, and said, “Ready to fire, sir.”
“Do it,” he said with a deep sigh.
Steele tapped a series of controls, and Alamo pivoted towards Thermopylae, her cannon pointing at Ryder’s target. For an instant, the two ships were connected by a flash of light, and then an angry red gouge appeared at the rear of Thermopylae, atmosphere leaking into space from the wound in her hull.
“Target hit, sir,” she said. “They won’t be leaving this system any time soon.”
“Message from Wyvern, sir!” Weitzman said. “Signal’s strength’s low, audio only.”
“Put him on,” Logan said.
“This is Captain Marshall,” a voice said, almost drowned out by the spontaneous cheer that resounded around the bridge. “We’ll deal with Thermopylae, you knock out that bastard up ahead. We’re defenseless here.”
“We’ve got your back, Wyvern.”
“Captain,” Marshall asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Technically, our job is to protect the peace, but today I think that means blowing holes in enemy ships. I’ll go into more detail later. Logan out.” He looked around the bridge, and said, “Focus, everyone. We’ve got a job to do.”
“Laser recharge cycle under way,” Ryder said. “All systems running well.”
“Intercept course for the enemy battlecruiser,” Steele added. “They look pretty confident, they’re not trying to evade at all.”
“They’re playing chicken,” Logan said. “Keep a firing solution on Thermopylae, just in case.”
“You don’t seriously think that they’ll fire on a Triplanetary ship, do you?”
“Why not? We did. Get our fighters out as well, we might as well throw everything we’ve got into the fight.”
Nodding, Ryder reached across to an adjacent console, currently unoccupied, and tapped a series of controls before saying into a microphone, “All fighters, immediate launch.”
Three new trails appeared on the tactical display as Alamo’s borrowed fighter formation moved into attack position, diving towards the enemy battlecruiser. Over to one side, another group of fighters curved around, aiming for a coordinated strike. If they got this right, then the Cabal vessel would be caught neatly between the two of them, with Alamo racing down the middle.
There was a strange beauty to the tactical display, a series of intersecting lines tangling around each other as the pilots and tactical officers of dozens of ships and fighters worked their magic, each one attempting to gain the split-second advantage that might win them the battle. Alamo was gracefully curving in, on a direct course for the enemy battlecruiser, her fighters proceeding her in a sleek arrowhead formation.
“Shuttle launched from Alamo, sir,” Spinelli said. “Moving fast, as well.”
“Search and rescue?”
“No, Captain,” the sensor operator said. “It’s heading for Thermopylae.”
“I don’t envy them that job,” Ryder said. “Firing range with the enemy battlecruiser in two minutes.”
Nodding, Logan said, “Do everything necessary to bring that bastard down, Ryder. Laser shots, missile salvos, throw rocks at them. Whatever it takes. Weitzman, try and get contact with them, offer them a chance at surrender.”
“Unconditional surrender?”
“No, damn it, I’ll talk terms. We’re here on a peace mission, and I’d rather be trading insults than missiles. Give them an honorable way out.”
Shaking her head, Steele said, “They’ll fight to the end, sir. The consequences of failure…”
“Let’s hope you are wrong about that, Sub-Lieutenant.”
He settled back again as Alamo raced towards the enemy, letting Ryder handle the tactical details while he concentrated on the overall picture. Up ahead, the fighters were launching a salvo, six missiles racing towards their target in two directions. Alamo would be contributing another half-dozen to the battle in a few seconds.
The enemy commander must know that Alamo’s arrival had ended any chance he had of winning. He’d pulled it close – Thermopylae’s withdrawal from the battle had wiped out the previous Triplanetary advantage and thrown their plans into confusion – but the game was up, and all he was doing was throwing away lives.
“Energy spike,” Spinelli said. “They’re going for us, at extreme range.”
“Plenty of time for our countermeasures to do their stuff,” Ryder said with a nod. “Working on it now.”
“Watch them,” Steele replied. “They’ve had plenty of time to come up with some new tricks.”
“I’ve got this, Sub-Lieutenant,” Ryder said, working her panel. Logan looked at her, saw the beads of sweat building up on her face, and then turned to his console, bringing up the hacking subroutines.
“I’ll handle the countermeasures, Ryder. You concentrate on the rest of the battle.”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a grateful smile. She turned back to the missile controls, locking targets into the computer to try and give a time-on-target impact, all twelve missiles hitting the enemy at once. Logan focused instead on the incoming Cabal warheads.
They were a surprisingly familiar design, a United Nations vintage from about nine years ago, considerably post-war, one he knew rather well. Long ago, he'd run a deep cover operation in the research office that developed it; the head technician was very susceptible to tequila. He’d never run a ship countermeasures control before, but hacking was something he did know; he went straight to the intrusive programs, working his worms into their network, trying to wrest control.
The first couple were all too easy; the leading missile had an error in its security programming, and he slammed it across into an adjacent target, resulting in a satisfying explosion. Immediately, the rest of the missiles spread out, lateral thrusters hurling them apart to prevent him trying that trick again. The self-destruct systems were his next target; on that mark of missile, they’d been legendarily easy to access, but he quickly realized that the Cabal had made some modifications to the design. Still, another missile turned back on itself, spiraling on its engine before exploding.
Three left, almost half-way to their target. He smiled as he switched over to their on-board sensors, kept nice and simple as a rule. Visual lock, based on a target set by the tactical officer. Changing the target would be darn near impossible, but hacking into the image database was somewhat easier. He tapped a control, feeding an image of the Cabal battlecruiser into his system, then fired it off at the missiles, overwriting the original feed.
As he worked, the lights dimmed for a second as Alamo fired another laser pulse, this time at the enemy ship, slicing into the hull armor. Excellent; that would provide a nice distraction while he finished his work, and a few seconds later, there were fifteen missiles heading for the enemy batt
lecruiser. He started to overwrite some of the security protocols, setting a few bots loose in the missile network, and looked back up at the tactical display.
“That’s a good trick, sir,” Ryder said.
“Enemy ship is trying to turn, sir,” Spinelli said. “Best guess is that he’s attempting to protect critical systems.”
“Message from Gilgamesh,” Weitzman added. “Their target is heading towards the planet, and they’ve managed to restore sufficient attitude control to head back for the battle area. Estimated arrival in nine minutes.”
“What condition are they in?”
“Not good, sir. No hendecaspace drive, significant damage to outer hull and weapon systems.”
“Let’s hope we can finish this one off first, then,” Logan replied. “Time to impact?”
“First wave in ten seconds.” Ryder looked up, and said, “Second salvo ready to fire.”
He’d missed the firing of the first salvo completely while he was working the countermeasures.
“Give me the score as soon as we get it.”
A few of the tracks had winked out, the Cabal security team desperately working to protect their ship, but nine still remained, entering the terminal phase of their flight, and in a split-second, they were gone, leaving nothing but damage and devastation in their wake.
“Multiple impacts!” Ryder said. “Outgassing oxygen, the ship’s tumbling, and we’ve taken out most of their launch tubes. I’d say they are out of the combat.”
“Can you get Marshall?”
“No, sir,” Weitzman said. “Wyvern’s long-range communications are out.””
“Another hit?”
“Power failure.”
Shaking his head, Logan said, “Get a damage control team out there at once. We’re not going to need them, and they might. Is the enemy ship in a mood to talk now?”
“Oddly enough, sir, yes.”
An image flashed onto the viewscreen, a man with a pair of gashes across his forehead standing on a smoke-filled bridge, wreckage everywhere. One of the impacts must have been pretty close-by to do that much damage.
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