First Command

by Scott Bartlett

  As protocol demanded, his Nav and Helm officers collaborated to bring the Jersey outside the jump zone, despite how vanishingly unlikely it was that one of the arriving ships would jump on top of them. It took the better part of twenty minutes for every vessel to transition, and as promised, both Sunder ships brought up the rear.

  A more spiteful man would have found an excuse to speak to Moll, to rub the absence of an ambush in his face. Rose would murder me if I did that.

  He hadn’t been idle as the warships trickled through, however, instead sending orders for each to assemble according to the role he’d assigned them: outrider, reserve, or main attack. In fact, his outrider was already underway toward Oasis.

  Bryce Sullivan looked up from the Nav station. “Our course toward Oasis is ready for the Helm and for distribution to the other captains, sir.”

  “Very well, lieutenant. Send it to Helm and to Ops to be forwarded. Stand by to alter the course as new intel comes in.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Thatcher had chosen to arrange his forces as he had based on a theory about how the Reardon ships would behave. But as his cruiser accelerated toward the planet, which he knew to be surrounded by at least twice his fleet’s number, the hairs on the back of his neck stirred in anticipation. I was right about the ambush. But what if Pegg’s already anticipated my psychology, and has set a trap to exploit it?

  Like Moll, Pegg had been fighting pirates—and other corps, if the rumors were true—in the Dawn Cluster for decades. That placed them among humanity’s most experienced space warriors, while Thatcher had barely just arrived.

  Moll’s words rang in his ears: I’ve met captains like you before. I’ve watched their careers catch fire for a time, only to sputter out in the cold void of the Cluster.

  But Thatcher was in charge of this operation, not Moll. That was how it had to be. And so, he could only trust his gut, which was telling him that space warfare was still a stunted thing, no matter how much experience Pegg and Moll had. The Sunder CEO had admitted to a disdain for “clever tactics,” and that outlook made sense for corps that had always enjoyed superior firepower over their pirate adversaries. But now that corps had begun to openly fight other corps, something more would be needed.

  Guerrero’s hands picked up speed as they flew across her console. “Sensor data is coming in from Oasis, sir. Sending it to your console now.”

  “Acknowledged.” Thatcher watched as his holoscreen populated with the locations of Reardon ships.

  A sigh of relief escaped him. As he’d predicted, Reardon’s behavior continued to reflect how vital holding Oasis had become to them. Pegg had divided twenty-four of his ships between the six Helio bases distantly orbiting the planet, with the remaining twelve in close planetary orbit.

  Clearly, he expected Thatcher to head directly toward the planet, for fear that Pegg would harm the colonists. If Thatcher did that, then Pegg would tighten the noose, calling his ships from the Helio bases to outflank and destroy the Frontier-Sunder forces.

  Thatcher did intend to make directly for the planet—or rather, his outrider would do that. And while the Squall and her companions kept the enemy fleet commander’s hands full, Thatcher would fall upon the ships at the nearest Helio base.

  “Guerrero, get me fleetwide. I would give the next order myself.”

  “Fleetwide channel is open, sir.”

  Thatcher inclined his head. “All ships consigned to the main attack force will make for the Helio base whose designation I will send. The outrider will maintain course toward Oasis, to jam Reardon’s main force and otherwise keep them busy, pulling back if they give chase and harassing them again once they disengage. All captains should stay ready to receive and implement new orders promptly as the engagement progresses. Thatcher out.”

  Almost immediately, Guerrero turned toward him wearing a blank expression. “The Victorious is hailing us, sir.”

  Thatcher’s jaw clenched. He should have predicted that Moll would question him at every turn. Briefly, he considered having their conversation in his office, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the CIC. Not at a time like this.

  “Everyone, remain focused on your tasks. Put him through, Guerrero.”

  The Sunder CEO appeared once more in the CIC’s holotank, his eyes ablaze. “You’ve gone from reckless to irresponsible, Commander.”

  “That’s an interesting opinion. But I’ll have to reiterate to you: this is a Frontier operation, and we intend to conduct it as we see fit.”

  “Pegg has Oasis at his mercy. Those colonists’ survival depends on his whims, right now.”

  Thatcher gave a dry chuckle. “I doubt Ramon Pegg is as whimsical as you seem to think. If he harms those colonists, every major power in the Cluster will be gunning for him. His corp would perish within a month.”

  “It’ll perish anyway if he loses this battle. You don’t think he’ll play his last card, if he’s forced to?”

  “I do not, since it wouldn’t be his last card. There’s also the possibility of surrendering and negotiating.”

  “He won’t do that.”

  “I think he will. And since I happen to be in charge of this operation, we will proceed under that assumption.”

  “You should at least send the reserve force to accompany the outrider toward the planet.”

  “That would defeat the purpose of a reserve. You have your orders, Captain Moll. Thatcher out.” He nodded at Guerrero.

  Moll’s reddening face disappeared from the holotank, and for a moment Thatcher contemplated the tactical display that replaced him.

  The Sunder captain’s apparent concern for the civilians would play well with anyone who heard of it, and Thatcher’s focus on tactics could easily be spun as cold and unfeeling.

  But he remembered Moll’s enthusiasm for messaging and rhetoric. While his outward conduct seemed admirable, his conviction that Reardon would be willing to sacrifice the colonists told Thatcher something else.

  It told him that if Moll was in Pegg’s position, he would be willing to kill the colonists. It was just as Hans Mittelman had said during their final meeting before they entered Freedom System:

  Moll was obsessed with winning. At any cost.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Freedom System, Dupliss Region

  Earth Year 2290

  “Ops, signal our attack force to split into its predesignated squadrons. The Jersey’s squadron will pass to the Helio base’s right, with the Victorious’ squadron passing on the left. All ships will follow a course perpendicular to the Helio base’s turrets, with engines at sixty percent power. We target the frigate first.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Thatcher dragged two fingers across his holoscreen, viewing the station they hurtled toward from various angles. If it hadn’t been for the Helio base’s turrets, the four ships stationed there would pose minimal danger to his eight-strong attack force. Only the Reardon frigate was a true warship—two of the others were converted freighters, and the last was a former mining vessel.

  But the bases posed a problem. Pegg had enjoyed plenty of time to send his marines into them, commandeering them to cement his control of Oasis.

  We have to strike fast. The Squall can only keep the main Reardon force occupied for so long.

  “Tactical, target the frigate with our primary, and be ready to follow up with autoturrets and even Hellborns if needed. We must destroy her in one pass. Guerrero, relay that order to the others.”

  “Aye, sir,” said both Ortega and Guerrero.

  The frigate already had her shields up, but when lasers lanced out from six warships, the force field rippled madly. Turrets sprayed solid-core rounds at the attacking vessels, but their transverse velocity kept them safe from most of the projectiles. As for Lightfoot and Paragon—the latter being the other Frontier eWar vessel that had rendezvoused in Sable—they kept well out of firing range, passing the station at a greater distance than the oth
ers in case their support was needed.

  The enemy shield went down, and six primary lasers slammed into her hull. She lasted only a few seconds under the heavy assault, and then she ruptured, blowing apart in a way that would make her wreck difficult to salvage.

  Thatcher tapped furiously at his console. “Guerrero, all ships will switch to the target I’m designating.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  His main attack force drew level with the station, and soon their firing solutions would become unworkable until they swung back around. But six beams lanced out again, and the targeted freighter burst apart immediately.

  That was overkill. He should have designated two separate targets. But his battle group was pulling past the Helio base, and he could do nothing about his blunder now. “Ortega, order all port-side gunner crews to target the base’s turrets. Tell Major Avery to stand by to launch Attack Shuttle One and board the station.” After Avery’s performance aboard the Charger, Thatcher had gotten Rose’s permission to promote him to Major and take over command of the Jersey’s marine company.

  Before Ortega could acknowledge the order, Thatcher turned once more toward Guerrero. “Order all ships to decelerate in preparation to execute an artificial orbital maneuver. Both squadrons will pass each other and come around the opposite side of the station.”

  Both his tactical and operations officer bent to their work. Artificial orbits were largely handled by a ship’s AI. The station was far too small for his ships to orbit it in fact, but through a series of thrusters firing in sequence, such an orbit could be simulated, for the purpose of maintaining transverse velocity relative to the blazing turret batteries.

  But the Jersey’s gunner crews were already cutting down on those batteries’ numbers, and gunners from the other ships had joined them. As Thatcher’s squadrons sailed past each other to come around once more, he surveyed the battlespace with satisfaction. Yes, the station had lent the four enemy ships sharper teeth, but it also hurt them in a way that proved more important: it kept them anchored to a single point, making it easy for Thatcher to outmaneuver them as he picked apart their formation.

  “Target the nearest enemy vessel with a Hellborn, Ortega. Guerrero, have the Victorious fire two at the same target.”

  The salvo saw to the converted freighter nicely, blowing it into multiple twisted sections.

  “The remaining enemy ship is hailing us, sir,” his operations officer said. “They wish to surrender.”

  “Very well. All ships will hold their fire. Tell the surrendering vessel they have five minutes to don pressure suits and evacuate their ship through her airlock, to be picked up later. Ortega, order the gunners to disable her thrusters and weapons.”

  No one spoke up to question the wisdom of waiting while the freighter crew evacuated, but Thatcher could tell by the way several of his CIC crew shifted their weight that they weren’t completely comfortable with the idea. So far the Squall and the rest of the outrider had kept Pegg busy, but that wouldn’t last forever. Besides, the people he’d spared were almost certainly pirates.

  Nevertheless, Thatcher didn’t consider the five minutes wasted, and it wasn’t only because he didn’t consider it very American to shoot enemies after they’d surrendered. If Frontier earned a reputation for doing that, they would soon reach a point where their enemies refused to ever surrender to them, knowing Frontier would only kill them if they did.

  That meant every adversary would fight them to the last, and victory would mean inflicting total slaughter, whereas allowing enemies to surrender could achieve it much sooner, with far less loss on both sides.

  Over the longterm, treating prisoners of war respectfully amounted to a force multiplier that Thatcher refused to give up.

  Guerrero turned. “Major Avery is ready, sir. Shall I tell him he’s clear to launch?”

  “Affirmative.”

  Seconds later, the entire ship trembled with Attack Shuttle One’s departure.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Freedom System, Dupliss Region

  Earth Year 2290

  At Thatcher’s order, Sullivan had a course ready for the moment the converted freighter’s crew had finished evacuating.

  “Bring engines to full formation speed, Helm. I want to reach the next base quickly, so we’ll need to decelerate hard on the other end. Ops, tell the others to do the same.”

  “Aye, sir.” Guerrero glanced at him. “Captain, the ships stationed at Helio bases are moving. All except the vessels positioned around the base we’re targeting.”

  “Acknowledged,” Thatcher said, scrutinizing the tactical display as a bead of sweat ran down his forehead. He refused to wipe it away, not wanting to spread his uneasiness to his crew.

  Apparently Pegg had managed to keep a better grasp on the battlespace than Thatcher had anticipated. Only he could have given an order like this. Three Reardon strike groups were abandoning their Helio bases to head for the planet, where Thatcher’s outrider was having an outsized effect, while a fourth group moved to back up the ships at the Helio base approached by the main Frontier attack force.

  “The four enemy ships already positioned around our target station are spreading out, sir,” Guerrero said. “It seems they want to prevent us from establishing a favorable transverse velocity.”

  Thatcher nodded. They wouldn’t be able to thwart this base’s turrets as they had the last. He could almost hear Moll laughing inside his destroyer as his sensors registered the same thing.

  Clever tactics will only get you so far…

  That was true—but only if you kept using the same tactics.

  “Belay the order to decelerate. Nav, I want you to devise a new course to send to the Helm as well as our other ships. At the moment before it becomes impossible to remain outside the firing range of the ships gathered around the target station, we will change course to do exactly that.”

  A brief silence, and Sullivan spoke: “What will be our new destination, sir?”

  “The Helio base those ships just abandoned.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The New Jersey sailed forward as the Reardon and pirate ships carried on with their maneuvers, angling to cast a wide net meant to intercept Thatcher’s attack force. Pegg had reacted with admirable quickness, but it seemed the outrider’s distraction had served a purpose: it had prevented the Reardon CEO from anticipating what Thatcher would do next.

  Thatcher did not suffer from that shortcoming. He could see that Reardon was desperate to protect their remaining Helio bases, and that made sense. If Frontier took them, they could dig in, entrench their position, and wait for more company ships to arrive in-system—or even for other corps to come to their aid.

  That didn’t seem likely. Most Dawn Cluster corps were clearly against Reardon, but also embroiled in their own conflicts. Either way, Pegg couldn’t afford to take the risk.

  And so, when the main Frontier attack force changed course to scream past their original target, hurtling toward the freshly abandoned Helio base, the Reardon forces reacted by abandoning their formation and giving chase.

  “Nav, calculate a deceleration profile that takes us just outside the firing range of our new target base.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The enemy forces behaved exactly as he’d anticipated, stringing themselves across Thatcher’s holoscreen tactical display in their desperate attempt to catch up to his forces, each ship’s top speed taking it away from her fellows. Just as the pirates did in Olent. Clearly, some tactics had a longer shelf life than others. Not that the Reardon ships had much choice other than to pursue him with abandon, given how vital the Helio bases were to their control over Oasis.

  “Prepare to reverse course and accelerate.” Thatcher eyed the closest enemy craft, a modified patrol ship that probably benefited from upgraded thrusters or a nanofiber structure, judging by how it had outstripped its companions. That won’t serve you well, today. “Fire a Hellborn the mom
ent we reverse our trajectory, Ortega, and let’s have the Victorious do the same.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The Jersey came to a fleeting standstill before Sullivan brought her around to rocket back toward the oncoming ships. A Hellborn leapt from her single missile tube with the characteristic tremor.

  Almost immediately, the target attempted evasive maneuvers, but with two computer-guided missiles incoming it was next to pointless. In the last few seconds its autoturrets flared up, trying to shoot the rockets down, but they failed. The first Hellborn blew apart the patrol ship’s bow, and the second all but vaporized her.

  “All ships are to close with the enemy at full formation speed, Guerrero.” Unlike the Reardon and pirate vessels, his warships would hold formation by only sailing as quickly as their slowest craft’s top speed.

  “Aye, sir.”

  The enemy vessels attempted to modify their velocities and regroup, but with the Frontier formation bearing down on them, the damage was practically already done. Lasers flickered across the void like vengeful serpent tongues, and Hellborns leapt from their tubes to dash themselves on enemy hulls.

  Only the last three Reardon ships managed to form up with each other, but against eight foes they stood little chance. What damage they managed to inflict before their destruction was quickly repaired with the help of the Lightfoot.

  Now, I have a decision to make.

  With eight more enemy ships wiped from the board, two Helio bases stood open to him, undefended except by their autoturrets. He could take them, but he feared getting sandwiched between the turrets and Pegg’s main force. In the last few minutes, the Reardon ships in planetary orbit had managed to take out the outrider’s corvette, and now they were gunning for the frigate.

  Thatcher didn’t actually want to besiege Oasis by holding the Helio bases. Attempting that would be as risky to him as losing them would be to Pegg. Possibly more, if no corps came to Frontier’s aid while pirates continued to flood in for Reardon.