by PJ Strebor
Four kilometers from the coltak, the interference became less subtle. He corrected for the anomaly’s pull to starboard, which increased as he got closer. Because of Eleanor’s warning, his continual adjustments brought the Kamora safely past the potentially lethal disturbance.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” he said.
“No problems.” Eleanor’s more relaxed tone indicated her palpable relief. “That was a nice piece of flying, for an outlander. But watch out for the next one.”
“There’s more?”
“The valley extends for nine hundred kilometers, and is dotted with such outcrops. So have your fun, but watch for the signs.”
Nathan did.
Forty minutes later, he taxied the Kamora into her hangar. The skipper has got to agree to a match-up with a Specter. With all systems shut down, he tapped the retrieval tab. His combat chair did not budge. He keyed his helmet comm.
“SMC, check combat chair retrieval status.”
“Retrieval mechanism inoperative.”
“Suggestions?”
“Analysis indicates a hardware difficulty. Suggest manual activation, or repairs may be required.”
Nathan ignored the computer and brought the fighter’s power back online. He sent a surge of energy into the retrieval buffer, then hit the tab. His chair moved, about a hand’s width. Nathan pushed additional power into the buffer, released it in one surge, then hit the retrieve tab. His chair slowly elevated toward the iris. The cover plate slid aside, the iris dilated and his chair slowly emerged from the sphere with a labored, jerky motion.
After removing his gloves and helmet, he unbuckled before stepping onto the gantry. The rear combat chair had not emerged.
“Oh dear, Eleanor will not be at all happy about that,” he whispered.
His comm beeped and he activated the Cimmerian headset.
“Telford.”
“Nathan, have you retrieved?”
“With difficulty.” He explained how he had extricated himself, and shortly after, Eleanor’s chair jerked to a halt with a shudder. Nathan helped her to remove gloves and helmet. She unbuckled and got to her feet.
“Thanks,” she said. “Excuse me for a moment. I have a chief petty officer to murder.” She sprinted down the steps and strode across the hangar. “Harrr-per!” she bellowed. “Get your lazy, incompetent bum out here, right bloody now.”
CHAPTER 47
Date: 23rd March 322 ASC.
Position: Royal Navy battleship squadron 244 at Cimmerian Inner Marker.
Status: HMS Barnham. Picket duty.
“Unauthorized hyper egression, Captain,” Captain Toby Blake’s flag officer said. “She’s squawking friendly IFF, but all attempts to hail her have failed.”
“Action stations, Number One,” Blake ordered. He strode to his locker and donned his V-suit. Around the bridge, alternating crewmembers were suiting up while their opposite numbers remained at their posts.
Their calm professionalism pleased Blake. All of the extra drills were paying off.
Blake finished fitting his armor and slung his helmet onto his webbing.
“Number One, report.”
“All ships are at action stations, Captain,” he said. “Forward batteries are loaded and all defensive weapons are active.”
“Very well.”
What the hell’s going on?
“Tactical, report.”
“Captain, she is badly damaged and moving at only half speed. ETA five point seven hours.”
“Flag, inform squadron to intercept the bogie. All ships full ahead.”
Two hours later, the bogie came into clear sensor and comm range.
“Captain, I’m getting comm from the incoming vessel. Text only. She identifies herself as HMS Buckingham.”
“Buckingham? What the devil…” Blake clamped his mouth shut and gestured for the comm officer to continue.
“Buckingham claims to have been attacked by the Talgarnos. The rest of her squadron has been destroyed.”
Blake’s spine tingled and his mind reeled at the impossibility of the news. The loss of life staggered him. What the hell had happened to Dilley’s ships? The man might be a pompous fool, but he should not have been caught napping.
It took another hour for the converging forces to close.
“Captain, Buckingham is coming into visual range.”
“On my board, Number One.”
Blake activated his screen and gasped. How the vessel remained in one piece astounded the imagination. The damage ranged from bow to stern, with enormous openings in her hull through which he could see stars. The minutes ticked by as the shattered vessel crawled toward safe harbor.
“Captain, Buckingham is requesting a straight-in approach to Cimmerian orbit.”
“Very well. Open the wedge and allow her through.”
All five vessels expanded their tight formation. Buckingham drifted between them and onto approach for the Grand Channel.
“Navigation officer. Position.”
“Sir, we’re approximately halfway between the inner marker and the Grand Channel.”
“Signal to squadron. Come to dead stop.”
“Captain, unauthorized hyper egression,” his first officer reported. “Four battleships; they are not registering friendly IFF. They’re pinging us. Full active scans.”
The intensity of the enemy scans overwhelmed their sensors, temporarily blinding them.
“Return the favor,” Blake snapped.
The enemy force was too distant to view their condition, but Blake suspected the Talgarnos were not as heavily damaged as first reported. They could not have overwhelmed Dilley’s forces unless they were fully operational. How much harm had Dilley’s ships inflicted on them?
“Captain, the enemy vessels are closing at flank speed. ETA one point six hours until they’re within torpedo range.”
And so we wait. Only four of them, probably damaged. It should be a bloody but short engagement. Still, Blake could not escape the feeling that something did not add up. Time passed as battle loomed.
“Sir, the enemy ships are one minute from acquiring range.”
“Comm officer, have we heard back from Captain Cowdry yet?”
“Nothing yet, Captain.”
The inflection in the officer’s voice echoed the surprise Blake felt. Probably still trying to get the old codger out of bed.
“Captain, I just tried to contact Captain Cowdry with a sit-rep, but my transmission with the King Charles is being blocked.”
“Source?”
“It’s Buckingham,” his first officer reported. “She’s come to a dead stop at the entry to the Grand Channel. We can’t get a signal through until she moves.”
“Comm, signal to Buckingham: Urgent that you proceed through channel at best speed.”
“Captain, the enemy ships are taking up attack formation. Their weapons are active.”
“Very well. Helm, close the gap to the Talgarno force. And keep us between them and Buckingham.”
The four enemy ships fired as one. Twelve hundred torpedoes hurtled toward Blake’s squadron.
“Are we in range yet?”
Number One kept his attention onto his readouts and held up his hand. “They, are, in, range … now.”
“Splendid. Please remove those ships from my space.”
“With the greatest pleasure, Captain.”
He nodded to the weapons officer.
Barnham jolted as four hundred and seventy torpedoes cleared her tubes. Her four sister ships fired in unison.
“All torpedoes on track, Captain. Defensive weapons ready to respond.”
Blake nodded. His crew knew the drill by heart, so he let them do their jobs as the seconds ticked by.
“Firing intercept torpedoes, now.”
Again Barnham bucked, but only slightly this time. The first wave struck out at the incoming enemy salvos. Under a torrent of detonating pulsar heads, hundreds of incoming enemy torpedoes disappeared in a
fiery storm. Hundreds evaded destruction and continued on course. The second wave of countermeasures and high-joule nukes should thin the remaining enemy fire to a level where their point-defense pulsars could deal with them.
Six hundred enemy torpedoes broke into two formations. One turned to port, the other to starboard of Blake’s squadron.
Blake gaped at his readouts. What the dickens?
To Blake, it made little sense. Hundreds of his counter torpedoes pursued the enemy weapons, closing the gap rapidly. Waves of intercept torpedoes swept down on the enemy fire and were almost in range when the stern-most third of the enemy torpedoes of both enemy elements detonated. Those of his counter weapons not destroyed by the blast had their sensor input scrambled. Pulsar heads detonated, occasionally striking an enemy target — but with their sensors fried, many got through. As they drew level with his squadron, they veered sharply toward his two outermost ships. Shipboard pulsar batteries fired at the incoming wave of destruction, destroying many, but not all. A massive wake of nuclear fire tore into the battleships Salisbury and Northumberland to the far starboard and port quarters of the flagship.
Blake turned to his first officer, who shrugged and shook his head. The attack would hurt them, but could not possibly succeed in destroying his flanking battleships.
“Captain, we have engaged the enemy.”
Blake nodded as massive numbers of hits showed on his readouts. His squadron was hurting them badly. Another complete spread should finish them off.
“Captain, Salisbury and Northumberland report major overloads to shield blisters and sensors to their port and starboard. They should have fully restored their systems within twelve to fifteen minutes.”
He stared at his readouts. Something’s wrong here.
“The enemy has fired another salvo, Sir. About a third of the previous wave.”
They can’t hope to win this battle. So why not withdraw?
“Oh, no,” the T-O cried. “Torpedo wakes from port and starboard. They’re targeting Salisbury and Northumberland.”
“Weapons officer, lay down a pattern of pulsar fire. Knock those weapons down.”
“Too late.”
Simultaneously, six high-yield pulsar heads tore into the weakened defenses of Salisbury and Northumberland. Salisbury exploded, her death throes reaching out to tear at her sister ship. Northumberland convulsed as multiple explosions tore through her innards.
Barnham rocked violently as debris from Salisbury’s death crashed into her keel blisters.
Blake caught the sensor officer’s mouth open. “Fire from astern. Fire from astern.”
“What? Locate the source.”
“It’s Buckingham.”
“All stern weapons, fire on Buckingham.”
“Buckingham has entered the channel. We can’t fire on her without destroying the channel.”
“We’re vulnerable, Captain. Buckingham’s torpedoes are on track for our stern. They’re going for our reactor.”
Brilliant. And I fell for it.
“Captain, more fire from port and starboard. A total of twelve torpedoes.”
“Weapons officer, fire all lateral pulsars.”
“I’m doing so, but their evasion and countermeasures programs are superb.”
“I’m detecting something to port and starboard.” A pause while his tactical officer recalibrated her sensor. “It’s faint, but … it could be E-boats.”
Blake’s heart sank as the dead weight of defeat crushed down upon him.
“Weapons officer, fire everything we have at the enemy force.”
“Still reloading, Captain.”
“Hurry it up. Disengage the safeties if you have to, but I want that squadron destroyed.”
“Six more torpedoes, coming in from port and starboard.”
“Buckingham’s torpedoes will impact in twelve seconds. Our stern point defense won’t stop them all, Captain.”
Captain and first officer stared at one another for too long.
“Weapons loaded, Captain.”
“Fire!”
Before the first of Barnham’s torpedoes cleared their tubes, enemy pulsar heads exploded beneath her keel and tore into her reactor room.
The darkness of space turned into a boiling fireball as Royal Navy battleship squadron 244 vanished from existence.
CHAPTER 48
Date: 23rd March 322 ASC.
Position: HMS Buckingham, standing off the Grand Channel.
Status: Standing by.
Captain Matthes paced the briefing room. Resistance from the Bret squadron guarding the inner marker had been what he expected: hard-fought professionalism to the end. His former command, the Talgarno battleship Righteous Hand, was little more than a hulking wreck. The rest of the Talgarno force were in no better shape. Commodore Becklin would arrive with reinforcements soon, but that still left the matter of the enormous Bretish battle platform to contend with.
With his flag transferred to Buckingham, he waited. Matthes had been told to wait. Someone would arrive and when that happened, everything would be explained.
“Sir, the E-956 is in range. Requesting permission to dock.”
Matthes nodded. So, now we find out what’s going on.
“Willi, escort our guest to the bridge.”
His XO nodded and sprinted to the aft lift.
Minutes later, their guest, a young lieutenant from the intelligence service, stepped onto the bridge, took in the disarray and approached the captain.
“Captain, are we in line of sight with the King Charles station, as I requested?”
“Everything is prepared as per your instructions, Lieutenant.”
“Good. Please show me to the comm room.”
“Very well, this way.”
At the entry to the comm room, the officer stopped and turned to Matthes. “Thank you, Captain, I’ll take it from here.” The hatch snapped shut behind him.
“What do you think, Skipper?”
“When dealing with spooks, I try not to think, Willi.”
“Who could he be contacting?”
“That’s not our concern, Commander.”
“Aye-aye, Sir.”
Ten minutes later, the spook stepped from the room and approached Matthes. “Captain, I am returning to the E-boat. I will be back in a few hours to tidy up some loose ends.” He smiled, in that predatory way spooks did.
“May I ask what’s going on?” Matthes asked.
“You many ask, Captain.” Again, the smile that could be a precursor to violence.
Matthes nodded. “Anything else we can assist you with?”
“Not for the moment. Thank you for your cooperation, Captain. Now, if someone could point me back to my ride.”
“Allow me. This way, Lieutenant…?”
Again the smile. “Saxon,” he replied.
CHAPTER 49
Date: 23rd March 322 ASC.
Position: Athenian Embassy, Cimmeria.
Lizzy Griegs, deeply involved in her romance novel, jumped when the hatch to her small office snapped open. Nathan stepped into the room, his usual relaxed manner missing.
“Good morning, Nathan,” she said. “What can I do for you?” I know what I’d like to do to you.
“I need to…” He stopped and took a quick breath. “Good morning, Lizzy.” Although Nathan tried to sound relaxed, he wore his inner tension like a cheap suit.
“What’s up, Nathan?”
“I urgently need to speak with Admiral Barrington.”
“Not a problem. What’s it about?”
“It’s classified.”
“Well I don’t know if I can—”
Nathan placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Lizzy, I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t of the most life-threatening urgency. I will take full responsibility. Please put me through to Barrington.”
“I think we’re both going to get fried for this, but…” She keyed in the code for transmission to the giant Bretish warship.
&nb
sp; “I have the comm officer for HMS Tudor Rose. She’s the flagship of the fleet. He is requesting a reason why he should disturb the admiral.”
Nathan nodded. “This is classified, Lizzy, so I’ll have to ask you to vacate the room.”
“You’re kicking me out of my own office?”
He escorted her from the room and before she knew it, she stood staring at the locked hatch.
***
Nathan sat down at the comm panel and took an enormous breath. His Prep screamed danger, but if he was wrong… He shook his head. Trust your instincts.
“Tudor Rose, this is Ensign Nathan Telford, Athenian monitor Insolent. I am in possession of intel regarding a threat to your task force. I urgently need to speak with Admiral Barrington.” Holding his breath, he prepared for a fight.
“Hold one,” the comm officer said. Time dragged before his comm unit beeped. “Very well, Ensign, putting you through.”
Nathan exhaled loudly.
“Barrington.”
“Admiral, this is Ensign Telford of the monitor Insolent.”
“I remember you, Ensign. You mentioned a threat to my command? Get on with it.”
Nathan cleared his throat. “I have reason to believe that the King Charles Battle Platform has been compromised. I strongly suggest that you adopt an immediate defensive posture.”
“Ensign, if this is some kind of warped joke, I will see to it that—”
“There’s no time for this, Admiral.” He tried to pick his next words carefully. “Ma’am, I don’t have time to be subtle. You and Captain Bradman are quite close.” He cleared his throat. “Has he mentioned to you that I have, ah, a nose for trouble?”
“I believe what Steven said to me was, “This young buck has got an uncanny instinct for danger. Is that what you mean?”
“Yes, Ma’am. It’s not something I talk about, but it has been proven in battle.”
“The Genevieve.”
“Aye, Ma’am.”
“If you’re wrong about this, Ensign—”
“If I’m wrong, I’ll take the heat. But Admiral, if I’m right…”
“Very well, Telford. I shall consider your recommendations. Barrington out.”