by Bill Baldwin
Brim laughed. “Too true, Jubal, my friend,” he said. “We Carescrians just naturally get mixed up in all sorts of evil deeds!”
“Incoming coded KA'PPA, Lieutenant,” Applewood interrupted from a display. “From Cap’m Collingswood.”
“I'll have the KA'PPAs as they come,” Brim answered, “Just read ‘em…”
“Aye, sir,” Applewood said. “'Collingswood to Brim: Lost KA'PPA COMM temporarily,'“ he read. “'Hear you have taken off without my orders: good man. Good hunting! Imperial battlecruisers due to arrive in one to one point five metacycles should you require assist. Of interest to you and a few others: that Overprefect Valentin probably has a familiar face. Message ends.' “
Brim turned to nod at Ursis.
The Bear grinned back. “Possible …” He kissed his fingertips. “Even with poor odds, I personally welcome the opportunity to find out.”
An image of Barbousse suddenly materialized in a nearby display. The big rating silently grinned for a moment, then kissed his fingertips, too.
Brim smiled grimly, watching Truculent's apparent altitude diminish with perceptible speed. “We'll make a bit of trouble for the bastard, no matter who he is,” he growled into the displays as the destroyer surged forward through increasingly dense atmospheric layers. Livid orange tongues of plasma streamed from every protuberance on the hull. Aft, the whole ship trailed a fiery wake of disturbed atoms.
“Stand by all weapons systems,” Fourier warned on the interCOMM.
“Standing by,” a chorus of voices answered.
“How much ground clearance are we going to have?” Theada asked nervously from the side of his mouth as he stared in fascination through the forward Hyperscreens.
Brim chuckled. “Not much, Jubal,” he replied. “How close, Mr. Chairman?”
“On this heading,” the Chairman replied presently, “Truculent will clear the ground by a minimum seventeen hundred fifty irals.”
“Oh, plenty of room,” Theada said a little breathlessly.
Their actual perihelion occurred so quickly that Brim only sensed an instantaneous transition from apparent descent to ascent, although Truculent's control settings remained unchanged. Off to port, he'd glimpsed a small city for a moment — they’d have no glass in their windows anymore. Probably have a few caved-in roofs, too. Time to worry about paying for that damage later.
“I see 'em!” somebody exclaimed. “Six points to port and low to the horizon.”
“We're tracking,” another voice said quietly. “ Zagrail class ships all right. Long-range destroyers.”
“You've never seen one of those, have you, Wilf?” Fourier asked.
“Only read about 'em,” Brim admitted.
“Xaxtdamned fine ships. They can outmaneuver a scalded skarsatt. “
“I'll keep that in mind,” Brim said, lowering Truculent's bow until he could see three irregular shapes against the starry background. They were arranged along a staggered line formation and returning for their second attack on an arrogantly steady heading: Clearly expecting no more opposition than their first pass received from fort or starship. The Carescrian smiled with grim satisfaction. This time, Overprefect Valentin was in for a nasty surprise — whomever he might turn out to be. In his display, he watched the firing crews at their Director consoles, listened to their familiar litany of deflection and ranges. “We'll take them in order, Anastasia,” he said quietly as he adjusted course toward the leading enemy ship. “Closest first. “
“All disruptors prepare to engage forward,” Fourier said. “Target bearing red for five.”
“Range ninety-one hundred and closing rapidly.” “Steady…”
The enemy ship was long and cylindrical, built as a single hull instead of independent modules on a K tube. She had a high, thin bridge and nine turrets distributed evenly forward, 'midships, and aft in triads circling the hull. Brim wondered if he might be looking at his special adversary as he scanned the distant vessel. There was quite a score to settle.
“Shoot!”
Truculent's deck bucked violently as all seven disruptors went off in a blinding eruption that lit space around the enemy destroyer like a tiny nova. A flame glowed for a moment abaft her bridge, then abruptly winked out.
“Got 'im, first shot!” somebody yelled gleefully as Fourier poured salvo after salvo at the enemy ship, starting a number of fires and blasting a large piece of debris into the wake.
None of the three attackers was fighting back yet, Brim noted. His tactics of surprise had served him well. He imagined the chaos Fourier's seven big 144s must be causing in the lead ship and wondered what the reaction would be in the two nearby asteroid forts whose big disruptors — quiet so far — nonetheless bore directly on his present position.
Finally, ragged return fire began to flash outside from the enemy ships. “It's mainly from the second one,” Brim yelled to Fourier. “We'll give them a bit of trouble next.” He put the helm over and hauled the ship on to a collision course with the next enemy destroyer.
Fourier nodded. “I see him,” she said.
“Bearing orange nine forty-six.”
“Up a hundred.”
Brim watched the forward turret index a few degrees to port, rise slightly, then lower. Unseen, he knew the others were retracking to the same target.
“Steady…”
“Shoot!” Truculent was closer to this one, and the targeting was accurate. Great pieces of flaming wreckage began to fly off the enemy ship.
The first and third destroyers were now recovering from their initial surprise; to starboard, space erupted in a ragged welter of return fire. Truculent's deck kicked with the first long-range hits from the third enemy ship, but the effort was far too late for Brim's intended victim. A shattering explosion suddenly sent the second raider skidding off course to nadir, all but one of its turrets paralyzed or blasted to silence.
“Looks like he's had it,” somebody observed.
“I'll have a spread of torpedoes into him, Anastasia,” Brim ordered. In a matter of clicks, a salvo of five big Mark-19 torpedoes flashed past the bridge from the launcher, leaving a trail of blinding ruby fire in the starry darkness.
“Torpedoes running,” Barbousse's deep voice intoned on the voice circuit.
Brim immediately canted Truculent round toward the third attacker. “Give him everything we've got!” he yelled to Anastasia over the bellowing generators.
“New target bearing blue four forty-one at eleven ninety-two. “
“Shoot!”
Again, Truculent's powerful battery turned space into a concussive inferno, this time around the third enemy ship. Then the whole Universe lit from aft. Startled, Brim swung in his recliner, gritting his teeth. Were the Lixorian forts finally joining the fray? On whose side? He was immediately relieved to see what remained of the second League destroyer melt completely into a roiling cloud of livid energy from his torpedoes. Every port gleamed like a fiery eye along the hull before the ship burst again into a stupendous flowerlike pattern of flame and debris. He watched an entire turret assembly fly off into space like a runaway holiday rocket.
“That got the Leaguer bastards!” somebody yelled jubilantly.
“Universe,” another whispered aloud, “look at that burn.”
Suddenly, Brim was nearly knocked senseless against his seat restraints as a stunning explosion went off just abaft Truculent's bridge and caved in a corner of the chart room. The cabin atmosphere blew out in a single, tremendous draft that took two navigation consoles with it and filled the bridge with whirling shards of jagged hullmetal and Hyperscreen crystal. Chaos ruled momentarily as agonized screams filled the voice circuits and half a dozen consoles disappeared in great sparking eruptions of energy. The Carescrian felt a heavy weight bounce off the back of his recliner — his faceplate was suddenly covered with a spray of redness that smeared as he tried to wipe it away. He turned in time to see a headless corpse crumple in a greasy red puddle beside him, belly ripped
from crotch to the shredded stump of a neck. Still I its helmet, the severed head bounced like a child's toy at Theada's feet as the gravity pulsed in the shock waves.
Truculent's hull jolted and vibrated as more hits came aboard from the third enemy destroyer. One particularly powerful blast burst amidships, took the port launch with it, and opened the hull at the officers' quarters with a fiery plume. Brim knew instinctively he had just lost all he owned: His sister's picture in its little charred frame passed his mind's eye for an instant, then he snapped himself back to reality and hauled the destroyer around in a hard turn to port amid a howl of strikes from small weapons that shattered what remained of the aft Hyperscreens and filled the bridge with more jagged pieces of flying crystal.
In the corner of his eye, he saw someone crawling along the main corridor bubbling blood from a dozen holes in a barely recognizable battle suit. Suddenly, one of the larger rents unsealed in a red mist that sprayed nearby consoles a dark, sticky-looking crimson. Whoever it was stopped crawling and spasmodically reared upward before crumpling onto a tattered, blackened shred of star chart. Brim read the word Maldive on the name tag.
He bit his lip. At least he wasn't worried about the forts anymore. The Lixorians were clearly following orders and staying out of the action. He turned to watch the first destroyer they had encountered. Fourier had just redirected two of Truculent's ventral turrets at her. Burning in three or four locations along her hull, the Zagrail was returning the fire, but only intermittently; clearly, hits had been scored on critical control centers, though the ship's propulsion systems appeared to be undamaged. At least, Brim noted with satisfaction, the Leaguers were making no attempt to continue their attack on Tandor-Ra below.
Off to starboard, the third destroyer was turning with them. Two of her turrets were out of commission, with disruptors pointed at useless angles. The other seven, however, were firing rapidly and accurately, matching Truculent shot for shot. Brim wondered if she might be the ship carrying Valentin, then decided at the moment he had no time to care.
Soon the two ships were racing parallel courses across the bright disk of Lixor, Truculent silhouetted against the light, her opponent in the much-more-enviable position of blending with the darkness of space, at least so she appeared from Brim's console. Below, his own decks were a ruin, littered with debris and punctured in at least a hundred locations. Fires were reported in three damage-control zones. A nearby display presented the heavily armored sick bay crowded with more than twenty bloody bodies waiting for healing machines that were already full. Flynn could be seen feverishly rushing to this one and that, trying to handle the sudden overload. He was a fine doctor, Brim knew that from experience. But a lot of Truculents were going to die before this day was over, despite all the man could do.
He didn't opt for a closer look in the sick bay since the bridge itself was beginning to fill with acrid black smoke from fires raging in what was left of Collingswood's cabin. Metal fires, for certain, he noted. Nothing burned like metal once it caught.
Another explosion jarred the deck: This one in the Communications cabin joining A turret to the lower part of the bridge. Miraculously, the voice circuits held, but the deck buckled dangerously beneath his boots. And soon the smoke was worse than ever.
“I'll have a square pattern of five torpedoes,” Fourier ordered. Moments later, five torpedoes flashed from the launcher: two high, two low, one in the center.
“Torpedoes running,” Barbousse intoned.
“That ought to show them!” somebody yelled in the ruby glow.
“And how!” another started.
“Oh, no!” a third voice exclaimed in dismay as the enemy destroyer reacted with unbelievable speed, executing a series of tight maneuvers that cleanly evaded four of the speeding missiles. The fifth torpedo — evidently unexpected in a square salvo — excised a small deckhouse from the hull just aft of her small superstructure in a cloud of flying debris. It did not, however, encounter anything sufficiently solid in the framework to set off its charge, and continued on into space without inflicting any important damage.
“Afraid of that,” Fourier snapped angrily. “Still, it didn't hurt to try.”
Another welter of shots erupted close to the starboard bow, smashing the forward docking cupola and sending jagged hullmetal splinters whizzing through the Hyperscreens in a dozen places.
“Voof!” Ursis roared through clenched teeth as he grabbed his left forearm. Brim could see his battle suit sealing off a ragged wound in a spray of blood. The Bear pounded his console in high dudgeon. “Now,” he pronounced solemnly, “that bastard Triannic is really in trouble!”
“Look out!” somebody else yelled. “Jubal's caught it…”
Brim glanced to his right in time to see Theada slump facedown onto shards of crystal littering his console, the Hyperscreens shattered in front of his station. Blood flowed freely from somewhere beneath his head and dripped in a puddle at his feet. “Somebody get a pressure patch up here!” the Carescrian yelled, then cranked Truculent around in a climbing turn as the first ship desperately took evasive action to escape his attack. The Leaguers acted only just in time. The space they would have occupied erupted in a deadly salvo of closely spaced blasts as Fourier growled in displeasure.
On the bridge aft, Brim glimpsed a crew with laser axes and power pries fighting three smoky radiation fires in what was left of the chart room and trying to free somebody pinned to the deck by a fallen support. Deep in the hull, he scanned a generator room turned to near chaos. Huge, charred holes had been opened by hits on either side of the keel, but miraculously, Borodov kept the oversized Admiralty N-types churning out their enormous output of raw antigravity waves. Truculent's speed was a major reason she was still in one piece now that the enemy ships had at last joined forces. Near one shattered power console, part of a rating still sat in the recliner, burned completely away from the waist up. Beside one of the blast holes, a leaking body hung limply impaled by three long needles of hullmetal, melted then thrust inward at the time of impact.
While two blood-covered medical ratings gently eased Theada from his console, Brim watched the second enemy ship turning toward him again. Fourier's disruptor crews wasted no time in blanketing it with a barrage of shock and radiation. The Leaguer's KA'PPA tower went in a blinding flash of light and a shattered launch sailed straight down from its mountings, only irals from a direct hit beneath the bridge. Brim smiled grimly. They'd felt those salvos, all right.
Then, with a blinding flash, Truculent's spaceframe again heaved convulsively, gravity pulsed, and loose debris bounced around the interior of the wrecked bridge like a swarm of heavy insects. A second explosion followed on its heels, this one all the way forward in the hull. It spun the destroyer like a toy. Brim fought the controls with all the skill he could muster. Flames and angry sparking radiation obscured the bow and boiled into their wake. When it cleared, Truculent's A turret was replaced by a jagged, blackened hole from which clouds of radiation swirled along the top decks. No hope for that crew, Brim thought as he followed the deadly billowing mist aft where it passed the wreckage of W turret, still apparently intact except for an innocuous-looking hole near the slot for the disruptor, which pointed uselessly off to port.
Then a third tremendous hit battered the ship. Brim grabbed his console as the gravity pulsed again and more loose debris cascaded across the wrinkling deck plates. This time, the steady thunder of the generators began to fade into hoarse, staccato rasping. He glanced around the decks through the Hyperscreens: No new damage topside, at least none he could recognize. The hit was on Truculent's bottom. And it didn't require much imagination to understand she'd taken serious damage. Fresh radiation was already curling into the wake from below, and their speed was beginning to fall!
Everybody seemed to be shouting on the voice circuits. All over the smoldering bridge, damage-control teams were desperately clearing debris. Smashed figures desiccating in torn battle suits were stacked like cordwo
od in the shredded remains of the chart room.
Instinctively, Brim ducked as more violent explosions went off close overhead, lighting the shattered wreckage on the decks below with a dazzling glare. He scanned Borodov's power exchange in a nearby display. Heavy clouds of radiation billowed overhead, and in the background, actual flames fed on some source of combustion from another wrecked systems console. Borodov's soot-covered helmet appeared in the display.
“How bad is it, Chief?” the Carescrian asked.
The old Bear shrugged and considered a moment. “Truculent has seen better days,” he pronounced slowly. “Last hit destroyed important control logic for starboard generator; it runs pretty much out of control now. But it runs.”
“And... ?” Brim asked.
“And,” Borodov went on, “we can still steer and run full speed. But doing the latter will quickly destroy the damaged generator. “
Brim felt the speed drop noticeably. He watched the third enemy ship again turning toward him. Moments later, the first ship also turned. Both Leaguers could see he was in trouble. “Full speed, if you please, Lieutenant Borodov,” he said quietly.
Borodov shrugged. “Full speed it is, Wilf Ansor,” he said, busying himself at his console.
Fourier urged her disruptor crews to even more exertion, and somehow the rate of firing did increase, with telling effect. Bright flashes winked all over the enemy hulls. Additional metal fires began to belch clouds of sparks on the third enemy ship, but she continued to employ her disruptors with the same deadly accuracy. Return fire sprayed Truculent everywhere; her hull jumped and pounded as they burst aboard.
Somebody started screaming over the voice circuits again, but a long time passed before the bloodcurdling sound registered in Brim's mind above the general pandemonium. He turned in his seat to confront a medical team pulling Fourier from her console. Her suit was horribly burned at the neck, and her hands desperately tore at the shredded hole in her shoulder. One of the medical ratings placed a pressure patch over the opening while two others held her arms. The screaming abruptly turned to a liquid gargle, then stopped altogether. Brim turned back to his controls, gritting his teeth as the team dragged her limp figure aft toward the chart room.