Starhold's Fate (Starhold Series Book 4)

by J. Alan Field

  “Just send the message,” said Pettigrew pointblank, closing the subject.

  Nyondo leaned over to speak privately.

  “You understand that our computer simulations are not overly optimistic about the early portion of this battle plan, right?”

  Pettigrew swiveled in his chair to face her. “Captain, I’m surprised at you. Are you losing faith in me?”

  Nyondo’s eyes locked with his and her endearing gaze made his blood race. For an instant, it felt as if they were the only two people in the room.

  “Never,” her lips mouthed silently.

  He wanted to reach out to take her hand, but for the moment that simple act was beyond him. As a door opened and Commander Mullenhoff entered the flag bridge, both Pettigrew and Nyondo subtly gazed around to see if any of the staff were looking their way, but everyone was too busy with their assigned tasks.

  “Good of you to join us, Commander,” said Pettigrew to lighten the mood and tamp down the thoughts of his own desires.

  “Excuse my tardiness, sir,” Mullenhoff said while sliding behind her console. “I was, ah—consulting with Commander Baker on an engineering problem.”

  Pettigrew was confused.

  “But I thought… Wait, Ajax is aboard this ship?”

  “He is my Chief Engineer, sir,” reminded Swoboda.

  Pettigrew shook his head. “I completely forgot about that.”

  Nyondo tried to clarify. “Sir, my understanding is that Commanders Mullenhoff and Baker have resolved their personal differences. Isn’t that right, Uschi?”

  Mullenhoff fidgeted, biting on her lower lip. “We have, sir. There was a huge misunderstanding, but everything is back to normal.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he said, unable to pass on an opportunity to tease his old friend. “You look tired, Commander. Hard work on some last-minute details last night?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mullenhoff said with a mischievous look of her own. “Ajax and I were… consulting.”

  Pettigrew gave her a crooked grin.

  “On an engineering problem, sir.”

  The nearby staff barely contained their smiles, except for Captain Daemon. The android obviously did not understand the subtext of the discussion.

  “I’m sure your labors were most rewarding,” said Daemon.

  Mullenhoff smiled impishly. “Believe me, Captain—they were.”

  “And exhausting,” added Daemon dryly.

  Maybe he understood more than the humans thought.

  * * * *

  Pettigrew had hoped Harradoss would take the offensive, that he would come out swinging, but the Massang forces stayed packed tightly into defensive positions. There were 193 Massang warships in the Cor Caroli system, including twenty-three enemy battleships. As things stood, the Massang owned the advantage in numbers but the Coalition had an edge in firepower.

  “During the last hour, Massang forces have repositioned themselves,” said Nyondo calling up a real-time tactical map. “They have formed a spherical defense around the Threshold. Massang light forces are on the outside, then regular cruisers and battlecruisers, then the Vanguard and their battleships with the Threshold in the center.”

  “It’s like an onion,” observed Swoboda. “We are going to have to peel off the layers to get to the main target inside.”

  Pettigrew examined the enemy positions. “Where are their arkships?”

  New orange icons appeared on the map. “They are beginning to queue up near the mouth of the Threshold,” said Aoki.

  Nyondo groaned. “Not good. To me, that says they are about ready to power the thing up. Could we be too late?”

  “No,” said Pettigrew firmly. “We are not too late. Captain Daemon, are we ready to launch battledrones?”

  “On your command, sir.”

  Pettigrew had divided the Coalition fleet into four Battle Groups, designated Marius, Leversee, Sulla, and Swoboda. Each was attacking the main Massang force from a different direction, and each was now on the verge of being within missile range.

  Pettigrew’s right hand sliced through the air. “Now, Daemon—launch attack drones!”

  Lytori battlecarriers within each of the four Coalition groups came to life as thousands of attack drones spewed from their launch bays. On real-time cameras, it looked like the allied carriers were melting as hordes of small black robots were disgorged, clearing the mothership then powering away.

  In Pettigrew’s mind, it evoked images of ancient terrestrial warfare, where atmospheric fighter craft would be launched to ravage an opponent from the sky. Those planes were meant to return, however, unlike the Lytori drones. The robotic weapons would race ahead of the attack force, engage the enemy until their weaponry of missiles and energy beams were spent, and then crash themselves into the nearest hostile ship—provided they survived long enough to do so.

  “The enemy is activating their surgewave projectors,” announced Aoki. “Multiple surgewaves launched against the drones.”

  The drones not only raced forward but also spread outward, trying to achieve their pre-programmed positions of widest possible dispersion. Massang surgewaves were a horrific and deadly weapon, but their area of impact was limited.

  “Not gonna get ‘em all, bitch,” Mullenhoff taunted as she watched the tactical screen.

  “Enemy missiles launching behind their surgewaves,” said Aoki.

  Pettigrew tapped some keys, sending a silent order to his Battle Group commanders. “Two can play that game,” he said, watching a new set of small icons bolt ahead of his ships.

  “Birds away—all Battle Groups, all ships,” reported Aoki in a calm, almost serene manner. She sounded very much like the ship’s computer. “We have full engagement with the enemy.”

  Nyondo pressed her hands together anxiously, then crossed her arms and pushed back into her chair. “It’s going to be a long day, isn’t it?”

  “That it is, Captain,” Pettigrew said as he grabbed another cup of coffee from a passing steward. “That it is.”

  * * * *

  Engagement plus Eighty Minutes

  Aoki’s tone was more urgent than it had been an hour ago.

  “One enemy battlecruiser has penetrated Battle Group Leversee’s perimeter,” she said, shaking her head. “Ma’am, Destroyer Division Seventeen is turning into a missile sponge.”

  “Leversee has dispatched Division Five to reinforce them,” Nyondo replied. “Wait—one of the Jangsuvian Cruiser Squadrons is already moving to support the destroyers. Damn it, I wish they would wait for orders!”

  “Sometimes command initiative is good,” Pettigrew reassured her. “Be thankful the Jangsuvians on our side.”

  The Massang had been fighting Lytori battledrones for years, and between the surgewave weapons and their point-defenses, the enemy had repelled all three waves of robotic death which had been thrown at them. The battledrones left their mark, however, destroying or hopelessly crippling dozens of the Massang smaller escort ships and even a few of their cruiser-class vessels.

  Losses were starting to mount on both sides. The Sarissan cruiser Wyvern and Essadonian cruiser Clausewitz had been damaged so severely that both were forced to withdraw from battlespace. Coalition allies from the Roig Confederation had already lost more than half of their destroyer force. Most serious, however, was the loss of the Galbanese battleship Eiko, which had been destroyed by a savage Massang missile barrage. Only half the crew made it off the ship before it completely disintegrated.

  “Admiral,” spoke up Aoki. “It’s Battle Group Sulla. The Hixaran flank is beginning to collapse.”

  “Show me,” said Pettigrew in a low, somber voice.

  It wasn’t the first time during the war that a Hixaran unit had buckled during battle. The icons on the tactical screen told a now familiar story. Hixaran War Cluster Ten was beginning to drop back, breaking into disarray. Flag bridge watchkeepers played a portion of the ship-to-ship chatter for the Command Staff to hear—it was the voice of Captain Sulla desp
erately issuing orders to the Hixarans to form up their lines. The more urgent her words, the more ragged the Hixaran formations became.

  “Sulla’s entire left flank will dissolve in just a few more minutes,” Nyondo observed, “The main body of the Hixaran force is falling behind her to port.”

  Pettigrew watched the tactical screen as the chaos in the Hixaran ranks spread.

  “Listen to Sulla’s voice. She sounds so desperate,” said Nyondo.

  “I know. It’s all going quite well,” Pettigrew said. “The Hixaran captains are really selling it, and the Massang have seen this happen a dozen times before. Now, the question is—will they take the bait?”

  Anxious moments drew into anxious minutes as the tactical icons slowly mirrored what was happening in space. Sulla’s main force continued to push forward in the direction of the Threshold, but to her portside, enemy vessels were bypassing the Lytori ships to chase the retreating Hixarans. Under normal circumstances, it would have been a perfect opportunity to turn and encircle the enemy, catching them between the Hixarans and the rest of Battle Group Sulla, but that wasn’t today’s plan.

  “So predictable,” scornfully noted Mullenhoff. “The Massang chase what they see as the weakest ships to ensure a victory for themselves, no matter how small.”

  “This is how my people have survived,” said Daemon. “It is how we endured the years of war against the Massang before discovering our human comrades. The Massang are hardworking and resolute, but they are also strongminded to a fault. It is a weakness.”

  “Like individuals, all species have their weaknesses,” reflected Pettigrew. “Today, I am thankful for theirs. Ms. Aoki, signal Captain Sulla to make her move.”

  With nearby enemy ships pursuing the Hixarans, the main body of Battle Group Sulla now altered its course to a new heading, turning to port and straight for the binary star Cor Caroli. They were heading for the near-field generating stations located just above the star’s corona. A portion of her ships—about a third of the Battle Group—split off, moving to assist the Hixarans.

  “Those are mostly Jangsuvians going to help the squids,” said Mullenhoff. “I’d love to see the expression on that big ugly orange face.”

  “Which face, Commander?” asked Daemon.

  “The face of the Massang commander—the one about to be caught between a bunch of badass Jangsuvians and not-so-cowardly mollusks.”

  Nyondo had been up and moving about among the staffers. She returned with a datapad in hand.

  “Two pieces of good news,” she said handing the pad to Pettigrew. “One, we’ve restored full FTL communications with Central Command.”

  Pettigrew chuckled. “Better late than never I suppose, and make no mistake—it is late, Captain. We’ve already crossed the Rubicon.” Nyondo’s expression said that she didn’t understand the ancient reference.

  “We are committed and can’t turn back,” translated Pettigrew. “Inform Central Command that we are attacking the main Massang force. Send them all of our logs and a live feed for as long as it lasts. What is the second piece of good news?” He hoped for something more immediately helpful.

  Nyondo smiled. “You will like this. Lieutenant Commander Carty in Cyber Warfare has been working with his Lytori counterpart over on the Ercinee. They have successfully hacked the Massang phase inhibitors. The enemy doesn’t realize it, but we have control of those platforms now.”

  Pettigrew shook a triumphant fist in the air. “Outstanding! My compliments to Cyber Warfare. Tell them to keep those phase inhibitors active at all costs unless I order otherwise.”

  * * * *

  Engagement plus Three Hours

  Pettigrew’s attention was on the tactical display. For the most part, it was all coming together as he had hoped. Sulla was on her way to attack the Threshold power generators located just within the boundaries of the star. Meanwhile, Admiral Marius and his forces were engaged along the elliptic plane some 160 million klicks from Pettigrew’s current position.

  Battle Group Swoboda had taken the least damage of the four groups so far, something Pettigrew felt a little guilty about. While the others were busy battling Vanguard units, Swoboda’s ships were having a much easier time against Massang regulars.

  To this point, it was Battle Group Leversee which had encountered the heaviest resistance and taken the most damage. Nearly fifteen-percent of that Group had already been destroyed or otherwise forced to drop out of the fight. If Leversee could just hang on, the Massang would surely be diverting some of their assets away from him and toward BG Swoboda as they closed on the Threshold.

  Lieutenant Aoki’s voice distracted Pettigrew and his eyes fixed on her as she worked off to his left. He found himself wondering whether she would be here tomorrow. What if they were about to change history? What if Harradoss was the founder of the Otherverse’s dreaded Adversary? If this attack succeeded and the Coalition forces stopped the Massang from using the Threshold, would it change the history of both universes? Would Aoki and her people disappear, never to have resettled Earth?

  His eyes and mind wandered, both drifting to the woman by his side. Sunny Nyondo had served with him off and on for nearly eight years, but he had only now truly discovered her. Pettigrew had been drawn to a woman under his command before, but Olivia Kuypers was different. He felt friendship for Kuypers and yes, a physical attraction for her, but it wasn’t like that with Nyondo. With Sunny, there was… more. If this battle changed history, would he lose her too?

  “Admiral! Sir, something is happening.”

  The image of Swoboda flickered into existence on Pettigrew’s right, shaking him from his personal thoughts.

  “David,” he said, blinking his eyes and trying to concentration. “Captain Swoboda, what is it? What’s going on?”

  “Sensors are picking up hyperspace bubbles forming just outside the phase inhibitor dead zone, roughly one-hundred million klicks astern.”

  “Confirmed, Admiral,” Daemon said. “Sensors on Lytori vessels have the same readings. Twenty-eight ships are translating into the system, sir. They are Massang.”

  21: Inferno

  Engagement plus Four Hours

  Pettigrew was beginning to regret his decision to leave part of Tenth Fleet back at Knife’s Edge with Winston to guard the mobile hypergate there. He had expected the going to be rough, but he had not expected Massang reinforcements.

  “They are heading straight for us, sir,” Swoboda stated. The newly arrived Massang forces, mostly battlecruisers, were making good speed and closing fast. “Also, ten of Harradoss’s ships have broken from their defensive position near the Threshold and are coming our way.”

  “Trying to put us in a vice,” observed Pettigrew. “David, which enemy force will reach us first?”

  “The group in front. My plan is to engage them on the flyby, then swing around and face what’s left of them, plus the newcomers behind us.”

  It sounded like a reasonable course of action. Swoboda’s force still had over thirty ships and would certainly inflict heavy damage on the forward Massang vessels when they passed. As the Battle Group commander, it was Swoboda’s call. Pettigrew was reluctant to question his former XO’s decision, but he did have one concern.

  “Sounds good to me, but are you sure you want to allow the enemy in front of us to combine forces with that bunch that’s coming up from astern?”

  “After we get done with the forward group on the flyby, there won’t be a lot to combine. Since we have superior numbers, I’d rather have all the hostiles in one place than being caught in a crossfire.”

  Pettigrew nodded. “You are absolutely right, Captain. Carry on.” David Swoboda would never get high marks for being the most creative commander in the Imperial Space Force, but he was tactically sound at his job.

  “Admiral?” It was Daemon, to Pettigrew’s right, standing beside another hologram—one with tusks.

  The android liaison officer rocked slightly on his hind legs. It was often a si
gn of Lytori excitement, but could also be a gesture of concern. In this case, Pettigrew suspected the later. “Admiral, the commander of the Roig forces is requesting permission to withdraw from battlespace in order to effect repairs on their ships.”

  The image of the Roig Battle Lord peered at Pettigrew through six small slits in the upper region of his gray mottled face. Somewhere inside those openings were eyes, or so humans had been told. Below the eye rows was an oversized mouth, flanked by yellowish tusks on either side.

  Nyondo leaned over and punched the ‘mute’ key. “Sir, the Roig assets are mostly spent, and the vessels that are still active can barely maneuver, let alone fight.”

  He didn’t mean to, but Pettigrew audibly sighed. “By the time they fix their ships the battle will be over.”

  “It’s already over for them,” insisted Nyondo.

  Pettigrew unmuted the comm and turned to his alien counterpart.

  “The Coalition thanks the Battle Lord for his service. Fall back and take care of your people.”

  As the Roig began screaming at the screen, Daemon assured Pettigrew that it was a gesture of goodwill. Just as the image disappeared, Typhoon trembled.

  The tactical display told the story. Ten Massang warships, including one battleship identified as the Regent of Valor, had fired braking thrusters in order to slow and blast Battle Group Swoboda as they passed by on their way to unite with the oncoming Massang reinforcements. During the exchange of fire, two of the enemy heavy cruisers had tried to pivot and activate their forward mounted surgewave guns, but they were too close and their intent too obvious. Coalition ships smothered them with particle beams and missiles.

  One of the hostile cruisers blew apart in a series of explosions which ran all the way from the bow to the stern. Some of the Massang crew near the aft were able to escape in life pods. They were much luckier than their crewmates, or the ill-fated spacers of their sister ship. That cruiser had been firing its surgewave projector when the energy discharge from dozens of Coalition particle beams all met simultaneously near the weapon mount. A massive burst of adjacent energy caused the surgewave to turn in on itself, swallowing the Massang ship whole. In the blink of an eye, the enemy cruiser just vanished. Was it dissolved, consumed by another reality, or something more hellish? No one would ever know—or want to find out if they could.