Victory Page 3
Chapter Five
Star Freighter Lucky Bandit
Low orbit, Indira, Britannia Sector
Something seemed dreadfully wrong. “They’re coming in way too fast. This doesn’t make any sense....” Rodriguez studied the sensor readout even as he pointed the nose of the freighter on a trajectory that would eventually let them break orbit and make their first q-jump.
“Whatever,” said the pilot. “As long as they keep the bastards distracted while we make our getaway. And it’s not just us—there’s thousands of other freighters and colonial transports trying to make a break for—”
Thousands of tiny explosions leapt out from the super dreadnought.
“Hot damn!” Rodriguez watched the scene unfold in amazement. Granger, with his fleet coming in close behind, had oriented the Warrior so the bottom face of its hull was fully exposed to the super dreadnought and its two smaller companions. But peeking out from the shadow of the Warrior were hundreds of mag-rail turrets from the tightly-packed fleet of cruisers, each ship positioned such that its hull was protected by the Warrior, but with a clear enough view of the super dreadnought that it could fire several steady streams of ultra-high-velocity mag-rail slugs.
Which they did. Thousands of impacts erupted all over the massive super dreadnought. It, along with the two escort carriers, opened up a devastating volley on the rapidly approaching Warrior, raking the underside of its hull with dozens of antimatter beams. Rodriguez could only imagine the destruction on the lower decks.
“Pretty gutsy, but they’re flying past in less than ten seconds. I still don’t see how much good it’ll do,” said Raf, shaking his head.
“Watch. I see it now,” interrupted Rodriguez, pointing at the sensors. They just barely detected over one hundred small projectiles which rocketed away from the Warrior. Small, but thousands of times larger than the standard mag-rail slug.
And traveling at fifty kilometers a second.
The incoming IDF fleet, still sheltered by the Warrior, continued pummeling the super dreadnought, some ships even turning their attention to the two Swarm carriers, but Rodriguez understood it now—the conventional fire was a ruse. Moments later, his suspicion was confirmed with a violent, eye-piercing explosion.
One hundred and fifty eye-piercing explosions.
“I don’t believe it.” Raf couldn’t take his eyes off the disintegrating super dreadnought. From the hundred and fifty massive, gaping holes erupted a hundred and fifty streams of debris, smoke, and fire, all up and down the hundred kilometers-long spine of the ship. “I don’t believe it,” he repeated breathlessly.
“That’s Granger for you.” Rodriguez pushed hard on the accelerator. Now that the Swarm ships in the immediate vicinity were focused like a laser on the IDF fleet, it was the perfect chance to high-tail it out of there.
“They still can’t win. Even without that super dreadnought there are over twenty Swarm carriers in orbit, and Granger only has thirty-six ships. Plus, he came in so fast that he’ll be flung out toward the outer solar system unless he can miraculously arrest his velocity in the next two minutes.”
Rodriguez shook his head. “He’ll figure something out. He always does.”
The pilot regarded him for a moment in disbelief, like an atheist skeptically eyeing the firm faith of a sincere believer, but he shrugged and began plotting their course toward a point where it would be safe to make the q-jump. Or at least, that was his intention. Instead, he gawked at the sensor readout again. “Yes, but what is he going to do about that?”
Rodriguez’s eye followed the pilot’s outstretched finger.
The sensor readout had more bad news.
Chapter Six
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Indira, Britannia Sector
Granger was beginning to regret his order—the Granger Omega Three maneuver was wreaking havoc down on the lower decks. The ship trembled and shook violently. The super dreadnought and its two accompanying carriers were unloading everything they had straight into the Warrior’s gut, tearing their lower hull to shreds.
But the results spoke for themselves—after twenty seconds of fleet bombardment, the super dreadnought was beginning to show signs of extreme duress, to put it lightly.
“Massive power fluctuations coming from the dreadnought!” Ensign Diamond yelled over his console.
Granger nodded, and inclined his head toward Commander Proctor. “Brick status?”
“Launch in ten.”
He studied the sensor readouts coming from the super dreadnought, then waved over to the comm station. “Send to fleet: retarget accompanying vessels.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said Ensign Prucha. Moments later, the IDF fleet protected under the shadow of the Warrior redirected fire toward the other two Swarm ships hovering near the super dreadnought, which also began to erupt with thousands of small explosions where the mag-rail slugs ripped into their hulls. These three buggers are toast, Granger thought.
But he was paying for it. Dearly. The bridge jolted to starboard violently as several of the incoming antimatter beams connected with one of the main inertial cancelers. Those things were embedded at least five decks within the lower hull. Damn—they were cutting deep. The bridge jerked again, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the marines stationed near the bridge entrance sway and struggle to remain on their feet.
Granger counted silently in his head the remaining seconds, and moments later Proctor announced, “Brick launch. Impact in five. Prepare for attitude realignment.”
“Put it onscreen,” said Granger, gripping his armrests ferociously to steady himself against the violent buffeting of the incoming storm of antimatter beams. “At least we’ll get to enjoy the show.”
Just moments after the viewscreen focused on the Swarm super dreadnought, which had redirected its fire to the incoming osmium projectiles in a vain attempt to destroy them, the gaping holes appeared in blinding explosions as large chunks of the hull were blasted away. Each osmium brick, though only a few tons, was moving so fast that it slammed into the massive vessel with the energy of over a hundred megaton-class nuclear warheads.
And even though the ship was dozens of kilometers long, it was no match for explosive energy on that scale. As Warrior and the rest of the fleet flew by at nearly fifty kilometers per second, reorienting itself so the smaller cruisers would remain in the shadow of Granger’s ship, the super dreadnought shuddered as it disintegrated into hundreds of smaller smoking pieces.
Excited whoops and cheers erupted on the bridge, and Granger, for the first time that day, allowed himself a small smile. “Full reverse. Two times safety limits. Settle us into an orbit that will take us to the next cluster of Swarm carriers.”
Commander Proctor looked up from her status board. “Heavy damage on the lower decks, sir. Main inertial cancelers are out. Numerous casualties on decks six and seven.” Her face tightened into a pained expression. “They nearly cut all the way up to main engineering, Captain. Just a few more seconds and we would have been goners.”
“How much thrust can we sustain?” They had to arrest some of their speed, otherwise they’d fling out from the planet, hundreds of thousands of kilometers away from the battle, leaving the ravaged planet to its doom. From the looks of his planetary sensor readout, the Swarm had already devastated dozens of cities with singularity blasts, likely killing millions. Tens of millions. But there were still a handful of major cities left, and hundreds of smaller towns that had to be defended.
“Auxiliaries are only rated at half the safety limits of the primaries.”
“Then full reverse—double the safety standards of the auxiliaries.” He punched the internal comm. “Hold on, folks, we’re about to have a rough ride.” He noticed Proctor shoot him a raised eyebrow. “Again,” he added.
As the reverse thrusters engaged, they were thrown back against their seat restraints, then forward, then backward again as the inertial cancelers struggled to keep up, swinging like a pendulum betw
een the extreme acceleration vectors they were trying to balance. The deckplate seemed to groan, and Granger could hear the screeching of twisting metal deep within the walls. How much more could the Old Bird take?
He shook his head. Dammit. The Old Bird was dead. Still sitting on the main boulevard in South Salt Lake City, where it had crash-landed and skidded to a halt, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. IDF engineers had decided to leave it there, building up a giant scaffold around the broken hulk as they performed a refit—the goal was to restore her, though she wouldn’t be ready for months yet. But he still hadn’t shaken the habit of calling the Warrior his Old Bird.
He heard a groan from the sensor station, and almost simultaneously he heard Proctor mutter a curse. He glanced over at her. “I’m almost afraid to ask....”
She looked up, her face taking on an almost resigned expression, as if she knew this battle would be their last. “Two more super dreadnoughts just q-jumped in. They’ll intercept our course in five minutes.”
The math was starting to weigh on Granger’s mind. Twenty Swarm carriers still orbited the planet, pummeling its already-ravaged surface. Less than a third of the planet’s population likely was still alive. Two new dreaded super dreadnoughts to deal with. The Warrior was a wreck. Admiral Zingano, with his fleet, was occupied with its own invasion, lightyears away.
“Sir?” Proctor said, eyeing him.
He sighed. “Prepare for q-jump.”
Chapter Seven
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Indira, Britannia Sector
The bridge fell quiet in the aftermath of his order to q-jump. From the way they eyed him it was clear that they were expecting to make a strategic withdrawal. To stand and fight another day. Somewhere else. He saw in their eyes that it pained them, but that they were prepared to do it. To run.
But Granger had never retreated. Ever.
And he wasn’t about to start. “Prepare for q-jump to these coordinates,” he said, punching in a set of numbers and sending them to the helm. Ensign Prince looked at them, finally understanding Granger’s meaning.
“We’re making another pass?”
“You got it, Ensign.” He looked around the bridge. “Any objections?”
No one spoke. Before he could continue, Commander Proctor cleared her throat. “We’re all behind you, Captain—” she began, but he could see in her eyes what she was going to say—that strategic withdrawal was smarter. But he wasn’t going to have any of it. He’d lectured her, and Zingano, and all the other captains more times than he could count. Stand your ground and fight, make the Swarm pay for every single system they took. Never retreat. Show no weakness of will. It was either that or fight them—and retreat from them—at the next world. And the next. And the next.
No. The Swarm needed to be taught that humanity would never, ever, ever back down. Eventually, they would learn, calculate their own losses and realize that they would never truly win until every last human outpost was utterly obliterated.
“Good,” he said, leaving Proctor with her mouth left half-open.
“Sir, if I may, our lower hull is breached in three dozen locations. Engineering is a mess. Our fighters are all back in the bay and none has been reloaded with a brick yet, and you’re sending us into another Granger Omega Three against two of those super dreadnoughts? Surely there’s something else that can be done at this point.”
He sighed. She was right, of course, but there simply was no alternative. He held up his hands. “If you have a better idea, Commander, I’m all ears.”
With any other officer, he’d have them removed from the bridge. But Proctor had saved his ass more times than he could count. Still, their relationship had been strained over the past two months. Ever since that fighter pilot, Volz, had returned with Fishtail, claiming that he’d just escaped from a Swarm-controlled Captain Granger on the other side of the singularity. She’d defended him—hell, Zingano had defended him—against General Norton, the chairman of the joint chiefs, and though he’d kept his command, suspicions around him were high ever since.
“Split the fleet. Send everyone in threes and fours and engage the carriers—they’re all spread out singly in various orbits. We’d last longer that way, and take out more of their fleet. And if we’re lucky, Zingano will show up before we’re all dead.”
Admiral Zingano to the rescue. Dammit, that was Granger’s job.
But she was right, of course. And he wasn’t going to let his pride get in the way of the best outcome. That was something a politician would do, and, dammit, he was not a politician. He was not an Avery. Or worse, an Isaacson.
“Do it.” He pointed to the tactical station. “Assign targets. Focus on those heading toward the remaining large population centers. Commander,” he said, turning back to her, “make the fleet assignments.”
She nodded, focusing her attention to splitting up the fleet and informing the other captains. She looked back up. “And where will we be going, sir?”
“My previous order stands. When our fleet has dispersed on their assignments, we make the q-jump.” He watched the viewscreen as the planet began to pull away—they were still on their highly elliptical course. “Straight down the throats of the two super dreadnoughts.”
Proctor hesitated. “Alone?”
“Alone.”
Chapter Eight
Star Freighter Lucky Bandit
High orbit, Indira, Britannia Sector
Lieutenant Rodriguez could hardly believe his eyes. Just minutes ago he was watching the largest warship he’d ever seen begin launching its horrifying rain of fire down onto his homeworld, razing vast swaths of a continent, and the next moment that same ship was in pieces.
It was impossible. He’d always suspected that the stories surrounding the Hero of Earth were embellished and shaded with hyperbole, that the crew around Granger and the people he’d saved tended to be over-the-top in their praise of him.
If anything, those stories were cheap, fanciful lies compared to what he’d just witnessed.
“You know, I think that maybe, just maybe, we might make it out of this,” he said.
Raf, the pilot, nodded slowly, his eye still wide at watching the ongoing destruction of the super dreadnought. “Yeah. I think you might be right.” A moment later, he came out of it and cranked on the controls. “Watch out for those fighters.”
Rodriguez nodded. “Look.” He pointed toward the pieces of the dreadnought, which were starting to break up into smaller red-hot chunks. “The fighters are high-tailing it out of there. Let’s thread the needle.”
“You mean fly into that storm of wreckage coming off that thing?”
“No, no. Not through it, just close enough and around it so we can avoid these fighters.”
Raf shook his head, but then seeing the cloud of Swarm fighters approach, he relented. Rodriguez steered the freighter toward the fragmenting dreadnought. Soon, the hundreds of bogeys faded into the background behind them as they approached one of the large pieces of wreckage—a section of hull nearly a kilometer long.
“We’re too close,” said Raf, nervously.
“We’re fine.” He pulled up on the controls and whipped them around the side hull section.
Which, to Rodriguez’s surprise, disappeared in a flash. Not an explosive flash, but a bright, white flash.
He’d seen that light before.
“Be on the lookout for—”
He was about to warn Raf about the singularities—they could be so small that you’d never see one until right on top of it, but he didn’t have time.
It was right in their path. Shimmering. Deadly.
The cockpit turned brilliantly white for a split second, and Rodriguez felt as his head had just taken a direct hit. He fought against the rising sleep with its promise of peaceful oblivion. He knew he was close to passing out, but he needed to stay awake to steer the freighter to safety. His life depended on it. His kids depended on it.
The view through the win
dows had changed. Instead of giant pieces of the shattered super dreadnought, set against the backdrop of Indira, he only saw one piece, falling.
Falling toward a swirling maelstrom of material. Rocks, ice, debris, dust—all falling into and colliding with a central mass.
They were falling too. Their engines were out. He felt his consciousness slipping away. The last thing he saw was the surface of the giant ball of material looming up, filling the entire window. Hundreds of rocks struck the outside hull like a million hailstones in a hailstorm. Even their relentless cacophony could not keep Rodriguez awake.
Chapter Nine
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Indira, Britannia Sector
“Time?” Granger asked.
“Still two minutes until we’ve matched the velocity of the incoming dreadnoughts, Captain,” said Ensign Diamond.
He nodded. “Q-jump in one. We’ll decelerate the rest of the way once we’ve made the jump. That’ll give us some time to assess the tactical situation.”
Proctor eyed him warily. What is there to assess? her eyes wondered. Even though she said nothing, he answered her unasked question.
“We still have no idea what tactical advantages these things have—”
“You mean, other than the fact that they’re a hundred times our size, sir?”
The remark was accompanied by a wink, indicating humor, but he continued as if he didn’t hear. There was no time for humor, even gallows humor. “And for all we know they have a weakness that can be exploited if we just took the time to scan them properly and study their ship layout.”
“You think we’ll be able to study their ship schematic enough in one minute and figure out a way to destroy them? What, like fly into their exhaust port and blow up their main power reactor?”