“I see. Well, we are going to attack the dreadnought. There are other ships heading toward it as well. As we said, follow our lead.”
“The signal has cut off,” comms said.
“What do we do?” her TacCom asked.
“Fleet wide, inform Major Kratlik so he can coordinate, also tell Sansar what’s happening. This needs to work, or we might lose it all.”
“Did someone authorize moving a ship from the yard?”
Aleksandra turned her head to look at the SitCon. He pointed at the flickering Tri-V which was showing the Hussars’ shipyard. As before, it only held a few incomplete or non-functional ships. Only, one of the non-functional was gone. Hippogriff was not ready for the battle, but now it was gone. They’d been too busy to notice. However, in addition, another ship was moving.
“What is that ship?” she asked. “It looks like one of the Egleesius…”
“It’s the other Keesius,” TacCom said. Aleksandra cocked her head. “The doomsday ship.”
“Oh, my God,” she said. “Where’s it going? Stop it!”
“It’s accelerating toward the enemy fleet,” TacCom said. “I can’t stop it, ma’am—we’ve never had control of those ships. They were inactive, at least until that scientist Sato activated one. I don’t know who’s controlling it, and there’s no way—short of destroying it, and we don’t have anyone in position to do so—that I can stop it.”
Unable to do anything except watch, that is what Aleksandra did.
* * *
Ferret One, Approaching Prime Base, New Warsaw System
“Hang on everyone,” Thorb transmitted. “Here we go!” He advanced the throttles almost to their stops, and the formation of bombers leaped forward. He looked over to his bombardier. “You’ve got the target.”
“You mean that small moon in front of us?” Skald asked. He paused and then added in an ominous tone, “That’s no moon…”
“Yeah, and that’s not funny right now,” Thorb said. “You need to focus.”
Skald looked over to his pilot and smiled. “Can I at least say ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this’?”
Thorb sighed. The crews had been watching old space fighter movies again. “Okay,” Thorb said. “Me, too. Are you happy now? Can we focus on blowing this up without losing any more of our squadron?”
“Just trying to have a little fun,” Skald muttered, turning to look at his displays again. “You know, embrace the suck? That kind of thing.”
“Yes, I know, but Walker thinks we need to be more serious.”
Skald shrugged. “That’s not us, though. You’re taking all this too seriously. We can’t train like the Humans; we need to have fun, too. That’s just who we are. You seem to have forgotten that recently.”
“Well, the number of crews we lost—”
“Yes, we’ve lost crews,” Skald interrupted. “Yes, many of our people have gone into the light, including many of our friends. But that’s part of life; it’s part of making the world better for our families and our people. People used to die on our home world fighting the grahp, but did that make us train any differently on how we fought it? No. We mourned them, then we carried on with our lives. We celebrated them by having fun in their honor. That’s who we are.
“The Humans’ training—in all its seriousness and lack of fun—works for the Humans. That’s who they are. It doesn’t work for us. We have to have fun. As a matter of fact, if we’re not going to have fun doing this, I’d rather go back to our home world and fight a grahp by myself. I’m going to die either way, but at least I’ll have fun doing it.”
Thorb thought back to his first mission. He’d ended up wrecking his fighter, but he’d accomplished the mission, and he’d done it with swagger. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost that swagger in trying to become more like the Humans they served. But Skald was right; that wasn’t who the SalSha were—that wasn’t who he was, either.
He nodded to himself. They would do this, but they needed to do it as Salusians would; they needed to be true to themselves first. That way, if it was their day to go into the light, they could do it with smiles on their faces.
An idea came to him immediately, and he smiled. “You’re right. We can’t win like this.” His voice took on a mysterious tone. “But there are alternatives to fighting…”
* * * * *
Chapter Sixteen
CIC, EMS Revenge, New Warsaw System
“What the hell is that?” the sensor tech asked.
“What?” Captain Gallagher asked. There hadn’t been any alarm in the tech’s voice, so he wasn’t sure if he should be worried. Well, more worried than he already was as his ship streaked at full power toward the massive ship that had been built for the sole purpose of killing him. “What’s what thing?”
“The SalSha bombers. They’re almost in range of the dreadnought, and they just went into some sort of…I guess it’s a defensive formation? I don’t know. It’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“What do you mean?” Gallagher asked.
“I don’t know. It looks like some sort of spiral pattern with a really complicated reverse-helix thrown in. Like I said, sir, I have no idea what they’re doing.”
“Entropy,” Gallagher muttered, shaking his head as he watched the formation maneuver. Every couple of seconds a pair of Avengers would pass within what seemed like meters of each other as they raced around in their pattern. “It almost looks like some sort of ballet, but I wouldn’t want to be doing something like that, that close to other ships. That’s just a recipe for disaster.”
“Have you ever seen anything like that, sir?”
“Me? Never.” The captain said as a smile crossed his face. “And I’m betting the Merc Guild forces never have, either.”
* * *
MGS New Era, Approaching Prime Base, New Warsaw System
“Fast movers, inbound,” the SitCon reported. “Looks like the bombers we saw earlier.”
“How many of them?” Admiral Galantrooka asked.
“I show sixteen,” the sensor operator said. “They are approaching in a line abreast formation.”
“Why are you even asking,” Galantrooka inquired. “Kill them.”
“Locking lasers…” The defensive weapons operator’s voice trailed off.
“What?” Galantrooka asked.
“Well, sir, they just went into some sort of formation maneuver that the computer is having a problem with. They are going really fast past each other in what appears to be a random maneuver, and the system is having a hard time keeping a target locked as they pass. The system keeps jumping from ship to ship. They have to be unmanned; they’re pulling nearly 25 Gs!”
Galantrooka focused all three eyes on the Tri-V. The bombers approached at an incredible velocity as they swung through a pattern that made no tactical sense. As the computer struggled to keep a target locked long enough to fire on it, he realized it made perfect tactical sense—the New Era’s weapons couldn’t shoot the bombers because of it! Sweat started to pool inside his shell as the small craft got closer and closer, and nothing was done to them.
“Put the weapons in manual control!” he shouted finally. “Shoot them!”
* * *
Ferret One, Approaching Prime Base, New Warsaw System
“I wonder why they haven’t fired on us yet?” Skald asked via his pinplants. At the speed they were going, the Kloop—an underwater ballet normally used to welcome an honored warrior home after a successful battle—required 20- to 25-G maneuvers.
“They are in awe of our Kloop,” Thorb announce proudly. “They are so distracted by the grace and beauty of it that they can’t take their eyes away long enough to press their firing buttons.”
“If they would hold off a little longer, we’ll be in firing range.”
The first laser stabbed out at them from the dreadnought, followed quickly thereafter by a number of others.
“Just had to say something, didn’t you?” Thorb aske
d.
“Oops,” Skald replied. In addition to training methodology, the SalSha had also picked up a good amount of superstitions from their Human pilot counterparts. “At least it’s only random and light.”
The intensity of the defensive fire picked up noticeably, and one beam flashed close by them, enough to illuminate the cockpit like a stroke of lightning.
“Oops,” Skald repeated.
“How about you just shut up now and let me concentrate,” Thorb said, “before you make it any worse?”
In addition to the lasers, which admittedly were not well aimed, despite the level of fire being fairly heavy, missiles began leaping from the dreadnought. “It’s going to be close,” Thorb noted as he watched the icons closing on the bombers while the distance to firing range counted down.
“Now!” Thorb transmitted. “Roll out! Fire!”
The pilots used the G-forces of the reverse helix pattern to throw them out into a large circular pattern, and Skald armed and fired the six Rapier missiles under their wings. As the last one launched, Thorb initiated a skew turn away from the dreadnought. He wasn’t able to stifle the sigh that bubbled from his lips—they’d been in straight and level flight for less than five seconds, but six of the sixteen bombers had been destroyed, and twelve more SaSha had gone into the light.
* * *
Zhest Squadron, New Warsaw System
“Crazy, stupid Humans,” Shiroi said as the last of the bombers finished its attack and tried to flee. He shook his head at their losses. Many of the bombers had been destroyed once they finished their interesting maneuvers and had initiated their attack runs.
“Not Humans,” Peskall said. “Didn’t you see how many Gs they pulled?’
“More than fifty at one point,” Zeeta said.
“Exactly,” Peskal agreed.
“Then what race?” Sadoo asked.
“Probably the one they uplifted, the SalSha.” Peskall said.
“The Humans are a little too like them,” Shiroi said.
“Perhaps,” Peskall said. “But we need to aid them in this war. Seldia says the Humans are important. Besides, it’s obvious what the SalSha and the Humans are trying to do, they just need help. Zhest, let’s open the door for our clumsy allies.”
“Akee!”
The fourteen ships exploded toward the dreadnought at 150 Gs. Their combined firepower was insufficient to knock it out, or even do substantial damage. However, they were able to disable a sector of its defenses—the sector facing the incoming assault ships.
Fourteen particle beams pulsed and struck with pinpoint accuracy. Already weakened shields failed, and command pathways were cleanly severed. In just a few seconds, they were done and dancing away. Unlike the SalSha, they were easily able to make it out of range safely; the dreadnought never got a clean shot at them.
“Okay,” Peskall said. “Return to base. We opened the door, let’s see if the Humans can walk through it.”
* * *
CIC, EMS Revenge, New Warsaw System
“Whatever the hell it was, it worked,” Gallagher said as the Avengers launched their missiles. If even half of them hit, and it looked like more than that would, a large portion of the defenses on this side of the dreadnought were going to be destroyed.
“If you thought that was interesting,” the sensor tech said, “you’re going to love this.”
Gallagher looked at where the tech was pointing on the Tri-V display. A group of dots accelerated toward the dreadnought from a different angle, faster than any manned ships he’d ever seen. “Are those missiles?” he asked. “Where did they come from?”
“I don’t know,” the sensor tech replied. “As strange as it seems, though, I think they’re manned. They’ve flown further under power than any missiles I’ve ever seen.”
The tiny ships raced past them, destroyed more of the dreadnought’s defenses, then darted back out again, like a little school of minnows, all turning together as if they had some sort of ESP that allowed the individual ships to function as a group.
As the tiny ships turned away from the massive dreadnought, though, its defensive focus turned to the next wave, and the dreadnought’s defenders targeted Revenge with their remaining lasers and missiles. There were a lot fewer defenses in the wake of the combined strikes…but “a lot fewer” wasn’t the same as “none.” A far bigger target than either of the preceding waves—and less maneuverable, as well—it wasn’t long before the first laser strikes hit Revenge’s shields.
“We’re in range for the pods!” the SitCon exclaimed.
“Good,” Gallagher replied. “Launch all pods, and let’s get the hell out of here!”
* * * * *
Chapter Seventeen
Boarding Pod, New Warsaw System
Nigel forced himself to breathe as the breaching pod went into coast mode. Although they’d practiced with them in the simulators a number of times, he’d never done a real breach before—Asbaran assaulted ground forces; they weren’t marines and—normally—not dumb enough to do something like this.
He was pretty certain Revenge had taken at least one hit during the ingress, if not several, and now comms with the cruiser were out. The last call he’d heard was Gallagher telling the CO of the War Pony to tuck in behind him. That would have made Revenge an even bigger target but might have given the Horde CO time to get his pods launched, too.
Nigel’s ship was aptly named—he intended to take his revenge on the dreadnought for everything they’d had to go through, then he would find Peepo. Regardless of whether or not Alexis still lived, only one person was going to exit that conversation alive. It drove him and kept him focused as the attitude jets came alive, and the pod began maneuvering.
“One minute,” the pilot said from the controls. “Everyone, make sure you’re locked in,” she added.
Nigel watched as First Sergeant Thomas Mason, his senior enlisted, made sure everyone’s restraints were in place. Each of the pods held a mixed squad of five CASPers and five Lumar to ensure that, even if only one pod made it, they would have CASPers to fight with.
The clock in his head ticked down to zero. There was a momentary queasy sensation as they passed through their target’s shields, then the craft’s motors went to full power, pushing them away from their rear-facing seats as ten gravities of thrust threw them into their harnesses.
“Brace for impact!” the pilot yelled.
Mercifully, the boost was short, and the harness retracted as it cut out, pulling Nigel back into his seat. Involuntarily, he tensed, even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to. How could you not?
SLAM!
The boarding pod crashed into the dreadnought at over 300 miles per hour, and the long nose on the pod pierced its outer skin. The armor-piercing shaped charge fired on impact, blasting a hole into the ship that the pod followed, forcing the gap wider as it shouldered its way through the hull with a rending and tearing of metal.
The nose of the pod, having survived the initial breach, began collapsing back onto itself, cushioning the impact—marginally—and slowing the pod like crumple zones absorbed some of the impact from a car crash. Automobiles were never meant to go 300 miles an hour, though, and the crash was substantially more violent. In less than half a second, though, it was over, and the pod had come to a blessed stop.
“All ashore who’s going ashore,” the pilot called. Cushioned in her crash cocoon, she’d come through the impact better than the people in the tube, and Nigel wished he’d had something similar as he tried to shake off the effects of the crash. The suit, recognizing his mental incapacity, administered a low dose of nanites and a stimulant, and his head cleared quickly. The Lumar—hardier than Humans and better able to shake off the blow—were already getting out of their seats.
Nigel tried to call the other squads of the Golden Horde force but didn’t get any response. He unbuckled and went to the front of the craft, using his magnetic boots in the lack of gravity. “Thanks for the ride,” he said
to the pilot, who was putting on her combat armor. “Although I hated the sudden stop at the end.”
“Just be glad we didn’t hit one of the main structural members,” she replied.
“How do you know we didn’t?” Nigel asked. “That was a pretty violent crash.”
“Easy—we survived it. If we’d hit one of the main structural members, we’d all be paste right now.”
Nigel could feel his face turning red. Happily, the woman couldn’t see it through the suit. “Well…uh…thanks for missing them, then.”
“My pleasure. Now, if you’d move to the back, sir?”
“What?” Nigel asked.
“I need to blow the nose of the pod, but I’d like to not be next to it when I do.”
“Oh, yeah.” Unaccustomed to using the breaching pods, Nigel had forgotten that part. He was happy the woman couldn’t see him blushing more as he moved to the back.
The pilot entered the bay, locked the door, and then a jarring Boom! rocked the pod as 100 pounds of C8 blew the nose off it.
The pilot opened the door, took a look through it, then stood to the side. “There you go, sir. I’ll let the guys with the metal suits lead.”
“The Merc Guild’s the problem!” Nigel roared.
“And we’re the Solution!” the combined squad yelled back.
“For Alexis!” Nigel yelled, then charged though the door…and into some sort of duct. It was big enough for a Tortantula, but it was obviously an air duct—or something—and not a living space. It flexed as the combat suit ran across it but held. After several steps, Nigel pulled up short.
“Well, shit, sir; that was anticlimactic,” Mason said, stopping behind him. “Now what?”
“We can either try to move through this ducting or we can cut our way through and go through the normal spaces. What do you think, Top?”
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