Raidan interrupted him. “A bup, bup, bup,” he said, silencing him. “The fact is, I want every gun and every missile launcher on this ship completely engaged and rendering those brave defenders out there as much assistance as we possibly can!”
Mister Watson, finally getting the clue, did not bring up the subject again.
Despite all of his efforts, it didn’t last long, just as he’d anticipated. The carnage reached its apex, and all the flashes and explosions out the window were far too numerous to keep track of, or even make sense of.
What Raidan did notice, however, was that the majority of the enemy force—that was in position to do so—all concentrated their beam weapons on the ISS Victory. Which was being struck so frequently, and from so many angles, by so many ships, that its shields seemed simply to be constantly alight. Almost like there was a permanently glowing orb of energy that surrounded the ship.
That can’t be good, thought Raidan, as he watched. Knowing that shields under that much constant duress, even the most powerful shields in the galaxy, could not withstand that kind of attack for long.
“Focus fire on the ships attacking the ISS Victory,” said Raidan, unsure what else he could do to help, but unable to think of anything. One by one, the Harbinger’s powerful guns ripped apart several of the smaller ships firing on the Victory, but the intensity of the enemy’s attack did not let up. And then, with a blink, the shield orb disappeared; the crew, no doubt, unable to reroute any more power into the shields. Meanwhile, the beam weapon strikes did not cease. Only now, instead of being deflected by a shield of energy, they struck thick layers of armor, burning and melting them.
“Move the ship!” said Raidan, realizing what was about to happen. He had fully expected it, and yet, somehow, he still could not believe it was happening. “Move the ship now, hurry!”
“Where, sir?” asked Mister Watson.
“Full reverse!” said Raidan. “As fast as you can!”
“Aye, sir. Answering full reverse.”
They created some distance, so that, when the ISS Victory’s formidable hull finally did give way under the constant duress, and the ship exploded, throwing tremendous amounts of debris in all directions at high velocity, none of the bits of what had been the greatest starship ever made struck the Harbinger.
Seeing the Victory finally go, after having fought for so long and enduring so much, was an emotional experience, not to mention a stunning visual phenomenon. The ship had been taking a beating, and continuing to take it and take it and, just when you thought it was done for, it took some more…somehow continuing to endure. Even when the shields were gone. Even when the armor plating was gone. Hell, even when it was down to the hull, somehow that still took the abuse like the damned vessel was simply invincible. But Raidan had understood what was happening and knew it was only a matter time, probably mere seconds, and that was why he’d ordered the retreat.
When the Victory did finally give in and explode, it was a moment of beauty and despair. About a million things happened, all at once, all on a colossal scale, and all within what felt like the fraction of an instant.
The ship exploded, suddenly ripped apart, sending pieces of itself in all directions at very high speed. Meanwhile, there was a massive flash as the enormous ship’s atmosphere burned in an instant. Then, like some kind of chain reaction, force and shrapnel from the ISS Victory caused the nearest five warships, two friendly and three foes, to also explode.
And then, only after those few seconds had passed, did the emotional part sink in. And Raidan knew it really was over. Oh, God, what now? he thought. Even though the answer was perfectly clear.
The surviving defense ships immediately scrambled in all directions, just like he’d predicted, some of them just to escape the range of fire, others to escape the system altogether. Meanwhile, the Dread Fleet continued onward, pushing through any defenders that lagged behind, eviscerating them immediately, seeming not even to be bothered in the slightest.
The ships will orbit the planet now, thought Raidan, and, for the next few days, they will bomb Capital World until there is nothing left of it.
Meanwhile, the Harbinger continued to move away, creating more distance between it and the Dread Fleet, which other than a whole lot of scattered defenders, was now completely unopposed.
Then, the Dread Fleet did something that Raidan did not expect. It came to a complete stop; that was the first clue that something odd was happening. He could tell by watching the tactical display.
“Turn the ship around,” said Raidan, a sense of foreboding made even his bones seem to shiver. “Turn us toward the Dread Fleet.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Mister Watson. “Was that toward the fleet, that you said?”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Raidan. “Toward the fleet.”
“As you say,” said a very confused sounding Mister Watson.
“Then maneuver us so we could move in between the Dread Fleet and the planet,” said Raidan, looking intensely at the tactical display.
“All right…” said Mister Watson. “This isn’t going to be some kind of one-ship suicide attack against the entire fleet is it? Because I’m down for heroism and all, but not like that.”
Raidan tuned him out. He was too intensely focused on the tactical display. He watched as the Dread Fleet’s formation changed. It abandoned its wedge shape by maneuvering the forward most ships, but, rather than bringing them closer to the planet, such as to enter orbit around it and begin their bombing campaign, they moved the forward-most ships—which had been some of their most powerful dreadnoughts—to the rear of the formation.
“What the hell…” Raidan muttered quietly to himself. He couldn’t figure out what they were doing, but he was certain, whatever it was, was not good. And then he saw some of the lights from the center begin to move forward, very, very slowly. Away from the formation and toward the planet, at a pace so sluggish he could scarcely tell they were moving at all on the tactical display.
Raidan felt a sinking feeling inside once he had a guess as to what they were. Oh, please let me be wrong. Please let me be wrong, he thought.
“Mister Ivanov,” said Raidan. “There appear to be several ships, a squadron at minimum, that have emerged from the center of the Dread Fleet’s formation. These ships are now heading toward the planet; the rest of the formation appears not to be following them. Please conduct a scan of these ships and then display an image for me.”
“At once, sir,” said Mister Ivanov. Then, after a few seconds, he announced that the scan was complete and the image ready for display.
“Go ahead and display it on the central main viewer,” said Raidan, feeling his hands get clammy and his heart race. Hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t going to be a picture of what he feared most.
And then the image appeared.
“Mister Demir, what the hell is that?” asked Mister Watson.
“I have no clue, sir,” said Mister Demir. “I’ve been in defense a long time and I’ve never seen anything that looks like that.”
Raidan remained silent. He dropped his head into his hands and thought, of course. It had to be. Only the Dread Fleet would dig up and use an old warship like that.
“It looks a bit like a snail, I think,” said Mister Gates. “If you turn it about thirty degrees and then look at it.”
What to do, what to do, thought Raidan, realizing that if he was going to try anything, his effort would probably be futile and would unquestioningly be fatal. Not just for him, and all the life on his ship, but anyone and everyone he convinced to assist him. On the other hand, he couldn’t simply sit idly by and watch, knowing what he did, and understanding all too well what was about to happen—if he didn’t somehow stop it.
My blood for the queen. The words came unwilling to his mind, but then seemed to just get stuck there. My blood for the queen. My blood for the queen. Damn you, Sir Arkwright, even in death you annoy me, thought Raidan. But it proved to be the thing that t
ipped him over the edge, ending his indecision. He looked up, back up at it, which was still on full display.
“Captain,” asked Mister Demir, “Do you have any idea just what in the hell that thing is? Because the rest of us are stumped.”
“I still think it looks like a snail,” said Mister Gates. “A big, giant, metallic space snail.”
“Okay, everybody, listen up,” said Raidan, in a voice that everyone on the bridge had learned long ago to take very seriously. It wasn’t a voice he used often but, when he did, that meant shut the hell up and do what he says.
Raidan had their complete attention. “Okay, first things first, everyone is going to do exactly what I say, when I say it, and there will be no interrupting me with questions, is that clear?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” they replied.
“All right, next thing, I will explain what that thing is, but trust me, you’re going to wish you didn’t know. But, before I say anything else, we need to take care of business. Because now the clock really is ticking.”
“Understood,” said Mister Watson, and the rest nodded, acknowledging him.
“Okay, Mister Gates, I want you to transmit two urgent, maximum priority messages. The first is an order to the remains of the Organization’s flotilla. Tell any surviving ship, that hasn’t already left the system, to urgently and immediately intercept the Harbinger and form up on our flank.”
“And when they ask why?” asked Mister Gates.
“Remember, no questions, and no interruptions,” said Raidan. “Just give them the order. Tell them it is direct, it’s from me, and that everything depends on them following it. Whatever they say, whatever excuses they make, don’t take no for an answer. We need those ships, so you and your staff talk to them and keep talking to them until they agree to assist.”
“Aye, sir,” said Mister Gates, he then motioned for his staff to hurry and get to work.
“All right, message number two, I’ll take care of that one, I just need you to make sure I’m broadcasting to the entire defense force when I give you the signal. Think you can arrange that?”
“Yes, sir, definitely.”
“Good. Next, Mister Watson, set an intercept course for those strange looking ships, maximum possible speed.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mister Watson. He got to work.
“Now, Mister Demir, I want you to have every gun that can be made operational to get operational in the next sixty seconds.”
“Okay,” said Mister Demir, with a look of uncertainty.
“Make sure that every gun and every missile launcher is prepped and ready. When we act, we may not have much time. So we can’t waste a second on those guns once we’re in the thick of it; we need them primed now!”
“Yes, sir,” I’ll take care of it. He and his staff started sending orders to the gun crews below, along with the maintenance staff to see if the disabled guns could be resurrected that quickly.
“Mister Ivanov, you have two very important responsibilities. The first is to keep a perfect accounting of the exact positional coordinates for every single ship that matches that image up there. You will then feed those coordinates, constantly, to the defense station. Mister Demir, have one of your people make certain that the gun crews prioritize targets fed to them by coordinate.”
“Yes, sir,” both Mister Demir and Mister Ivanov said.
“As for your second responsibility, Mister Ivanov, you are to prepare a hierarchy of systems from which to draw power, when we need it, in order to keep whatever shields we have up as much and as long as possible. You will even take it from life support if you have to. You will not, at any point, draw it away from our targeting systems or anything else used to launch missiles or fire the guns. You will also need to keep at least one scanner online so we can track those targets. Everything else is fair game. Whatever you do, keep the shields up as high as you can, for as long as you can, until there is literally nothing more that you can do.”
“Yes, sir, will do,” said Mister Ivanov.
Raidan then walked back to the command position and switched on the transmitter. He gave Mister Gates a look, as if to ask, am I broadcasting? Mr. Gates nodded and gave him a thumbs up.
Raidan cleared his throat and then spoke. “This is a general order to all ships in this system. I repeat this is a general order to all ships in this system. Now, I know I’m not Fleet Commander Arkwright, but if he were still here, I know he’d want you all to listen to me. And here is why:
“There is an urgent crisis and we must all respond to it. With all haste, set an intercept course for my vessel, the ISS Harbinger, immediately, and form up along one of my flanks. Make certain your weapons and shield systems are online and functional. If you only have enough power for one or the other, choose weapons.
“If you scan the formation of the Dread Fleet, you will discover that the majority of the fleet is holding position and that only a squadron of ships,” just then he noticed Mister Ivanov hold up two fingers. “Excuse me, only two squadrons of ships are on the move,” Raidan corrected and Mister Ivanov gave him the thumbs up sign. “Those ships will look strange to you if you scan them, but maybe there are a few people here who remember them besides me. They are called devastators, and you probably don’t recognize them because they’ve been banned by treaty for decades.
“A devastator is a slow-moving assault ship that has no value whatsoever in ship-to-ship combat. Not only is its slow rate of speed such a liability, they have no weapons that can be used to target other starships. Why then are they such a threat that they had to be banned by treaty?
“Because a devastator is designed with only one purpose, a purpose that it is mercilessly efficient at executing. And that purpose is to slaughter the population of an entire planet within an hour. What would normally take a massive fleet days to do, can be done by a squadron of devastators within twenty minutes. Don’t believe me? Search the general network with your ship’s computer and find results on devastators. But don’t take too long, because, if we do not act now, and eliminate those devastators, immediately, then we’re all going to have front row seats for the ruthless mass-murder of billions of people, including children and babies.
“Not only must we stop those devastators at all costs, we’ve got to do it before they have time to fire so much as a single shot. One strike from one devastator can completely destroy a city of sixty-seven million people. No survivors. An entire one-shot volley from a squadron of devastators will eliminate a third of Capital World’s dense population.
“Some of you might say, and you’d be partially right, that Capital World is doomed anyway. Why risk your life taking out devastators when the rest of the fleet can simply bomb the planet anyway? And will. Well, here’s the thing, if the devastators are gone, then not only will it take the fleet much, much longer to destroy the population of Capital World, there is also the chance—and it’s a pretty good one—that, after the bombing is over, that some people will have survived.
“But if you sit idly by and let the devastators do it now, then everyone on the surface of the most populated planet in the galaxy will die in less than one hour. And you’ll have to spend the rest of your life trying to sleep at night, knowing the worst tragedy in the history of the galaxy occurred right in front of you, and you chose to do nothing to avert it! Well, I, for one, am not going to let it happen. But I need help.
“So, captains, commanders, admirals, proxitors, the Nau, anyone who is still out there, with a ship that can help, I urge you. I implore you. No, I beg you to help me intercept and destroy those devastators. When we die, all that is left of us is a record of the choices we made while we were alive. Right now, as we speak, my warship is fast closing in on the devastators, I intend to eliminate as many as I possibly can before they stop me. That’s my choice and I’m proud of it. It is without a doubt the best choice I have ever made. Now that I’ve made my choice, it’s time for you to make yours. What do you want to be remembered for?” he ended the tr
ansmission.
“Weapons range, now, sir,” said Mister Demir.
“Focus all fire on one devastator at a time,” said Raidan. “I want to take them out, not just spread the damage around.”
“Sir,” said Mister Ivanov, “I should probably warn you that a large group of battlecruisers has locked onto us and will intercept us within fifteen seconds.”
“I don’t care about them,” said Raidan. “Mister Ivanov, you keep our shields up. Mister Demir, whatever you do, no matter what hits us, you eliminate those devastators; is that clear?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
CHAPTER 19
Tristan sat in the command position of the Arcane Storm. He had ordered the ship to shadow Raidan and had assisted Raidan and the Harbinger at every turn. He had even helped with the bold but ultimately pointless effort to eliminate the Polarian devastators.
There had been a fight. And the Harbinger, the Arcane Storm, most of the rest of the Organization’s ships, and some twelve others had made a brazen attempt to charge the devastators and lay waste to them before they laid waste to the planet.
The fight had begun quickly and it had ended quickly. All seemingly in a flash. The Harbinger, for its part, managed to take out a third or more of the devastators, all the while ignoring fire from a host of angry battlecruisers. Tristan and the Arcane Storm had used what firepower they had to try to interrupt the battlecruiser attacks against the Harbinger. The most effective thing they did proved to be missile interception work, since the Harbinger had all of its guns completely concentrated on the devastator starships. That left the dreadnought incredibly exposed.
This duo had worked for a time, and, within seconds, their allied ships had joined in. Some tasked with distracting or fending off battlecruiser attacks, others tasked with trying to help destroy the devastators.
By the end of it, when their ships were taking the worst beating they’d ever taken, the final few devastators slipped just beyond their clutches. The battlecruisers destroyed the other ships, and managed to cripple both the Harbinger and, with some leftover firepower from their attack run, crippled the Arcane Storm as well.
The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7) Page 40