More missiles streaked in. The League was going for saturation tactics, perhaps recognizing Independence's incomplete state. The spread rounds did their work of attriting the strike, allowing the CIWS to whittle the incoming missiles down to just a few impacts.
"Independence reports deflector loss, their generators aren't workin' as well as planned," Vidia said.
"We'll try to make up for it. Take some of the fire for them, if you can, Cera."
"Aye."
The exchange of fire increased as they pushed in. The League warships now fully turned back to commit to engaging them. Plasma cannon balls joined the existing missile fire, and this couldn't be intercepted.
"Targeting computers are projecting firm firing solutions on their transports," Miri said. "Range is now a hundred and twenty thousand kilometers."
"Helm, adjust course. Try to give them shots that won't miss and hit Hestia."
"Aye."
The Liberator shuttered as a bolt of plasma from the Rand slammed into their shields. "Deflectors holding at eighty-five percent efficiency," Miri said.
That felt like a direct hit. The deflector shields are good at least. Aloud, he said, "TAO, fire when ready."
Miri's finger stroked the trigger key.
The bow-mounted neutron cannons fired. Three pale, white-hot beams of energy lanced across the distance from the Liberator's bow, joined by three more from the other cruisers. The transports down-range jinked and maneuvered, causing some of the shots to continue on through the void.
But not all.
Miri's aim was true. The three lances of deadly light and energy blew right through one transport's deflector. Together the beams savaged the ship's engineering spaces and cargo areas. Secondary detonations ripped through the stern of the transport until it flew into two pieces.
Two beams from the Avenger hit their targets as well. They wrecked the front half of another of the transports. It remained intact but badly wounded.
The Independence's aim was less accurate. One beam grazed along the starboard of the Avenger's victim, scouring the hull after overwhelming the deflector screens. One of their beams didn't even fire. The Triumphant missed completely with her beams.
"Independence reports a safety override stopped one of their cannons. It's most likely a faulty capacitor," Vidia said. "Triumphant is having trouble with the targeting systems firing the neutron cannons accurately."
And this, children, is why you do shakedown runs, Henry thought bitterly. A damn shame we didn't get a chance to do the same.
"The transports are changing course," Piper said. "They're turning toward Hestia."
"Fire again."
While their turrets continued to engage the approaching League ships, the neutron cannons fired once more. This time, every ship hit with one beam apiece. The wounded vessel took the Avenger's shot through the engines, wrecking her drives completely. Another transport saw one of the Triumphant's beams shoot through its holds, destroying whatever was within and exposing the holds to space. Debris—including bodies—spewed from the wounds left. The Liberator's shot went down the beam of a transport, from drives to bow, a direct hit that led to a large explosion ripping the vessel's rear sections apart and left her a hulk. Independence landed a hit that blew apart the engineering spaces of her victim.
With three ships out, one reduced to a drifting wreck, and another with a severe wound in her holds, the League's ground forces were much reduced in threat. Each ship burned hard for Hestia orbit, seeking escape by landing wherever they could manage.
"One more volley, then we have other things to worry about," Henry ordered.
Miri obeyed, as did the squadron. Another ship died and another was badly damaged in the attack. Four remained to limp their way planetside.
The League ships were coming in fast, though, and their fire was increasing. Their numbers strained the effectiveness of the four cruisers' systems. The return fire with muon turrets was at least gaining in accuracy. Henry watched a frigate, Master Fifteen, disappear from the holotank, a victim of the Avenger's muonic cannons. We're still outnumbered. "Break us away from the enemy," he ordered "Full power to deflectors."
"Aye, sir."
"Given their position, if we go too far, they can double back and hit the Majha and the other orbiting ships," Piper pointed out. "We're going to have to fight them sooner or later."
"Yeah, but I want it on my terms," Henry said. "Full power to deflectors. Right now, we just need to survive."
47
Oskar didn't dare twitch. From the feel of the device on his throat, he knew it was the laser scalpel. With one thumb press, Breivik could bring the laser on, and given where the emitter was pointing, Oskar's carotid and jugular would be severed instantly. He'd be dead within a minute.
"Whatever it is in your hand, put it back on the tray, Oskar."
Oskar's hand went back to the tray. He glanced that way long enough to see where his fingers were located. He tapped the scalpel against the tray before delicately pulling it back up and hiding it in his hand.
Trying not to think of the dangerous gamble he'd just taken, Oskar spoke. "It's been years, Jan. You've been busy."
"Yes. I had to restart the project from scratch from what you did."
"Did you read my letter?" he asked. "It's clear you didn't listen to me, but did you at least hear me out?"
"I tried. I tried, old friend." Breivik's voice shook with emotion. Fear, certainly. There was anger, frustration, and possibly regret, although Oskar couldn't be sure that wasn't just what he wanted to hear. "But I am not the only one guilty of failing to listen. I pleaded with you, Oskar. Pleaded."
"You did. Just as I did. It seems both our pleas fell onto deaf ears." Oskar felt his own emotion starting to choke him. Old feelings of betrayal and regret filled his chest and made his heart ache. "Jan, I saw the bodies. All of those people you left dead, or no better than dead. You've broken every oath you made as a doctor. Why?"
"You know as well as I that our oaths as doctors matter little when the needs of Society are weighed. We learned that in the camp infirmary."
"We did. So why did you add to the suffering?"
"To end it all. Why couldn't you ever realize that, Oskar?!" His assailant's voice turned bitter. "Your device is the only way to put an end to it!"
"The camps." Oskar swallowed. "You still think it would work that way."
"I know it would!" Breivik's voice trembled. "If we make anti-Social thought impossible, the camps will be shut down. The blight on Society will end. The corruption will end!"
"No, Jan. No. You've misdiagnosed the problem. The camps are not the cause of Society's corruption, they're a symptom. The cause is much deeper. It's rooted in the very idea of Society."
"No, no! How could you say that, Oskar?" Fury came to Breivik's voice. "Having seen life outside of Society, how could you? These people aren't any better!"
"Nobody is perfect, Jan. That's where Society goes wrong. The people believe it is perfect. Even you. But it has the same corruption as those outside of it." Oskar sighed with resignation. Why must you remain trapped by this dogma, Jan? You're smarter than this! "Perhaps it is human nature. So what are we going to do? Are you going to kill me?"
"No. No, not unless you force me," Breivik said. "I want you to live to see the perfection your device will create. I want you to enjoy what is to come as much as I do, even if it is only in our final years. You deserve that much." Oskar felt tension in Breivik's arm. "Come, this way."
Oskar allowed his old friend to guide him over to one of the computer terminals. "The system is networked," Breivik said. "From here, you can access all of the research." There was a clatter as a data disc came from Breivik's other hand. "Insert this and copy the research data onto it. It'll only take a few minutes. Please do it now and do it quickly. Don't make me kill you, Oskar."
Oskar took the disc and inserted it into the corresponding slot on the terminal. He knew Breivik was watching enough that he
couldn't be fooled, so he went ahead and began the copying. "You cannot escape from the system," he pointed out. "Why are you doing this?"
"Aristide will come for me," the other doctor said. "She needs the research as much as I do. It is the only reason we became involved with this blighted world." His voice was filled with disgust. "I would rather have operated on that individualist bastard Rigault, but he is our ally for the moment. Like all of his kind, he can't see beyond his own desires."
A fault you share, my friend. "And those you've experimented on, Jan? We had blood on our hands in the camps, but we were at least trying to heal. You hurt those people. You killed them."
The laser scalpel tightened against his throat. Had it been a blade, it would have sliced his flesh open right then and there. "I know, Oskar, but it had to be done! It still has to be done! We're so close to finishing this, so close, I can't give it up now! I can't throw it all away!"
The guilt in his voice made the meaning clear. He wasn't just talking about his work. He knew he'd done wrong. That innocent blood was on his hands. "It has to mean something," Oskar said, his eyes watching the progress bar on the terminal as it loaded the disc with the fruits of his friend's terrible research. "If you don't complete it, then those people died for nothing. Is that how you feel?"
"Yes. Finally, you understand." Breivik's voice broke with what sounded like relief. "Are you understanding it all now? The great potential of your work, Oskar? With it, we can end the flaws that hurt us all. Humanity can be relieved of its impulses, from all of the terrible things we do. The implant will make it impossible to think those things, to want those things."
"Only by destroying what makes us human, the good with the bad."
"No. It will free us."
The bar filled completely. The download was complete.
Oskar let the scalpel in his right hand slide back down into his palm.
"Hand me the disc! Hand it to me now!"
Oskar removed the data disc from the slot. He brought it over to Breivik's left hand, outstretched in front of him. He could feel the breath at the back of his head shift. His old friend's attention was shifting toward the disc.
Now or never.
Breivik's hand darted forward, tearing the disc from Oskar's hand. At that very moment, Oskar's hand came up as well. The blade of the old-fashioned scalpel glistened in the instant before it sliced through the flesh of Breivik's wrist.
For a moment, Oskar imagined the outcome of his failure. What it would feel like to have the laser activate and slice into his throat. With the severing of both jugular and carotid, his brain would soon starve of oxygen. Would it be painful? How long would he remain conscious?
There was no prick of heat. No blood issued from a hole in his throat. His aim was true.
The scalpel didn't just slice through flesh. He'd judged the angle correctly, running the blade through the delicate tendons that controlled the wrist and severing them.
Breivik's hand went limp from surprise. His deadly weapon fell away from Oskar's throat, unactivated. As a scream came from the wounded man, Oskar pulled away, freeing himself from Breivik's grip.
It was only the second afterward that he realized the data disc was still in Breivik's other hand.
Breivik quickly realized it too. While blood still poured from his damaged wrist, he turned and fled for the door.
Oskar had no choice. He took off after him.
* * *
Yanik rode with a mixed group of Sisters and Hestians for the front. Their destination was a series of road intersections that would, when taken, allow mobile forces to move on for the government district.
Since stepping outside of the San Papa Gregorius, Yanik's senses were under constant assault. He could smell the death in the air, from the bodies that were stuck under the debris of broken buildings or left in every locale. The thunder of explosions echoed like a steady drumbeat. Enemy artillery was still at work, if much reduced by the earlier effort of the stolen cruisers, and their forces' artillery was engaged in its own vigorous fire.
That much was made clear as they came to the intersection. Earlier shelling turned what was once a commercial structure, likely an office building, into a pile of rubble. Twisted girders of alloyed steel rose from the debris, the warped and damaged skeleton of the destroyed building. It was the very symbol of destruction for the urban environment.
This was only the worst case. Smaller structures had varying levels of damage but were still at least partially intact. Their forces were already employing some of them as redoubts to hold forward positions.
"Out!" The call came from a security trooper in Lou's forces. Yanik noted some of the armband-wearing Hestians were slow to obey. They resent the offworlder giving orders. The Sisters were quicker to dismount. Yanik joined them.
That saved his life.
The final Hestians were dismounting when an explosion thundered through the air. Yanik felt the shockwave strike. It threw him to the ground. The hard asphalt surface made his right shoulder scream in agony. His tongue flicked wildly in the air for a moment, a nervous reaction to the pain and the resulting frustration at it.
The ringing in his ears gave way to the sounds of gunfire and more explosions. The enemy wasn't just shelling them, they were launching an attack here. A spoiling attack, most likely. Yanik thought it aggressive, but it fit the enemy's predicament best. A sudden spoiling attack to dampen a dangerous one you can see coming was a classic tactic.
A dangerous decision by our foes. I shall show them why.
"Take defensive positions!" he shouted in a firm, deliberate voice. "Enemy attack!" He followed his own orders by scrambling up the debris of the broken building and taking cover behind one of the fallen bones of that structure. Projectile rounds ricocheted wildly off his position.
Although he couldn't see for the moment, a Hestian taking cover beside him looked around the corner. "Enemy troops coming up the road," he said. "It looks like—"
A wet, heavy sound came to the air. The young man fell backward. A crimson halo formed under his head while his vacant eyes stared skyward.
More fell around him, Hestians and Sisters alike. Vehicles coming up stopped and dismounted their infantry before fire could start to come down on them. The enemy was using a combination of energy rifles and projectile guns, chem-propellant, and they were firing aggressively. Some of the dismounting infantry went down before they could get to cover.
One of the trucks exploded, its death joined by a supersonic crack in the air. Yanik risked a glimpse around his cover and determined the source of the shot. An enemy tank was coming up with their counterattack.
It looked very bad. But there was opportunity here. Yanik pulled a satchel charge dangling from the dead Hestian's shoulder and looped it together with his own. "I will need cover fire!" he called into the tac-comm. "I'm going after their tank!"
"Affirmative."
"We hear you, Commander S'srish."
Already their forces were recovering from the enemy lunge, while the HSF and corporate troops engaged in trying to clear the uprising's troops from their redoubts in the shattered buildings. The chance to shatter their momentum was here; it had to be taken.
As the tank and accompanying infantry neared, Yanik waited patiently for his chance. The security troopers, wearing Rigault blue, came down the road first, forcing him to change his position and crouch low, putting the twisted girder between him and the column. Another explosion roared in his ears and one of the half-intact buildings was no longer intact. The tank was firing into them.
Closer… closer… now!
"Cover, now!" he shouted. Around him, allied forces started firing into the enemy column, which took cover or went prone. The tank stopped its advance and brought its gun over to where the fire was coming from.
Yanik emerged from the girder, the satchels in his right hand and his rifle in the left. He couldn't aim it accurately this way, but as he rushed forward, he didn't need to. Spraying the fi
re kept heads down among the infantry nearer the tank.
Still, return fire came. He felt a hot sting to his tail, and another struck him in the side below his injured shoulder. The pain was significant. He pushed it away for the distraction it was.
He dropped low behind a chunk of masonry. Now he was almost in striking range. Behind him, a fire team of Hestians came up, bearing a pulse squad automatic weapon. Two of them set it up quickly while their compatriots went prone. Rifle fire soon cracked through the air around Yanik, now coming from behind him in his own support. It was joined by steady streams of pale sapphire light. The SAW was in action.
With this support fire, Yanik was clear to continue. He left cover in a crouch and moved forward, clambering down the debris toward the tank. Its turret was still turned away. The main gun thundered again and screams echoed in the distance.
Yanik kept his rifle firing on the final approach, adding to the suppressive fire of his allies. One trooper rose to try and shoot him. A rifle shot from his allies took the soldier down first.
As he got to the base of the debris pile, Yanik lowered his rifle. The taloned fingers of his left hand yanked the charge cords of both satchels and he pulled them loose of his shoulder. Pain surged through his right shoulder from the strength with which he threw the explosives.
The twin satchels sailed through the air and landed short of the tank's front left tread.
And yet, the satchels slid onward, only stopping once they were under the tank's glacis plate.
The explosion was painful to his ears, but no shockwave struck him. The front of the tank rose under a pillar of flame and light. The machine flipped backward and toward its right, ultimately settling on its right side to show the massive blast hole where the satchels devastated the tank's belly armor.
Praise to the Divine. Yanik went prone again, bringing his rifle to a ready position. He fired it at a security trooper trying to get back up, forcing the man to hit the ground again. Around him, friendly troops began to move forward bit by bit, exploiting friendly cover fire to meet the advancing enemy's failing charge. The loss of their heavy armored support and the resulting casualties clearly tore into their morale, weakening it further.
Breach of Trust: Breach of Faith Book Four Page 39