Holsey’s eyes widened ever so slightly as the same thought hit her. “They want to board us. Get us tangled up in their blockade or force us back to the ground and then try to storm the ship.”
Kim nodded. “Mr. Stetler, push right through them. Commander, have gun turrets with forward arcs concentrate fire directly ahead. High explosive shells, same as before.”
“Aye, ma’am.” Holsey dashed back to her controls.
The Verdun raced forward, its turrets throwing volley after volley toward the blockade. Kim turned back to Fowler’s screen, saw one of the enemy ships list to the side, explosions sprouting from its superstructure. The other enemy ships started to move away from it, opening a gap in the middle of the fleet.
“Ten seconds,” Stetler called.
The forms of the enemy ships were growing bigger and bigger every moment. One of them had seen the gap, was trying to turn around to block it, but ran into a wall of cannon fire. The Verdun flew through the gap and pushed into the open space beyond.
“They’re still pursuing, but they’re not as fast,” Stetler said, the relief in his voice obvious. “They’re falling behind. Their smaller attack craft are turning around.”
Kim sighed, releasing some of the tension in her chest, then turned to walk back to her seat. “Ms. Urquhart, set a course out of the system and to the nearest fleet staging area.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
“Getting the cavalry?” Holsey’s voice held a note of hope.
“And bringing them back to put down whoever these bastards are.” Kim sat down in her chair. “We’ll be back in a day, maybe two.”
“That may not be fast enou—” Holsey was cut off by a tremendous crashing sound. The deck lurched, and damage alert sirens chirped.
Kim folded down her console as the ship shuddered again.
“Never mind the bumps, Lieutenant,” she shouted to Urquhart. “Keep plotting that course.” Kim set her monitor to mirror the damage control station, felt her stomach sink. The bastards were—
“They’re targeting the main engines,” Fowler said, finishing the sentence in Kim’s head.
“I thought you said they wouldn’t damage us.” Stetler shouted over another explosion.
“They don’t want us going translight,” Kim snapped back. “Holsey, keep the rear turrets on them. Do whatever you can to break them up.”
“Aye.”
A second after Holsey’s reply, Kim heard an up-tick in the rhythm of fire from the rear guns. They were pouring out everything they had.
Another impact rocked the ship, and Kim held on to the console in front of her to keep from getting thrown to the side. The turbulence subsided, and Kim reached over her shoulder and clicked her safety harness into place. She tapped the damage control readout twice to set it to its report function. It blinked red and displayed a cutaway of the Verdun, with several sections magnified in the center of the screen. An interrupted power cable on deck sixteen, cutting off lights in that area. The damaged lift thruster had been hit again — no loss there now that they were in space. A stray enemy shell had knocked out the ship’s external communications array.
There would be no contacting the ground team until it was repaired.
If any of them — or us — survive.
Kim pushed her growing dread aside and kept reading the list of damaged systems. The enemy had also hit the—
“Dammit,” Kim slammed her fist onto her armrest. “We’ve lost the Keahey drives. We can’t go translight.”
Kim turned, saw all eyes on her. She ran over the possibilities, trying to not display her own growing fear. Another boom, and the lights flickered slightly.
Kim raised her chin. “Mr. Stetler, maintain speed.” She turned to look at Baudouin. “Tell Frost to launch the interceptors. They’ll screen us until we’re out of range.”
“At this speed?” Baudouin arched an eyebrow.
“They’ve trained to do it. We don’t have time for comfort.” Kim looked at Urquhart, who was oddly pale. “Lieutenant, plot a course toward that gas giant we passed coming into the system.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
Kim met Holsey’s piercing gaze. “We are not out of this fight.”
Supervisor Brack drummed his fingers on his command console as he watched the screen in front of him. The Verdun appeared smaller and smaller every second, and now it was spitting out smaller shapes, no doubt its defensive fighters. He felt sweat break out on his forehead. Everything had gone perfectly for Supervisor Smith on the planet. From the sound of it, most of the fort was already in their hands. Brack was not going to be the weak link in the chain.
“Supervisor,” the boy at the weapons station called over. “Their fighters are destroying all of our ordnance before it can reach them. At this distance, we can’t make hits.”
Brack sneered at the boy’s dirty, thin face, his ragged clothing. “Keep shooting.”
The boy nodded, repeating the commands to fire control. The crew wasn’t much to brag about. It took more to make a sailor than a soldier, or at least that’s what Brack had argued. Any idiot with a rifle can fight, but give that same idiot control of a warship, and you guarantee disaster.
Brack returned his attention to bridge’s holoports, saw two shells from the Verdun streak past the ship to their right, bending around its ordnance deflector, then exploding between it and the ship to the other side of it. The explosions washed over both ships, and one of them started to slow down, atmosphere venting from holes peppered in its side. Brack cursed under his breath. The warships they had acquired had done adequately against the destroyer they’d taken, but against a battle cruiser? They weren’t ready. The larger ships weren’t built yet. Now the entire operation was going to go to hell, and Brack would take the blame for it.
A few more of the Verdun’s shells landed near the damaged ship to the right, this time striking it head on. The ship swerved downward, fire flowing from view ports and cargo bays as it tore apart. The deck plating shook under Brack’s feet.
“Supervisor, the Righteous has been hit, she’s—”
“I damned well know!” Brack cut the boy off and stood. “Slow down. Let them move out of range.”
“But we’ll lose them.” The boy sounded frustrated, eager for the kill.
“For the moment, maybe. Keep them on our tracking scanners as long as possible. They can’t get far, we know that much. Not without translight.”
At least one fucking thing had gone well.
He turned around, looking toward the radio operator, an old man that the ground forces hadn’t wanted because of a bad back. Now Brack was saddled with him. “Radio Supervisor Smith.” Brack turned back to the screen in front of him, watched the Verdun, now a distant blue-grey shape against the blackness of space.
“And tell him…” Brack trailed off, thinking of something that would not raise alarm. “Tell him our pursuit is in progress.”
Chapter Seventeen
Jack couldn’t remember the last time he had hiked so far. He stopped, stepped off the trail, and looked up and down the line of marching troops, adjusting the straps of his pack. The mixed force of marines and rangers were plodding silently through the blue-black of pre-dawn, their heads bent low. It had been one hell of a long night.
After they’d secured the barracks, they’d started the process of finding and identifying the dead and wounded. Forty-one of the men and women under Jack’s command had died in the attack, nineteen marines and twenty-two rangers. Sixteen others had been wounded, though thankfully none too severely. Jack supposed he should feel proud of that number. About ten percent casualties for a strategic objective and more than six hundred enemies killed. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed somehow. The ranger officers, Lieutenant Flores in particular, hadn’t helped the matter much.
When Lieutenant Arnot had read the final casualty figures, Jack had said he was relieved it wasn’t more.
“It would have been hardly any if you’
d listened to us and swept the woods around the complex first,” Flores had said, her eyes burning in the darkness.
The other ranger officers had nodded, though Jack had seen Squires place a hand on Flores’ shoulder, clearly trying to help her remember her place.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Lieutenant,” Jack had responded. “We followed standard attack procedure.”
A commanding officer couldn’t make himself vulnerable, couldn’t show regret, not when other soldiers were nearby, carrying bodies. He needed to be confident. And who was Flores to be so flippant with the chain of command? There was a time and place for everything, even criticizing your commanding officer. But in front of others on the field of battle was neither the time nor the place.
Flores had all but snorted at Jack’s response, then returned to her platoon. That was when the fort had called for help. Jack had crouched next to Private Dawson, one of Lieutenant Arnot’s RTOs, as first the fort’s radio operator and then Colonel Neville himself had begged them to come help. An overwhelming force had struck the fort, and there hadn’t been a damn thing they could do about it. Even worse, the Verdun had been attacked at about the same time, and Jack had watched with horror as it had risen from the horizon miles away and thundered into the sky, chased by what had looked like enemy warships and fighter craft. Not long after, the fort had gone silent.
They were alone on Kensington, with no support and with nowhere to go. And what Jack couldn’t understand is how the hell this had all happened. The enemy was supposed to have been destroyed at the complex, and it made Jack shudder to think how many more of them could be out there. True, they’d seen a few leaving the complex before they’d attacked, but Jack had figured they were stragglers, not an entire attack force.
And what of the Verdun? Had she managed to escape?
Jack’s mind flashed to his shipmates, the image of them burning to death as the battlecruiser crashed from the sky jumping unbidden into his mind. His stomach turned. He sucked in the damp air, releasing it slowly through his mouth.
Regardless of how the Verdun was, he’d get his chance to strike back soon enough, and he’d make it count.
Lieutenant Squires was hiking past Jack, his face crinkled in an expression of concern.
“Are you okay, sir?” Squires stopped beside Jack, shifted his carbine on his back.
“I’m fine, Lieutenant, thank you.” Jack forced a smile. He didn’t want anyone to see how this mess was affecting him. “How is your platoon faring?”
“As well as you’d expect, considering…” Squires trailed off.
Jack knew exactly what he meant. As soon as the fort had gone silent, Jack had ordered the attack force to move out. According to what he’d read, the fort’s artillery — more than likely in enemy hands now — was more than capable of reaching the barracks. They’d had to leave their dead unburied, their bodies moved into one of the barracks to protect them from animals. At least Lieutenant Flores hadn’t objected this time. They’d packed their gear, put the wounded on stretchers, and hiked south, meeting Major Osterman’s part of the attack force on the way out. They’d left the jeeps behind after every one of the rangers had insisted they’d only make noise, give away their position, and wouldn’t make it through the forest trails. Instead, they’d unpacked the OTRs — ordnance transport robots — from the trucks, activated them, and loaded them down with the disassembled howitzers and their ammunition. Jack had been skeptical, but looking at the path they were walking now, he had to admit the rangers had been right.
“We’ll get our shot to pay them back.” Jack put every grain of confidence into his voice.
“I’m counting down the hours, sir.” Squires grinned.
They shifted to allow a train of stretchers to pass by, followed by the OTRs. Looking at them, Jack could understand why all the rangers called them by their nickname, ‘gun dogs,’ though he thought ‘gun mule’ would probably describe them better, based on their size. The robots stood four feet high on four legs, and the body of each was six feet long. A large cargo pod was mounted to their backs, and their heads — really just a collection of optical sensing equipment at the machine’s front — were panning back and forth, their various instruments glowing red as they scanned the path ahead of them. The whir of gears and motors was a faint whisper as they passed, their cargo sections filled with pieces of the pack howitzers and boxes of shells. The sun glinted off the worn spots and occasional scratches in their camouflage paint. The gun dogs’ technician trudged behind them, a controller in his hand, his rifle slung on his back.
Jack looked from the machines to Squires. “Do you know how much longer until we arrive at our stopping point?”
Squires rubbed his chin, the sound of stubble on skin whispering in the half-light. “I’d say we have a mile-and-a-half more to Bunker Thirty-two. Getting tired, sir?”
Jack raised his chin. “Lead on, Lieutenant.”
Jack’s feet had started hurting an hour ago when they’d crossed the rail line under a bridge, but he wasn’t about to say that, not to someone whose respect he required. He wanted to show these rangers just how much Navy men could handle.
Squires grinned, waited for a gap to appear in the line, and stepped onto the trail. Jack followed him, shifting his pack again. The trail was skirting a series of dry ravines, the slope dropping off sharply to the left. The trees were packed close together here, their foliage thick, their leathery grey bark reflecting the growing light. As they hiked, the ground sloped upward, becoming rockier as they climbed. They turned the corner of a ridge, then plunged down the ravine. Jack felt his feet skidding out from under him, caught his balance, and watched how Squires walked carefully down the slippery gravel, bending his knees and taking small steps. Jack did the same, working his way down the trail. At the bottom of the ravine, the trail became a muddy mess. The sound of heavy mud sucking on boots as the rangers and marines slogged their way through the muck seemed loud after the hours of silent walking.
The trail tilted up again, working its way up the other side of the ravine before leveling out and contouring the lip of a craggy ridge. Jack leaned forward as he tried to keep up with Squires, sweat dripping off his forehead. The challenge felt good, to be honest. Anything to keep his mind off the Verdun.
Just as the trail leveled off, a faint booming sound rolled over the trees. Everyone dropped to their knees. Jack saw four figures running back down the line, Lieutenants Garrett and Flores, followed by Lieutenant Arnot and Major Osterman. Jack frowned, noticing the pained look on the major’s face. The stubborn marine would be the last to admit it, but all this heavy activity couldn’t be helping his injuries from the Triangle much.
“We’re taking a look up top,” Flores said to Squires. “Keep everyone down here on their toes. No snoozing or grab-assing.” It impressed Jack how much weight Flores’ word seemed to carry. As the senior lieutenant in the company, she was the ranking ranger officer, but even so, he had to respect the woman for leading her fellow officers so naturally.
“Good idea.” Jack stood. “I want to see as well.”
Flores nodded, and she, Garrett, Arnot, and Osterman stepped off on a perpendicular angle to the trail and headed straight toward the ridge’s summit. Jack followed them, keeping pace with Osterman, who lagged a few steps behind the others and refused to meet Jack’s gaze. The trees thinned as they climbed higher, letting more of the morning pre-light filter through the blue-green clumps of foliage. The ground transitioned from fine rocks to small boulders, and Jack scrambled over the pale yellow talus, holding onto his rifle sling with one hand to keep the weapon from sliding off his shoulder. He saw the others work their way behind a large boulder, and he followed them, taking care to move as silently as they had. He dropped behind the boulder to find Flores pulling out a pair of binoculars.
The booming sound came again, and Jack peeked over the lip of the rock in time to see a flash mushroom over the treetops far to the northeast. A few seconds later, another
boom carried over.
“The fort’s shelling the barracks,” Flores whispered.
Jack turned, saw her binoculars pointed directly east, and turned to look that direction as well. He could just make out a large, flat-topped hill. A flash sparkled from its summit, followed a few seconds later by more booms. Artillery guns firing in the distance.
“Glad we’re here.” Osterman squinted.
“They’re not firing too fast, though.” Garrett’s voice sounded relieved.
“Yeah,” Flores muttered. The shell hit the barracks with a burst of light and, a second later, a distant bang. “Whoever is shooting probably doesn’t know much about the guns.”
“Are we still in range?” Lieutenant Arnot’s voice sounded just to Jack’s right.
“Everything between there and the dockyards is under the fort’s guns,” Flores answered.
Jack looked over at her. Her brow knotted as she continued to look through the binoculars. Other than a fidgeting motion — she was tapping a finger on one hand against the barrel of the binoculars slightly — she seemed completely unperturbed.
The fort fired again, causing something at the barracks to explode, a fireball racing into the sky. But this time, the booms that followed a second later came with something else. A low thrumming noise, growing louder every second.
“Get down!” Osterman hissed. Jack tucked himself close to the rock, saw Flores and the others do the same. The sound grew until it filled the air and rattled Jack’s teeth. Then two shapes rocketed past overhead. Jack waited a second, then followed Flores in peering over the top of the boulder. What looked like two fighter craft were flying close to the treetops, moving in a broad arc toward the bunkers. Their slow speed and low flight path could only mean one thing.
“They’re trying to find us,” Jack whispered.
“Let’s not oblige them.”
Jack turned, saw Flores stowing away her binoculars. They crept from behind the boulder and down the rocky slope while the two searching fighter craft moved farther away to the east. A minute later, they arrived back with the other troops, who had taken cover along the trail, the tension on their faces telling Jack that they’d realized the danger as well.
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